#getting that eerie feeling of the face right is a nice challenge!

[yuseirra]

Nyx Avatar

[bo0tleg]

GEMS MY FRIEND SAID WATCHING 'TOP GUN: MAVERICK' FOR THE FIRST TIME:

"The jacket! The famous jacket that pulls women, pulls men, pulls the world!"

"Oh look how hot~ he looks on that motorcicle. He's even pracing his ass!"

(Maverick, on screen: "Well... He's not here yet.") The mans madness has begun."

"MAVERICK DON'T DIE YOU STILL NEED TO HAVE YOUR GAY ROMANCE!"

"He lasted two months at Top Gun? HA. He probably was a bigger piece of work than the students."

"From what I can tell, Maverick tamed Iceman. In the first one he was the little annoying bitch and Maverick saw a challenge."

"I mean, at least these two (Penny and Mav) have chemistry. They hooked up in a plane, after all."

"Iceman solves his problems, Iceman keeps his job, what a simp. That's dog behavior."

"Maverick doesn't look likes he's flirting with her, he's just confused. His confused face looks like his flirting face, and people assume. I know this because people do it to me."

"Yeah, he's kinda like that one Olívia Rodrigo song that she gets confused when she sees her ex... What was it again?" ('bad Idea right?' by Olivia Rodrigo)

"I like him (Bob)! He's pathetic like me!"

"Oooohhh they're (Phoenix and Bob) gonna be besties! I can feel it."

(When Phoenix racks Rooster with the cue) "OHOHOHOOOO I LIKE HER ALREADY."

(Didn't notice Hangman taking Bob's cue, I relayed the information) "Aaaahhh don't steal Bob's cue. Bob's cool, Bob's nice."

(After rewinding the scene) "NO, NO, NO! WHO IS THAT? NOBODY CAN STEAL BOB'S CUE! I don't like him (Hangman)."

(Hangman, on screen: Bradshaw! As I live and breathe!) *Slowly turns towards me with dead eyes*

"That's not enemies to lovers, that's just enemies."

"With just this scene, I can tell this guy (Hangman) comes and goes. 'Sometimes I flirt with you, sometimes I hate you.' He's like a tsudere."

"Oh, got it. Phoenix is adopted into the man's group. She's a bro."

"I wouldn't say that they're his support system, but those two are the people that know him the best. Hangman is paying attention because he wants to be the best and needs to defeat Rooster. Phoenix is demonstrating a more sibling like worry."

"Hondo is like Mavericks babysitter."

"Oh. Oh, now Mav's flirting with her."

(Following the 'Baby on Board' comment) "Don't talk shit about Bob! I don't like Hangman."

"Maverick is like a step father to Rooster. Not in the 'HAHA I FUCKED YOUR MOM' kind of way, but in the way that he helped raise him."

"Where is Iceman? I'm here for the two of them, I don't give a fuck about Aeronautics."

"I think Ice and Maverick had a long relationship, but they're not together anymore. They maintained a friendship, but their lives probably went in different directions. I'd say they were together for 10, maybe 20 years."

('I ain't worried' by OneRepublic starts playing) "This song is from 2022? OH MY GOD THE SCENE"

"DON'T PLAY AROUND WITH GRANDPA!"

*Started chanting "BOB! BOB! BOB!" When he got picked up*

*Eeriely quiet during the bird strike, until Maverick starts talking to Rooster* "OH THEY'RE NOT DEAD. THEY COULDN'T HAVE KILLED BOB! IF THEY KILLED BOB I WOULD STOP AND NEVER WATCH TOP GUN EVER AGAIN!"

"Definitely 20 years. Ice is probably the only person Mav actually loved. Like, not a fling?" "Yeah, probably." "He's been with lots of women, and men, but Iceman is the only person he was ever in love with– maybe still is."

"I think his (Ice's) wife knows. That's probably why she recognizes Mav and is kind of friends with him." "That's probably why she just let him go up to see Ice." "YEAH GO AHEAD, FUCK MY HUSBAND!"

"It's pretty easy to notice that Snowman– No, ICEman."

"That is the face of a man who just lost the love of his life."

"Damn, the mans a beast. If It was me I'd already have cried, alone, in a room absolutely destroyed, never to come out again."

"He's got nobody, dude! I just want his step child to come back, because If he doesn't that man's gonna kill himself!"

"Why does it always have to have a romantic ending. Just leave him with his adoptive son. Go away."

"They (Penny and Mav) aren't going to end up together."

"I have a theory! Fanboy is obsessed with women! Cus he's 'Fanboy'." "But wouldn't he be called Simp, then?" "Ah, then he's obsessed with men." "... simp can be for men too."

"There's gonna be a Top Gun Three? Who's it gonna be about? It ain't gonna be Maverick, that man has a foot in the grave already."

"Bob is my favorite in the second movie. I have no favorites in the first one because everybody is very macho and very gay, and that's boring."

[pendarling]

Icecream

Henchman looked around the tall home, a chandelier staring down from the ceiling and a line of windows overlooking the city below as the night rolled in. Its appearance was an over-glorified perception of Villain's work as one of Supervillain's favourite criminals. Then again, Villain had done a lot of heists and had an intangible thirst for money; their home, if they could even call it that, was simply a reflection of their work. Other than giving the same energy as any classic magazine cover home, it was generally welcoming.

Their eyes scanned the marble tables as their shoes clicked softly against the delicately tiled floors set in perfect wax, offering a clean shine that didn't surprise Henchman one bit.

Impressed, their cool gaze returned its focus to Villain, who leaned against a pillar, fanning themselves with a piece of paper and occasionally taking a sip from the can of beer in their hand. Everything was too fancy for someone so evil as them. Then again, it was a nice contrast.

"You want one? It's awfully hot during this time of year."

"I don't drink." They replied.

Villain nodded, "Oh, I get it, you like to eat cold things. Something shitty like ice cream, right?"

They sighed; idle talking wasn't what they came here for. "You're tasks haven't been challenging enough." Henchman began, searching for the smirk that often riddled Villain's face when they were confident in themselves. However, instead Villain gave them a calm look of boredom, and a small shrug.

"Maybe I'm just too competent for you. Supervillain would know."

Henchman gathered their hands together and walked slowly; the wide room void of any life presented an odd sense of eerieness that wasn't often felt. They tentatively sat on the pale couch; its decorative pillows stayed stiffly on either side. "You're surprisingly cleaner than I expected." They murmured.

Even the glass coffee table had remained nearly untouched, offering a crystal clear view of the soft white carpet with only a small pot of randomly assorted plastic plants posing inside resting atop the table.

Villain took a deep breath and nodded slowly, "I try not to mix my personal life with my work life." They circled from behind the couch and sat on the armrest, "So what're you doing seeing me at such a late hour? I hope you're not here for just a talk, I'm not a very good listener."

Henchman should've laughed, but it wasn't funny, was it? After all, they didn't just come here for simple chatter. If they could, they'd wait until tomorrow, and besides, Henchman didn't know Villain well like they did with most other villains working under their boss. "It's something urgent."

"If it was urgent, why wasn't it the first thing you said as soon as you entered?"

Henchman could feel it without even glancing beside them. That awful smirk Villain did when something had piqued their interest. "I lost track of thought… I guess being in such a large mansion startled me at first."

Villain remained silent as they leaned back.

"Anyway, one of our compounds had been raided by the heroes about an hour ago."

"Which one?' Villain said, their back straightened.

"Don't worry, it's not one of yours, but it's the one on 78th street. Supervillain knew your followers like to hang around on the 81st and I just wanted to tell you to tell your goons it isn't safe around that entire district anymore."

"Fuck."

Villain stood, breathing in heavily with a frustrated expression Henchman had only seen when Villain was off fighting. They reached for their phone and dialled a number.

"Are you calling them?"

"Of course I'm fucking calling them!" They angrily flailed an arm and turned around, waiting impatiently for the other line to pick up. "I can't have my men getting arrested for getting drunk."

Henchman stood up as Villain took the call, barking orders at his underlings on the other side to get going.

They stared at the empty walls, clean of any sign of aging; the generic photographs of colourful shapes and some of nature did little to offer hope to the room. Henchman slowly made their way into the kitchen; clean whites clashed with soft greys and sharp blacks. In the sink, a single spoon, they tilted their head curiously. It looked like Villain could get a little messy sometimes, though this was very minuscule. Henchman turned their attention to the cabinets. They wondered if Villain had even organized each plate from biggest to smallest or categorized them by material.

They laughed softly and opened it; their eyes widened with an unforeseen turn of events. Not one plate was symmetrically aligned nor was it in order of colour or whatever they had wanted to see. It seemed like Villain's perfectionist image only existed from the outside.

Their hands wander to the fridge, stuffed stock full of foods they weren't even sure if one person could finish. Perhaps spending money was just easier than saving it all. Henchman opened the freezer, Villain's voice abruptly becoming louder as they continued switching from demanding to concerned.

"Ice cream?"

Henchman reached in. Its red and pink colour pulled them in closer.

"I thought…" They turned the pint of cream in their hands; the ice on the surface of its plastic exterior melted in the palms of their hands into cold drops of water. Henchman frowned. Either Villain was secretly a fan of ice cream, or this was all an elaborate joke.

"Henchman!" Villain shouted from the other room. They struggled to shove the pint back into the fridge and rub their hands free of the cold liquid.

They hurried back into the living room, fixing their uniform along the way. They had to be grateful the long corridors offered Henchman enough time to calm themselves. "Yes?"

"Stop snooping around and get the fuck outta my house."

Henchman waited for the words to settle in and nodded absently, their mind still wondering about the pint of ice cream sitting in their freezer. It didn't seem all too big of a deal, but it wasn't until Henchman gathered the morning newspaper for Supervillain that something had caught their eyes.

An advertisement bright and bolded around the front page of a news article in its designated corner alongside other words scattered around the page.

Strawberry cheesecake icecream, a personal favourite of Hero's.

~~~

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[literary-motif]

We need a fan fiction of Isaac and the listener getting married and having a wedding day 🙏🙏

Bittersweet

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

The ceremony was a bureaucratic affair, passing by in an instant. 

Isaac set down the leather-clad folder with all your documents, sliding it over the polished desk to the court official who leafed through them tiredly before handing you a paper to sign. She said a few words, only partly reading off the paper in front of her and giving you both a genuine but pitying smile.

Asirel was the only witness, signing the paper alongside you and Isaac. The court hall was nearly empty. 

“Congratulations,” Asirel stated when you stepped outside, straightening his white tie. “I must say, I’m honored. In our line of work, we attend more funerals than weddings, so this is a very welcome change.”

“Thank you for coming,” Isaac replied, intertwining his fingers with yours, “It’s a shame you declined the invitation for dinner, but we’ll take an undisturbed honeymoon as compensation.”

You laughed, nudging Isaac’s shoulder playfully as you observed the small smile spreading across Asirel’s face. “I promise. You will not hear anything from me during your little Italy vacation. How long are you staying?”

“We have yet to decide,” you answered, raising an eyebrow at Isaac, who just smirked back at you. “But the flight goes next Friday.”

“Don’t expect us back too soon,” Isaac added, eyeing the person approaching, a bouquet in their hands. 

“Right on time,” Asirel said, taking the flowers from them. Two bouquets were in his hands, beautiful white roses mixed with smaller red ones, nicely arranged in a collection that probably cost more than most people’s weekly salary. 

“Lastly, not the most traditional wedding gift, I know,” he said, handing one to you and one to Isaac. He took a few steps back, pulling out his phone. “Smile,” he said, snapping pictures until he looked pleased. “Not the most traditional, but I think they suit the two of you. Enjoy your time together.”

He did not need to say it, but you heard the silent warning in Asirel’s words all the same. The second part of the sentence hung heavy in the air as you thanked him, taking your leave to return home, now married — enjoy your time together while you still can.

Mortality was a grim truth you had yearned to forget about on your wedding day. It was a day for celebration, after all. Celebrating love, celebrating each other, the time you had together, and the time still to come while vowing to be one another’s crutch, no matter the challenge. 

It was hard to forget about the threat hanging over your heads due to the nature of your work. It was hard to disregard the eerie silence in the court hall or the private, almost lonely car ride home as both you and Isaac sunk into a pensive mood. 

You had both lost so much and had faced heartache and heartbreak and grief that could fill more than one lifetime. In the end, your loss had left you both alone, which only made it so much more special that you now officially had each other.

It made silent tears of happiness appear in your eyes, knowing that Isaac would be by your side, knowing you did not have to face life alone anymore. He had reassured you of that plenty of times long before you entertained the idea of marriage, but there was something so secure about being able to call him your husband. 

It felt as if you had finally become one. 

“What a day, huh?” Isaac chuckled, opening the door for you and loosening his tie, “I never thought I’d—” he cleared his throat, a sudden surge of emotions overtaking him as he looked away.

You placed your fingers on his chin, guiding him to face you. “I never thought I’d marry either,” you confessed, looking into his eyes to convey your earnestness, “least of all you, the love of my life. My knight. My husband.” 

Isaac hummed at your words, closing the gap between you with a deep kiss. You reached up a hand to cradle his face, feeling your heart flutter as he melted under your touch. “I love you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tighter against his chest. “So much. I love you so much, I cannot express it.”

“I love you too,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder with a content sigh. You saw the gentle orange glow through the window, the sky outside illuminated by the setting sun. “Are you ready for the celebration?”

Isaac furrowed his brows in confusion. “What celebration?” he asked, trailing his hands down your sides until they rested on your hips, making you shudder. “Unless you mean—?” he purred, but you stepped out of his embrace before he could complete the thought.

“Wait there,” you said, rushing to the kitchen to collect the little surprise you had prepared earlier, taking a moment to tend to the bouquets. When you returned with a picnic basket, Isaac raised an eyebrow before realization dawned on him. His playful smile suddenly became serious. 

“You mean—?” he began, voice shaky. 

“We should celebrate with them, don’t you think?” you asked, wrapping an arm around him and walking to the door together. Isaac hesitated, reassured by your smile and the comforting hold you had on him as you led him through the garden to the spot where his family lay buried. “I’m sure they’d like that,” you said, spreading a blanket  beside the tombstones and radiant flowers.

“Yes,” was all Isaac could muster as he knelt on the blanket next to you, tears blurring his vision as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

It was the snap of the dull ache he had felt in his heart for weeks leading up to this day, knowing there was nobody left to celebrate with — knowing he would never feel the gentle squeeze on his shoulder from his grandfather, giving him a tight smile and supportive nod at having found his happiness, knowing he would never get to see his father’s proud smile as he waited for the love of his life to walk down the aisle, knowing he would never feel his mother’s loving hug as she told him how proud of him she was for following his heart and finding the person he wanted to face life together with. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked, burying his face in his hands while his shoulders shook with sobs. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him through his gasping breaths. “I’m so— sorry,” Isaac cried, raising his head to look at you, his expression utterly heart-wrenching. You could see the shame, the longing, and the excruciating pain in his eyes, everything he usually kept so well hidden.

You shushed him gently, guiding his head to rest against your shoulder and tracing soothing circles across his back. He held onto you tightly as if you were the only thing keeping him together, the only thing keeping him from losing himself in his grief.

“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely after his sobs had calmed and the trembling of his body turned into an occasional shudder, “I know we should celebrate, but I— I can’t help this feeling of— of—”

“Sadness?” you proposed, planting a kiss against the top of his head. “Regret?”

“Never regret,” Isaac said wetly, looking into your eyes. “Yearning. I—I wish they were here,” he croaked, holding onto you tighter as if fearing you would slip away from him as well. “I wish you could have met them. I wish my father would have made a toast. I wish my mother would have— I wish they could have been there. I wish they were here with us. God, I miss them.”

“I know. I’ve got you,” you said, laying down on the blanket and pulling Isaac with you slowly. You were on your back, looking up at the sky and the quickly fading light while Isaac nuzzled into your side, his arm draped around your waist to hold you close. “They’d be so proud of you, Isaac,” you whispered, running a hand through his hair as you felt him shakily inhale.

He nodded silently, tears choking him up as the impact of your words fully registered. He had tried all his life to live up to the standard they set — be as thorough as his grandfather, as dutiful as his father, as compassionate as his mother — and spent night tossing and turning, wondering if he had become a person worthy of their legacy. 

It hurt, being left to wonder. He missed his family so painfully, and their absence today was simply too much for him to bear. It had felt like a stab in the heart when he had taken a look around the nearly empty courthouse, seeing who wasn’t there with him anymore. 

Asirel’s warning still echoed in his head — while you still can — and as Isaac looked up at you through tears in his eyes, he vowed to himself to cherish every moment he had left with you. 

“I love you,” he rasped, pulling himself up briefly to lean over you and plant a kiss against your forehead. “Thank you, I love you.”

You reached up a hand to cradle his cheek, wiping away the remaining tears. Isaac hummed, bending down to kiss you properly. He could feel your smile against his lips, your free hand tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss.

“I love you too,” you said as you broke apart, intertwining your hand with Isaac’s. You brought them to your lips, the matching ring on them a testament to your love. “My husband.”

Isaac broke into a beaming smile, his eyes shining with affection and adoration as if he had only now fully realized it. “Yes,” he chuckled, radiant with happiness despite the bittersweet feeling in his chest. He could not shake what he had lost, not even on his wedding day. “All yours, Pickle. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

The sun had set long before you opened the basket to retrieve the Japanese dishes you had prepared, and you ate in the gentle glow of candlelight, remembering the time you had already spent together and making plans for the future. The night was warm and crystal clear, allowing you to stargaze until the morning sun came up. 

“Did you see that?” you asked, pointing to the spot where the light of a falling star had quickly flashed. “Make a wish, husband dear.”

Isaac blinked away the tears of joy — he feared he would never get used to you calling him your husband — held you close and made a wish for this happiness to last forever.

[loservernon]

𐙚⊹₊⋆☆ nice guy | sim jake

𐙚 idol!jake x student!reader (she/her)

𐙚 angst no fluff, the little fight that snowballs into heartbreak

𐙚 1.6k, mentions of cheating, not proofread oops!

𐙚 note // this is my first time ever writing for a group other than nct so i hope you guys like it ^~^ i’m on a break from school, and kpop bedrot has been my best friend thus this was born!! there will most likely be a part two that’s not depressing teehee

at the second hour of this seemingly never-ending fight, jake has yet to show any sign of giving up. it’s baffling to you, who — just as much as he does — thinks you’re the one in the right. you’re sure of it, which is why you aren’t backing down so easily.

“so you’re saying it’s your job to buy a drink for every person that looks miserable at the bar?”

“i’m not saying it’s my job,” he defends, “i’m just saying i saw her sitting alone looking particularly glum and that i had the capability to do something nice for someone, so i did.”

“so you’re playing the nice guy now, huh? you can’t possibly be at fault because it was simply an act of kindness.”

“(name), don’t put it like that. i’m not trying to play at anything. i’m just telling you what i did and why i did it.”

“and i’m telling you that it was wrong, that it hurt, that it might’ve been a nice act to her, but buying another girl a drink is not nice to your girlfriend.”

jake rises from his spot on the couch. he walks a few steps until his back is facing you. his hands are set square on his hips and his head is hung low in disappointment, or defeat, or just dejection, you can’t tell.

he stays that way for a few moments; the heated tension that once shrouded the room is now replaced with an eerie silence. jake breaks it with the most bewildering conclusion possible. “i get it now. you’re jealous.”

at this, you’re caught off guard, though it only takes a few breaths for your surprise to morph into anger. you stand up as well, and jake turns around just as your anger reaches its climax.

“jealous? you think i’m jealous of a random ass girl who seemed to be down in the dumps?”

the furrow in his brow deepens at the thickness in your voice. jake’s countenance is back to a defensive state, but his tone almost assumes confusion when he queries, “if you’re not jealous of her then what’s the issue here? what reason could you possibly have–“

“it’s you, jake.” you take measured steps towards him, tears springing in your eyes from the sheer emotion leaking through your being. your body is almost shaking, pupils quivering, and fists clenching when you push forward, “you’re the issue. you think you’re such a nice guy for buying some girl a drink, when really you don’t seem to understand the insinuations of your actions.”

“what do you mean i don’t underst–“

“were you flirting with her?”

“no.”

“did you express your interest in her?”

“of course not.”

“then why would she come up to me right before we were leaving to tell me that the guy i was with was hitting on her?”

jake throws his hands up as a show of innocence and frustration, “how am i supposed to know why she lied to you?”

“did you tell her that you had a girlfriend?”

“there was no reason to.”

“are you really that dense?”

“what?”

“single guys buy drinks for girls that they’re interested in at bars. come on jake, you weren’t born yesterday. the more you try to make it seem like you were just ‘doing it to be nice,’ the more it feels like you had other intentions that you’re scared to tell me. just admit that you did something wrong, apologize for it, and never do it again.”

now it’s his turn to be caught off guard. you think he gets it, and he’ll do as you say and you guys will both hug and make up and hurry on to bed. however, it doesn’t seem that way. he’s stuck on a single part, arguably the least important part, of your whole entire spiel.

“you really think i had other intentions?”

jake’s challenging you. you know that look well, the one where he feels so severely wronged that his vision blurs and all he can think about is defending himself.

“jake…” you don’t give in to the challenge because you know it’d only fuel him.

“you think i was cheating on you? in front of you? why’s it so hard for you to believe i was just doing it from the kindness of my heart?”

“no, jake…” you try again, but it’s futile. you know from the look on his face that he’s about to say things he doesn’t mean. you know it’s going to hurt.

“fine. if you really don’t believe that my act of kindness was really just an act of kindness then i should be more mean, shouldn’t i? next time you have a group project with a guy in it, i’m not talking to you until the project’s over. you can’t have guy friends, or else i might misunderstand your intentions towards them. if you ever go up to a guy and talk to him for any reason, we’re over. and i’ll apply the same rules to myself. are you satisfied now?”

it doesn’t just hurt. it breaks you. tears are streaming down your cheeks and your heart rate speeds uncontrollably. you’re standing opposite of him, barely able to breathe, and yet he looks close to normal, save for the sternness set in his brows. it utterly shatters you to know that jake would rather break your heart knowingly than apologize for something that now seems so minor.

through hitched breaths, you force out weakly, “so by your rules, we’re over.”

at first, he doesn’t get it. the placidity with which he had regulated his face falls briefly into panic. cautiously, jake lets, “what do you mean we’re over?”

congestion has clogged your sinuses, so you hold your breath as you clarify, “you’re applying the same rules to yourself, aren’t you? earlier tonight, did you not go up to a girl and talk to her? for whatever reason?” any composure jake held on to cracks. his eyes go wide and he takes a hesitant yet desperate step towards you as you hammer in the final nail to his coffin. “you’re saying we’re over, right?”

you have jake backed into a corner. he’d fallen for his own trap, one that he’d built trying to corner you. he’d say he’s ready for it, your attack. he’d even go as far as to admit he deserves it, apologize for it, beg for it. he can’t take back what he did and he can’t take back what he said, even if he never meant to even remotely cause doubt of his loyalty to you, and even if he had sworn early on in your relationship that he would never hurt you on purpose. but even when he’s backed into a corner, defenseless and entirely at fault, you never land your final blow. instead, you retreat.

“i’m going to stay at yeji’s tonight. please don’t contact me until i reach out first.”

you turn away from him and head towards your shared bedroom. jake’s eyes have unfocused and he’s rooted rigidly in his spot. his mind tricks him into thinking that if he doesn’t move, or speak, or hear, or see anything, then this must not be his reality. for minutes it seems, jake dissociates just like this. but the sound of you packing your bag sets his nerves alight, and he’s jolted into action like the galvanization of a dead man emerging from the ground. he awakens to this reality, and the realization that he has to change it.

jake barely crosses the threshold of the door before he’s stopped at the sight of your zipping closed your suitcase. just how long were you planning on leaving for? you look up at him to catch the disbelief and hurt in his eyes. your face has been washed and you refuse to let up anymore signs of vulnerability on your end, so you look back down.

“please don’t go.”

“don’t push it.”

“i thought we agreed to never go to bed mad at each other.”

with your suitcase zipped close, you still your emotions before looking up at him. “i’m not mad at you, jaeyun.”

at the sound of his full name, jake almost dissociates again. his heart has gone completely still. “then why are you leaving?”

you make your way across the room, and he moves to block the entrance of it. you sigh. “i just want some space to rethink our relationship and what happened tonight.”

jake hangs his head low, “i’m sorry. i’m at fault.” but his head snaps back up when he hears you laugh in response, “it’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t put up a fight, for he’s done more than enough of that already. instead, he moves out of the way.

you leave.

jake wonders who’d get the apartment if you guys broke up. he wonders what he’d tell his parents who love you so, how he’d break it to layla that her favorite person in the world will never see her again. jake wonders if he could ever get used to the silence in the room that now sits heavy on his shoulders. mostly he wonders if he would ever forgive himself for being stubborn at the worst moment, and being selfish when it mattered the most.

it’s only now that jake thinks he would prefer you yelling at him any day for any reason, over the silence of your shared apartment for the rest of his life.

copyright © 2024 loservernon all rights reserved.

[fudgelling-away]

Sans, tail me your secret

sfw, 1000 words

An innocent slice of life. You and Sans get to know each other better in the early stages of relationship.

Warnings: Intimacy (but no outright suggestive themes, nothing happens besides obvious attraction, that’s not the focus of this text) A few curse words Some tears, some drama (but it ends well, you both will be alright)

As always, your writing and drawings are more than welcome! You can write a different ending, or change how the whole scene would play out, I'd love to see it.

.... What a nice evening, you thought.

You two got ready to binge-watch the tenth season of Ancient Aliens. Almost 10 years have passed since the monsters came to the surface and Sans has been busy with going through all the old shows. It gave you an opportunity to rewatch some old classics or discover something you have previously missed.

Surrounded with snacks and blankets, you got comfortable and he was now sitting close to you on the couch. Not really paying attention to NASA's Secret Agenda, you were discreetly observing his face. So relaxed, lively. Happy.

In a sudden surge of courage and affection you coaxed him to move onto your lap.

He followed your lead seemingly without a second thought while his eyelights remained glued to the TV. You almost missed the twitch of the corner of his smile as he tried to keep a poker face, but you were getting really good at reading him those days. As he nestled in your lap, leaning with his back against your chest, an eerie feeling crept up on you. Even though his bones were thicker than your own, he seemed so fragile. It was... wrong. He was too exposed and you didn't like that at all. You embraced him gently, closing your eyes and wishing that your body could become his shield. What a nice evening.

The living room was pleasantly warm, contrasting with the snow that was faintly visible outside the windows. Fire crackling in the fireplace, the smell of burning pine wood, tea with orange slices and cloves.... What a nice–

Your eyes opened wide. With him sitting flush against you the crests of his ischium dug into your thighs – it felt insanely intimate, but you kept your composure until something poked against your abdomen. ... The fuck was that? You froze. Both his hands were in your view. He was still sitting calmly, though you could see droplets of sweat forming on his skull. When he leaned forward to reach for a cookie, something the size of a finger brushed against your belly, and suddenly all you could see was an image of a big fat rat crawling under his shorts, or a spider, or....

You jumped up with a yelp, throwing Sans off your lap, trying to catch him with your left hand and falling with him on the carpet, cookies flying through the air, crumbs everywhere. You managed to break the fall with your right forearm, still awkwardly squishing Sans to your left side.

Silence.

Only the dramatic clatter of the tin bowl against the wooden floor.

He scrambled away from you with such pain in his wide-open eyesockets that you thought he was about to cry, but there was no chance to console him. He shortcutted out of the room. He just wanted a fucking chocolate cookie. You felt a wave of dread surging through your body in a sickening way. You felt like the worst trash on earth. Calm down. At least one of you can't freak out. You are going to laugh about it later, it's okay. Breathe. You climbed the stairs on shaky legs and quietly knocked on his door.

“Sans? Are you there?”

No response.

“Knock, knock?” you whined miserably. “Babe, I'm so sorry, please let me explain.”

You began to wonder if he had teleported to his room at all, and not somewhere else. You sat down by the door and took out your phone. Your hands were shaking so much that writing a message was a real challenge.

You:

Sans. I am extremely sorry. My reaction was involuntary, caused by surprise and nothing more. I am so disappointed in myself for hurting you like this. Your expression will haunt me till the day I die. Rest assured I am punished. I was simply surprised because…

dont tell him about the rat

...because I still have no idea what you touched me with. I don't know your body that well yet. I'm sorry that my reaction was so spectacular. Read. You sighed with relief and waited.

Sans:

heh it was quite spectacular wasn't it

You:

I'm so sorry Will you come back and talk?

Sans: and risk being yeeted across the floor? fat chance, buddy

You: I'm so sorry... After a bit of back and forth, some more grovelling and some heartfelt promises, Sans opened the door. You sat up hopefully, but slouched again when you saw his serious expression. His usual grin looked more like an uneasy grimace.

“it's my tail” he grumbled so quietly you almost didn't catch that.

“Your... tail? Your tail moves?”

“i move it. it doesn’t have a mind of its own.”

“Why did you move it?” You asked stupidly and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

Exasperation flashed through his face briefly as he rolled his eyelights.

“i didn't– buddy, pal, it’s short but it’s still a tail and functions like one. when i bend or reach, it reacts to balance me, however ridiculous that sounds.”

He remained silent for a moment and you dared not to speak. His eyesockets narrowed slightly.

“yours doesn't, huh?”

“No! I don't really have one, mine is just a couple of fused vertebrae.”

“mine isn't fused.”

You wanted to ask if you could see it, but even though you bit your tongue Sans read your face like an open book.

“tsch. you've got some nerve.”

You groaned, curling up on the floor in front of him.

“I am so sorry...”

“i will remember to let myself react wildly the moment your body surprises me,” You heard his ominous voice above you. He hummed thoughtfully and a smirk slowly crept on his face. “yeah. i will flail and scream. heh.”

“Sans...”

“now, my tea’s getting cold” he walked past you calmly, his voice finally relaxed again. “and i believe you’ve got crumbs to sweep up. c'mon.”

[graveyard-party666]

Blood & Wine

Red and other colors.

I don't know if we could call it "Chapter 1" but I'm certainly planning on making it a part of the small (or not) series called "Blood & Wine"

P. S. Highly advise you all to check out the song by Schmalgauzen - Кров і Вино (Blood & Wine) which basically inspired me to write this.

P. P. S. Big thanks too @cloudofbutterflies92 and @chloekistune for giving me bravery to post this. Love you❤

The day started wrong. Like, really wrong. First, she couldn't find her morning sedatives; then she was searching through the house to find her favorite high heels, the ones she believed always brought her luck. A psychologist with OCD, the irony strikes again.

It's as if life gave "all the bad things" carte blanche to make the woman feel horrible in every way. Her body hurts from the position she was sleeping in, her tea is now cold - it can't wait for her, while she is searching for her favorite footwear.

Miss Unlucky knows not to keep testing her own limits. Choosing to get a taxi was the right choice because Kate Laswell is already trying to get to the psychologist through the messages.

Somehow, Laswell thought that it would be a good idea not to wait for the psychologist near the entrance to the military base but to wait inside, discussing something with the Captain whom the girl knows as Captain John Price. Okay, she's a big girl, she'll find a way through the base, probably.

Getting there was a challenge; no one in their right mind would let a civilian car inside the military base, that was understandable, so the psychologist walked in her high heels on the uneven pavement, feeling more than stupid.

The base was dimly lit, no people inside right now, which gave eerie energy. No sound was heard except the psychologist's red-soled high heels clicking on the base's floor. The more steps she takes, the less she wants to be here; the less she wants to be here, the more she wants to just turn around and pretend like she never even thought about coming inside this base.

The empty corridors of the military building slowly made the woman start panicking. There was no one she could ask for directions towards Captain Price's office.

The girl stood still, thinking. This whole situation gives off too much headache for no reason. In her peripheral vision, the woman saw movement. In the dimly lit corridor, it turns out that, to her happiness or horror (she had not yet decided), the girl was not alone. Her heart began to pound with surprise, and she froze in place, stunned by this meeting. She sees a huge buff guy in full tactical gear wearing a skull mask and balaclava coming out of the shadow. The soldier didn't say a word, just stared at her with his motionless brown eyes through his skull mask, studying her, his eyes stopped on her ginger hair for a second then moved on, looking at her attire, so different from military clothing he used to seeing every day. That was probably the famous Ghost, Laswell mentioned.

'Well... I think I could give my high heels a running test,' the woman thought, staring at the soldier.

The man moved slowly, almost making no sound which was impressive considering his size. The psychologist tensed but trusted Laswell's words: all men of Task Force 141 are reasonable. As the soldier approached, most likely noticing the hints of confusion and curiosity on the girl’s face, he spoke in a deep, calm voice that possessed a British accent.

"You are heading to Captain Price?"

The psychologist nodded, calming down. "Yes, sir. I'm here by Kate Laswell's request."

The soldier only nodded, but then suddenly his eyes, that she could barely see under the mask, fell on something behind her. "If you want to greet the new addition, you should just come and do so, MacTavish. Do not eavesdrop."

The psychologist turned on her heels to look at whoever was scolded by Ghost.

"Oh, come on, LT. Ye know I was not eavesdropping! Lassie's got a nice accent." From the shadows, another figure came out. It was a young and handsome soldier, his blue eyes shined brightly under the dim light. Woman barely stopped herself from giggling when she saw the mohawk on his head. Is he ten or something?

"Price has called in the briefing. This lady is needed to be escorted there too," Ghost wasn't very talkative, that's fine by her. Less explaining to do.

"Oh, didn't know they would send such a bonnie lass to us. I'm John MacTavish, callsign Soap." his Scottish accent is nice to the ear.

"Nice to meet you. I know your names, though. Laswell gave me a short briefing before today's meeting," psychologist shrugged her shoulders, feeling like that revelation made Ghost tens up.

"Then why don't we know your name?" British soldier asked.

"Because it was part of the deal."

The meeting with Price went smoothly; he's a responsible Captain. The woman got introduced to another member of the Task Force 141 who goes by callsign Gaz. He's reserved, and from what she could gather, looks up to the Captain. Who wouldn't, though?

Laswell, bless her soul, was short about the psychologist's personal information. And there is nothing the new interrogation expert values more than people who can keep to their word.

Captain Price, who turned out to be responsible and serious man also showed his more humorous side, finding this whole 'nameless expert' situation quite amusing.

"Well, it wouldn't be right calling you Jane Doe, would it?" He asked, rhetorically. "I used to call her Thirteen," Laswell's voice rang through Price's office. "Ah, like the unlucky number!" Scottish accent rang behind the psychologist, his voice has that teasing side in it.

The girl feels like she isn't even supposed to be here. Feels like when parents-teachers meeting is happening and she is just a schoolgirl that supposed to be home, doing her thing.

"Poor lassie, the unlucky number..." Soap keeps nagging the girl as if trying to get something from her.

She is an anxious person; when people talk over her, as if she is not there... It makes her blood boil.

"The only unlucky number here is the number that your hairdresser did on you." The girl spits out. And only when the room becomes quiet the realization comes to her.... Scottish sergeant was trying to rile her up, to see how far he could go. And she... she fell for the provocation. Unprofessionally so.

The room is quiet for a few moments, till she hears MacTavish's soft chuckle. The psychologist looked around slightly, noticing the amused reactions of her soon-to-be coworkers. "I like this one," Gaz's whisper was heard.

"That one is gonna be called Red," Ghost finally spoke up, looking through his skull face mask, straight at the embarrassed woman who just showed her teeth to the elite team, as if trying to read her soul and mind.

'What the hell did I get myself into?' Is the only thought Red has now. And would probably have from now on too.

Tag list: @cloudofbutterflies92 @chloekistune

[austajunk]

Okay this is kinda a odd one but can you do Makoto x Number One? Maybe Number One discovered Makoto is his homunculus, and decided he wanted to see just how accurate of a clone he is, down to the very last detail... Makoto being a bit emotional since it's his original while Number One is simply cold, observant

Idk, it's always so interesting to see Makoto in a non-dominant position ! As for prompt numbers, let's say... 3, 7 and 19? But I'm not really picky, do whatever feels right.

Anyway, have a nice day and thank you!!!

Wooo, this was a really hard challenge to write mostly because we only have so much to go on for Number One's true nature. I hope you liked my interpretation for how he would be if he knew of Makoto's existence (whether he canonly did or didn't, I do not know).

Triggers: Dubious Consent, Anal Sex, Mild Orgasm Control, Mild Nipple Play, and Light Bondage

Fic beneath the cut!

The Unified Government couldn't hide their little secret project of producing Homonculi for long from the WDO. Careful and organized as they were, the detectives of the world managed to infiltrate their plot and gather information before they could even be detected by the top handlers of the project. It wasn't long before a file was on the leader, Number One's, desk, staring him ominously in the face.

Even if the WDO could see this ambitious and reckless project coming from a mile away, there was still no way to stop it from proceeding forward. It expanded and grew beyond their control, giving birth to homonculi produced by the best DNA samples the researchers could get.

Number One placed his hands behind his back, towering over the file and picture of his own face staring back at him from his desk. It was a mirror. An eerie, unnatural mirror. Somehow... somewhere... his DNA had been taken. It was valuable to the world. His mind... his development... everything about it...

It was now possessed by them.

Number One brushed his thumb over the copy of his face from the various files. The being was usually in a tank or strapped down to some sort of operating table. Various shots and angles of his body matched everything Number One could fathom about himself. It left him feeling cold and detached, wondering if he was awake in the real world. What had they created? Would there be more?

He scooped the file up into his arms after gazing at the name bestowed on this new experiment. Makoto. Makoto Kagutsuchi. Perhaps they meant to have him transferred for further testing. Before they would do that, Number One had to confirm a few things. He had to know.

Who was this person who looked like him? What did he feel or know? Did he know of him? The real one? Did ge know that he was just a copy... not even that, but a monstrous imitation created in a cold, glass tube?

Number One wanted to know Makoto Kagutsuchi.

He fastened his dark cloak over his shoulders and tucked the files beneath his arm. The world outside contained nothing but a black, overcast night, covering him as he traveled swiftly to the lab where his copy rested.

--

It was a mirror.

The being rested on the examination table, strapped down but undisturbed. That round and unassuming face, the pale skin, the platinum hair that was Number One's very real hair color... they all belonged to him but were worn and represented on the body of another being. It wasn't human. Even just approaching Makoto as he slept assured Number One of that.

He stared over the creature. His purple locks of hair clung to his cold cheeks from traveling through the light rain outside. Number One hesitated, letting his hand drift over the creature's face, but he still gave in.

Makoto wasn't dressed. It was clear the lab was in the progress of doing some more work on his body, but they had stopped for the day. Number One ran his cool fingers across the bare flesh of Makoto's flat stomach. The homonculus stirred slightly, his lips parting to release a small breath.

Immediately, Number One withdrew his hand and exhaled, almost alarmed at the slightest sign that Makoto was, indeed, real and alive. Makoto shifted but didn't get far due to his limbs being strapped quite down. Watching him, Number One fought the urge to turn away in a brisk fashion to hide his morbid fascination. He could hear the creature blissfully sigh behind him in his sleep. There was a tightness in Number One's chest, one he couldn't ignore no matter how hard he tried.

"You're real," he breathed to himself. He returned to glancing down at Makoto and his soft features. Their bodies matched so perfectly. His hand glided down Makoto's waist until he was hovering just over his core. Makoto's flaccid cock hung in between his legs, just inches from Number One's fingers.

"Ah..." A light gasp left Number One's lips. He lowered his gaze at the pretty creature... was it wrong to think of his mirror image as desirable? He was utterly mesmerizing. A breathing, living perfect image.

"It's wrong..." He said under his breath. It was wrong for this person to exist. He existed. Wasn't one of him enough for the world? What could Makoto do for everyone else? Why did he exist? An unavoidable heat rose in the pits of his stomach. He inched closer to Makoto's face, brushing the small strands of blond hair from his cheeks.

Sure enough, those violet eyes softly opened and met his gaze. Those were his eyes.

In Makoto's eyes, Number One could see the homonculus wading through the same horrifying mystery that he was enraptured with. Makoto stared at him, his eyes widening with acknowledgment, fear, and hazy disbelief all at once. Number One paused. Surely... he knew what he was, didn't he?

"You..."

Makoto's mouth moved. That small voice left his lips accompanied by a shudder through his lithe body. Number One wanted to cover his lips, to stifle the same voice they both shared. It confused him, made him feel... lesser and stranger at the same time.

"You're the real one..." Makoto said at last. His eyes gained a glossy sheen, almost on the verge of tears at this revelation. "The one I was made after-"

"..." How hollow Number One felt when he couldn't deny it. He was so perfect. Just utterly a flawless copy of everything. With his own innocent features staring back at him, the ball of flames and fury gripped his chest inside of him and could no longer be ignored. His urges became him, taking control of his mind whilst logic simply melted away.

Number One swept over the Homonculus, held his gaze for a moment to instill a sense of domination, and placed his lips over Makoto's own. He gripped Makoto's shoulders and held him in place, possessively taking what his body demanded of him. He let his tongue freely probe between Makoto's lips, fighting past the creature's feeble resistance. He could feel Makoto's jaw clench, his body close off in an attempt to guard itself from what Number One wanted to take. He ignored the homonculus and kissed him deeper, swabbing his tongue. They fought until Makoto nipped at his tongue, and Number One drew back like a rebuffed animal.

He hadn't meant to be particularly ravenous towards the creature, but staring at him filled him with nothing but the need to take control. To assert some sort of proof that he was Number One! That he was the real one. This burst of emotions wasn't like him at all...

"Why did you do that?" Makoto's uneven voice broke the silence between them. It was a lighter voice than his own, not weighed down by the hundreds of detective cases that Number One had been through. There was something more innocent within his voice, something that seemed so much more playful and carefree. Even when it was scared and confused. "Why are you here?"

His eyes narrowed to the bindings around his wrists and ankles. Patches of redness swelled at the areas where was bound. Undoubtedly, he often busied himself with tugging around when he was being "worked on".

"I... I can't believe it's really you. I always thought that I wanted to see you... that I would feel something a connection," said Makoto. It was like he was searching for the right words to reach someone on the other side of the world from him. The desperation in his face... it pulled Number One closer to him. "I just wanted to know you and see if I could understand why I was born...like this..."

He trailed off wearily as Number One approached him again. The human swept his fingers across Makoto's pale hand, touching briefly upon the red sores and wounds at his wrist.

"I..." Number One hung his head. "I won't be able to give you that. I'm sorry. I'm only here to observe you and understand what you're capable of..."

Makoto stiffened, a shudder breaking through his imprisoned body. "What will you-?"

Number One cut him off by sliding his thumb over one of his bare nipples, earning him a small groan from his specimen. "Do you feel this, hm? Your body and mine... I wonder if we both like the same things..." He busied himself by lowering to Makoto's chest and taking the other nipple between his lips.

A compulsion to stimulate his other self took over his mind's trajectory. He wanted the homonculus to experience pleasure and pain through him: his true self. He swirled his tongue diligently around Makoto's nipples, using his right hand to massage and pluck the other one. His clothed chest smothered Makoto, making sure he knew that he couldn't escape. Rapidly and lightly, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub until Makoto was squealing and twitching. His nipples hardened into sweet, little cherries between Number One's lips and the human made sure to take his time in drawing him out. He kissed his chest, occasionally lingering to appreciate Makoto's warmth or his strangely earthy scent. There was something almost natural and organic about the creature beneath his body.

Dipping back down over and over again to partake in Makoto's body, Number One found he couldn't get enough. He suckled greedily upon his chest until the homonculus winced and cried out for him. He didn't know Number One's name, letting the detective savor his confusion and anxiety like a predator. This creature was untouched and new to the world. Fresh to be introduced to pleasure and watched and studied for it. It was captivating to watch him tremble and react just like he did when he was touched.

And he did.

Makoto whimpered. He bucked and pulled against the bindings, letting them dig deeper into his sore flesh as long as it meant that he could experience more. His body had to react to Number One's movements. Like the mirror that he was, he followed his original self, looking to mimic him. His lips curled into a pleasured sigh, panting out incoherent phrases. Number One couldn't get tired of hearing his own voice moan back to him.

He sank lower, kissing down his stomach until his nose nuzzled against the small patch of blonde pubes on the homonculus. He pressed a small kiss against his waist, watching Makoto curl against the straps binding him to the table.

"Please... I want more," Makoto quickly told him. Desperation and lust etched into his facial features, his gaze led Number One down to the hard cock between his legs.

"I'm sorry," said Number One coldly. His hand traced Makoto's generous length. His cock was a pleasant handful for a brand new creation, but Number One wasn't curious for Makoto's pleasure. "This isn't about you. I only want to know you for myself."

Watching Makoto sour and swallow, he pulled away from his cock. Instead, Number One found the switch in the table to loosen the bindings around Makoto's legs. Gently, he guided Makoto's limbs over his shoulders and unzipped his pants.

"I want to know..." He said in a hot breath, tugging his cock out from his trousers. "What do you feel like on the inside?"

Makoto blinked, a bead of sweat trailing down his chest. "You want to...feel me there? Ah..." His pale cheeks darkened with specs of pink, a knowing quiver of anticipation running through his body. His erection wouldn't fade.

Number One nodded, a light smirk tugging upon his lips. He placed himself at Makoto's tight entrance. The idea to lubricate his other self crossed his mind, but rather... he wanted to make his mark on the homonculus, to enjoy him open and raw. It would be painful for the both of them, and he preferred it that way. The homonculus, on the other hand, trembled no matter what he did. Everything was new to him.

"Don't come until I say so... until you truly feel it," said Number One, brushing Makoto's erection with the side of his palm. He gave his girth a squeeze until his captive let out a small squeal of obedience, and then, he let go.

His cock sized up Makoto's entrance, rubbing himself until he realized how hard and ready Number One was to experience him.

"I...I want it," pleaded Makoto, trying to rise against the bindings. He couldn't. There was no hope for him. But he ached for this beautiful thing called touch. No matter how selfish his original self was in indulging himself, the homonculus was drowning in every new experience after the other. Pain. Pleasure. It was exhilarating. "Please put it inside me...!!!"

Number One obliged. The first two inches slid inside. The wails that came after told him that Makoto was coming close to his first brush with true pain. The sense of loss that he gained from something being taken as Number One split his ass apart.

"Relax," he ordered Makoto. "You don't want us to get caught, do you?" The entire world could crashing in on them in an instant, but Number One found he didn't care. He was so close to knowing... to truly seeing how much this mirror really reflected him.

Makoto winced, his face curling in distress. Number One found that his walls contracted around him, trying to stretch to accommodate his length. "It hurts..." He noted to himself as though Number One wasn't there. "I feel so full, so warm... like something...ngh... is melting within me..."

His vision fuzzed, lowering back to the table. Number One secured his legs on his shoulders and drove into him harder to increase those anxious, needy moans. He wouldn't slow down. He wouldn't give Makoto the option to breathe in between his thrusts. Speeding up, their hips clapped together in an ecstatic meeting, sending the heat to each other mutually until they both grunted with a reckless abandon.

"Fuck..." Number One groaned. If this person was a creature to him, then what was he? He just didn't know anymore. With each slam inside of Makoto, he lost himself more and more. No. He wanted to be lost in this rapture...

When he opened his eyes, Makoto was against the table, writhing with his chest caked in sweat. His cock drooled from a sweet, unhinged orgasm. His first orgasm. On instinct, Makoto melted back in the glow as his cock spurted a healthy rope on his torso as Number One drove inside him to the hilt.

"You c-came...hn..." It wasn't as how Number One had pictured it. He thought he had the control but perhaps Makoto Kagutsuchi was full of surprises.

Still, he had reached his limit as well. Buried balls deep into the homonculus, Number One bucked and expelled his thick line of warm seed in Makoto's ass. He bucked again, wanting to go deeper and deeper to spread more of himself inside this being until he simply couldn't. He groaned, slipping out of Makoto's ass with a soft pop, his cum leaking between his cheeks as he did so.

The sweet haze of his climax had him resting against the homonculus. With his ear placed against Makoto's chest, he could hear each soft beat. He felt his breaths, gentle and evening out ever so slightly. Their warm bodies mingled together like two pieces of a puzzle that fit just so perfectly. Number One wanted to lie on Makoto and watch him as much as he could. He wanted to take in his unassuming features, the quiver of his body whenever he was touched or caressed.

But the world was coming back to him faster now that his release had left him. He glanced down at the thing he had just desecrated, the creation he had wanted to assert himself over. Why... Why had he done this?

Quickly, he threw himself off of Makoto and adjusted his pants and cloak. Makoto tried to raise himself up, but once again, he was held in place by those straps. The cry in his throat almost caught Number One off guard, making him want to stop and look back to him.

"Wait! Don't leave me here! I don't want to be this!" Makoto tried to call out to his other self. His eyes teared up as his fists curled into his palms. "I can't be here forever! I don't want to be just a thing made after you!!"

This time, there was a note of rage in his voice. It was unmistakable to Number One. But he refused to turn back to the captive. No. He was never here. He couldn't listen. Makoto Kagutsuchi existed and he would continue to exist... but he couldn't soil that existence any further...

Homonculi shouldn't be meant for this. These feeling, living, and breathing things shouldn't be meant for some sick, government science experiment.

No matter how much Makoto called for him, Number One refused to turn back to him. What would happen if he did? If he went to Makoto's side and released him out into the world to live his life? Would he have a life? Would the government find him and return him to where he was? Would he be the source of misery for hundreds of thousands of civilians across the world?

Why did Makoto Kagutsuchi exist?

Number One ignored the last shriek Makoto made for him to come back and help him, disappearing through the lab door and back out in the night. His face was contorted through shame and agony, his body still washing away the warmth he had shared with his other self...

"I hope you disappear one day, Makoto... I hope no one ever finds you..."

But that was foolish thinking. Makoto existed. More were to come from this. Number One gritted his teeth as the cold, night air greeted him.

Why did they have to exist?

[neon-u-dumb-shxtty-child]

Aiden angst because I love writing them

Aiden didn’t think he was at much risk after Tess was voted off. He had a stable alliance, and everyone seemed to get along. They knew they still had a risk, but he was okay at the current moment.

Then the next challenge occurred and Lake was voted off. It hurt to see her go, they had developed an almost sibling kind of friendship, and he cared for her a ton. But Lake getting booted off of the game wasn’t the only thing that happened.

Karol was brought back into the game.

They didn’t dislike Karol, not at all, but he knew she still hated him for unwillingly betraying her. Karol had every right to hate him in Aiden’s eyes, but it still scared him that she wanted to be nice and start anew after it all happened.

He knew she was lying, he wasn’t that stupid. But they weren’t all too happy about it either.

Aiden held his small backpack in his hands as they ran off into the forest, away from everyone else. After Karol was brought back, he was struck with a wave of guilt that just wouldn’t go away. He needed to get out, at least for a little.

He ran back to the river that they had found a few days prior with Lake when they wanted to talk. He loved this river, it was quiet and calm enough to clear Aiden’s mind for a split second.

They sat down, facing the river as their mind wandered. His thoughts were both pleasant and bitter. It was conflicting.

Aiden soon ended up thinking about James and Karol once again. He remembered the betrayal, how angry Karol was at him, how upset he was with James, and how he couldn’t even look at himself without feeling like a traitor. They were so tired of it.

The memories were cold and bitter and caused him to tear up. They weren’t the best with his emotions, but he did as much as he could to try not to cry.

He was mad.

Mad at James. Mad at Karol.

Mad at the competition entirely.

But most of all, he was mad at himself.

He was mad that he was such an idiot.

He pulled his legs close to his chest and they buried his face in their arms, struggling to keep back their tears until eventually he just burst out into silent sobs. Aiden didn’t want to cry, it made him feel like an absolute joke, but they just needed to let out some steam somehow.

Aiden pulled their head up and wiped their cheek with his wrists.

“Wow. I’m crying over people I’ve known only for a few weeks. That’s stupid.” Their tone was sarcastic and his voice was slightly broken. He needed a break, it was all too obvious now.

Aiden was about to stand up but decided against it. He’d rather wait till morning than go to sleep in the cabin after this whole breakdown. He looked up at the sky, the moon was high up in the night, bright white rays reflecting through the tree branches. Aiden shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, realizing how cold he was.

“Why am I so pathetic?” Aiden’s voice was barely above a whisper as if he was afraid someone would hear him. The moon cast an eery glow over everything, especially on the water. There was barely anything else moving except for the occasional frog that jumped and squeaked quietly underwater.

Aiden looked up at the stars, wondering what their names were. He lost himself in those thoughts before hearing a twig snap. He froze completely at the sound, but then realized someone was making their way toward him slowly. He turned his head to see Hunter of all people standing behind him.

“Hunter,” Aiden breathed out softly. “You startled me. Why are you still awake?” He asked, trying to play innocent. Aiden didn’t know what to say.

Hunter stood there, looking down at him, staring at nothing in particular. But he didn’t say anything. The silence weighed on Aiden, and he shifted uncomfortably.

Hunter finally spoke.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, gentle. It surprised Aiden a bit, that Hunter had come over here to check in on Aiden. Hunter rarely ever spoke to him, preferring instead to sit silently beside Aiden during conversations or challenges or he preferred just to talk to Ally and Tess instead.

Hunter must have read his expression because he continued speaking softly.

“You… don’t seem like yourself tonight. Your face is red and your eyes are puffy.” Hunter sounded concerned now, which was unusual for him. This was probably the first time Hunter had spoken to Aiden in any way other than to talk about something he was talking about too. Maybe Hunter was worried about him.

Maybe Hunter cared about him.

And suddenly, Aiden felt the need to confess. Aiden felt somewhat comfortable talking to him right now, so why shouldn’t he try to open up a bit? But he wasn’t sure he could trust Hunter right now, especially now that the teams are dissolved.

Aiden’s heart swelled sadly at the thought of being manipulated once again.

“Yeah... yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Everything is good. Everything is great.” Aiden forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t come out too fake sounding.

Hunter frowned at him. “What do you mean? You don’t look fine at all. What are you hiding?” Hunter moved closer, crouching next to Aiden. He looked him straight in the eyes, his blue eyes boring into Aiden’s green ones.

“Did something happen? You can tell me if you want to.”

That was fair. Aiden didn’t want to lie to Hunter. And Hunter never did anything to Aiden, not intentionally anyway. So there was no harm in them talking. No harm at all. It might make things less tense between them, but maybe not as much stress as if Aiden were to lie.

Still. Aiden’s tongue went dry.

“It’s complicated.” Aiden started, not knowing where to begin. Should he just blurt out everything in one fell swoop? Probably not.

Hunter gave a slight nod, indicating to Aiden that he should continue.

“So, Karol came back, and she hates me and James for what James manipulated me into doing. And don’t get me wrong, I love James, he’s a good person and he has changed, but Karol is going to try and get us out of the competition because of what happened, I just know it. I feel awful about it because she’s justified in hating me. I didn’t want to do anything wrong, we just didn’t understand each other very well and James used that to his advantage.” Aiden was rambling by the end, and he couldn’t stop himself.

He had been bottling all of this up since the day Karol came back to the camp.

Hunter tilted his head, looking concerned. Aiden took a deep breath.

“She already got Lake voted out, and I know she’s gonna try and take advantage of the situation and get me or James voted out and I hate it. I hate thinking about it. I want to make things right with Karol, I do. But now she hates me, more than ever…”

Aiden buried his face in his knees and pulled his legs close to his chest once again. He remembered why he didn’t want to talk to Hunter about what happened. He knew that this was a risky move, but they wanted to be upset about what they did for a bit more.

“Well, ultimately, what you and James did to Karol wasn’t right. But I know that for you, it came from a place of trusting someone you thought was your friend. And James has become a better person, primarily thanks to you, so I think maybe you should try to talk to Karol about it. If she doesn’t listen, it’s her problem. You shouldn’t let it bother you, and if it does, you can always talk to me about it. I take it James doesn’t know you feel like this?”

Aiden nodded no, his eyes firmly on the ground.

“I didn’t think so. You look tired, you should get some rest. It is about to be the camp’s curfew.” Hunter stood up and stuck his hand out for Aiden, who accepted and let him help them up.

They two walked in silence to the cabins, and once inside Aiden went straight to bed. He didn’t realize how tired he was until their head hit the pillow.

Under his blanket he held his teddy bear close to his chest, letting sleep overtake him.

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...

What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.

What happens next?

Title: Eat the poor

Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university

Part 2

It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.

You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.

“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.

“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.

Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”

You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.

“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”

This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.

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

After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.

In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?

“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.

“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.

Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.

“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.

“I knew you would come around, bunny.”

[thefanficmonster]

You Call It A Mess, We Call It Baking

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Tons of fluff

Summary: A friendly argument via Discord leads to a baking session. Said baking session leads to a kitchen looking like it was the victim of a tornado. The lesson here is: don’t leave Corpse and Y/N in the kitchen together.

Requested by Anon, thank you so much for your request, hope I captured what you wanted well and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Corpse’s POV

I’ve been sitting in a Discord call with Y/N for about three years now, keeping her company as she’s editing some footage Sean sent her earlier. In the meantime, I’m reviewing the recently submitted stories by my viewers, reading some lines I find funny or downright terrifying to her.

“When I went in the kitchen to check on the cake, it was already out of the oven, a sticky note next to it on the counter that read: ‘smells nice’. My blood ran cold.“ I read the eerie sentence that is suggesting one of my most frightening scenarios - a stalker getting inside your house. I get chills just imagining what was probably going on in the sender’s head when they saw that.

“Jeez, it’s been so long since I’ve cooked something other than omelet.“ I hear Y/N reply absentmindedly, completely neglecting the fear factor of what’s going on in the story.

“Good job missing the point.” I chuckle, my eyes continuing to scan the email until my brain actually comprehends what she said, “Wait, you mean to tell me you have baked anything ever?! No offense, Y/N, but I was honestly doubting your ability to make an omelet as well. In all the years we’ve been friends I can’t remember you ever not saying ‘I hade takeout’ when I asked you what you had for dinner.” 

The scoff that comes through my headphones is the most adorable thing ever. She’s one to easily take a joke and never get offended by anything, but I know how heated she can get with her sarcasm. If I’m being honest, I’m always here for it. 

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Corpsy. A girl’s gotta have some aces up her sleeve.“ I can just imagine the narrowing of here eyes and the tilting of her head as she says that. She has a very specific way of expressing her thoughts. When we first met I accidentally made the comparison to one of those children’s books that have pictures, stories and small buttons for audio. That comparison has stuck with me and I look back at it very often. To fully catch her point, you don’t just listen to her. No, no, no. You focus on every change in her face and body. The way she looks away during certain parts of her speech, the way her voice plays with several different tones at once. Her posture while speaking. Just like those books - you don’t just listen to the audio, you look at the pictures and read the text.

“Well you know how much I like playing poker, why don’t you come over and throw those aces down.“ The last thing you should ever give Y/N is a challenge. She won’t only homerun it, but will never let you forget it either. When we met she was a girl with self esteem in the negatives, so seeing her brag about her achievements to me always brings me joy.

The details I’ve listed are pretty in-depth, aren’t they? That’s because I don’t want to let anything slip when it comes to her. This realization hit me early in our friendship and it was only like two years in that I finally connected the dots - this investment in her of mine was not simple nor platonic. Come to think of it, I reckon it never was.

“No way, I’m not changing out of my pajamas just to come to your house.” She laughs, once again making me picture her full body reaction to her statement.

I smirk, knowing I’m about to bring out my main weapon, “Oh come on, I’ve seen you in pajamas countless times. You can just admit you don’t wanna embarrass yourself. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

I can sense her fuming even though she’s like two miles away. “I’ll be there in 15.”

She hangs up before getting the chance to hear me lose control of the laughter I’ve been suppressing. 

Man, I love this girl.

Y/N’s POV 

“It’s on.“ I say as soon as the door in front of me swings open to reveal the smug smirking face of my bestfriend. The foundation of my tough, unbothered act is shaken up by the outburst of butterflies in my stomach which occurs every time I see him. I can never look at this man and not turn at least a little red in the cheeks. 

It’s been long since I self-diagnosed with the malicious ‘falling for someone who would never reciprocate my feelings’ illness. I’ve been living with it for a while. What medication do I take? Dating other guys. One bad relationship after another, scolding myself that every one of them has been a desperate attempt to get him to change his gaze on me from ‘best friend’ to something more. Hell, I don’t even know how to define that ‘something more’. I once even tried to admit my feelings, but I was so vague and so incoherent that I didn’t understand myself, so how was he supposed to grasp my downright sad excuse of a confession. 

“No ‘hello’, no nothing?“ He moves aside to let me in. I walk right past him with a sassy flip of my hair to mask the nervousness of being aware that his eyes were on me, “Rude.“ He murmured with an obvious smile in his tone.

He looks as cute as ever, black sweatpants and a black tee, hair messy as though he has just rolled out of bed. I can say with the upmost certainty that he’s the only one who can pull of that hairstyle.

I hide mine as I throw on the apron that’s hanging by his fridge, ready to take over his kitchen and put those aces of mine to use. I can’t help but furrow my brows when I see him enter the kitchen behind me and lean against the counter. That’s when I notice the counter is lined with all the ingredients I’ll need for the cake I had in mind. 

“OK, what do we do first?“ he claps his hands together, straightening his posture as he gives me a expectant look.

It takes all my brain cells to prevent me from freezing up completely. I’m not usually like this, mind you, I’m a lot better at keeping what’s going on inside my head camouflaged. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. If I do, he’ll pick up on it right away.

“Um, we are not gonna do anything. I will be here baking, and you will remain outside the kitchen until I’m done. If you need something, ask and I’ll bring it to you. I can’t have you sabotaging my project, impostor.” I narrow my eyes at him like he’s the most dangerous of threats. And he is, for my mental sanity.

He fakes a hurt expression, clearly fighting to the best of his ability to hide how much he’s enjoying messing with me. “We’ve known each other for five years, Y/N. Don’t you trust me?”

I lean over the counter to where we’re about two feet apart and whisper, “Not. Even. A. Little. Bit.”

He smiles, “You’re just trying to get away with making this cake by watching a YouTube tutorial. Admit it, you can’t even crack an egg properly.” His eyes are now as narrowed as mine as we stare each other down at a proximity that’s rapidly raising my body temperature and heartbeat. It’s not fair. I’m a mess around him so he automatically has the upper hand.

As expected, I give in, “You better not mess around though.”

After I force him to give me several different oaths, we start. I’m working on the batter, he’s working on the frosting. We decided to decorate it with crimson and dark purple frosting. We’re both really pick about the color shades so he’s currently struggling to get the crimson perfect. 

“Let’s make it a layer cake.“ He suggests out of the blue, “Two layers, nothing crazy.“

I think it over for a moment or two before shrugging, “OK, but then you better grab a bowl and help me with the second layer. You know how to make the batter, right?”

He confirms that he does and walks out of my line of sight. I hear him open the fridge as I whisk the eggs I have cracked with the sugar. 

“You want something to drink?“ He asks while rummaging through the fridge.

I decline, try to focus on the recipe that I have somehow memorized to the smallest of details. As I’m reciting the it silently to make sure I didn’t skip any steps with the batter, I feel something cold run down my back causing me to scream.

“What the fuck was that?!“ I turn around and glare at him just as the ice cube slips out from under my hoodie and falls to the floor. The fucker’s laughing whole heartedly, not giving a damn that he just gave me a mini heart attack. Mainly cause I thought it was a roach or something, and he know I hate bugs.

“You do realize how boiling red you are, right? You look like a lobster. I thought you needed something to cool you down.“

Instead of being annoyed, I do a full 180 and decide to play his game, “Yeah, I know...” I trail off, reaching my hand back towards the bowl of flour. Grabbing a a handful of the white powder I throw it at him before he can even catch on. Needless, to say, his outfit and hair aren’t so black anymore. “Ah, I knew your hair would look good with snowflakes in it, but you can never be too sure.”

“This means war, Y/N.” His smile is borderline malicious, getting me excited for what’s to come. 

Him and I have always had these so called wars, but never like you’d imagine. We are silent, strategic, subtle. Neither of us knows when the other will attack until it’s too late. That’s why instead of going for a counter-attack right away, he heads to complete his mission of making the batter for the second layer.

All is quiet except the noises of the utensils clinking together every now and then. I keep a close watch on him out of the corner of my eye and I notice no sus behavior. That is until I see him take a spoonful of his batter and eat it. I whirl around at the speed of a gust of wind, eyes wide, “Do you want to fuck up your guts.” He ignores me as he takes another spoonful, bringing it close to his mouth. This time, I grab onto his arm causing the contents of the spoon to spill on my hoodie.

I roll my eyes, unbothered by the brown stain that by some miracle missed the apron and fell on my grey hoodie, “Don’t. Eat. The. Batter. Copy?“

“Paste.“ He nods, smirking with pride as he puts the spoon aside.

I sigh and return to my side of the kitchen, focusing on the next task: poring the batter into the circular baking tray which he, for some reason, has two of. He repeats the task soon after me and we put the two trays in the oven. I help him with the frosting, getting the shades close enough to what we had in mind. 

After about five minutes of the crusts baking, a wonderful smell spreads throughout the kitchen. At this point, all we have to do is wait for the oven to signal that our cinnamon crust is ready to be taken out, wait for it to cool down and then frost the cake.

“It smells really good.“ He comments, turning his head to look at me.

I’m sitting atop the kitchen counter and Corpse is standing next to me. This is the only time him and I are at approximately the same height. The realization brings a thought to my mind, one that makes me feel like an evil mastermind.

“Hey, remember earlier when you said I couldn’t crack an egg properly?“ He hums affirmatively, “Well...“

The carton of eggs is within arm’s reach. I grab an egg, chip it off the side of the counter and crack it apart above his head, its contents coating his hair. “How’s that for a proper egg crack?” I ask victoriously.

He lets out a surprised sound, something between a gasp and a laugh. Shaking his head to get the yoke to fall down, he says amusedly: “I don’t know...you tell me.”

Too late for me to do anything. There’s milk all over me.

The malicious smile on his face is replicated on mine and now it’s really on. However, as we reach for the items meant to be out weapons, the oven dings.

Frosting the cake goes about as well as you expect: there’s more frosting on us than the cake itself.

“Let’s make amends, please. I’m so not looking forward to taking three showers tonight.“ I say, raising a white napkin and waving it around.

“Fair enough.“ He shrugs and we shake hands.

As I’m about to pull my hand back, he holds onto it, making me look up at him. Our eyes lock and I suddenly regain that same shakiness and vulnerability I always have around him. It never leaves me, I just manage to ignore it. The sound of my panic is muffled by the sound of my heart thumping the loudest it has ever. 

Expectedly, he is the bold one who makes the first and final move. The move to end one era of us and start another. His lips touch mine and all fades. It’s just him and I. The friends who were never just friends. The cowards who suck at dealing with emotions. The fearful little kids that are afraid of rejection because we both mean so much to each other, to the point of suffering to prevent the possibility of losing one another.

We embrace who we are, finally admitting that friends is not what we are meant to remain forever.

The kiss might’ve been brief, but the meaning it carries makes it the most valuable moment of my life. One I’ll cherish forever. Something in his eyes tells me he will too. That’s all I need. That’s all we need. No words are necessary.

Suddenly, our bubble bursts as a result of his ringing phone. He lets go of one of my hands and takes his phone from the counter.

“It’s Dave”, he smiles, picking up the call and turning to get me in the camera frame. “Hey Dave, look who’s here with me.“

I wave at the camera and at the baffled face of Dave. “Hi!”

“What, in the name of God, is that mess?“ He raises both his eyebrows as his eyes scan us and the kitchen behind us.

“You call it a mess, we call it baking.“ Corpse and I look at each other and smile, blushing as red as the streak in Dave’s hair.

“Am I missing something here? Did I call at a bad time?“ He asks, still struggling to rationalize what he is seeing.

“Yeah, you actually did. I’ll call you back.“ Corpse dead-ass hangs up on him, putting his phone away before turning to me, “We have more important matters at the moment.“

He kisses me again, this time more confidently. His arms wrap around me and prep me up on the counter, insinuating that this kiss won’t be as short as the last.

[sky-berrie]

Goodnight - Damian

Summary: Damian pays you a visit at night ft. the one bed trope.

It was a typical eerie night in Gotham and as usual, you spent it alone in your room. You were completely engrossed in the murder documentary streaming on your laptop, the game of Tetris on your cell phone, and the barbeque potato chips you were shoving into your mouth. You were so unaware of your surroundings that you jumped right out of your seat and yelped when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Relax, Y/N,” said Damian, casually. “It is only me.” He was dressed in his Robin uniform. It was clean which meant that he was probably unharmed.

You scowled at him as your felt your heart beat wildly against your ribcage. Your eyes traveled to the open window. You were certain that you had secured the latch, added the anti-lift bar and activated the alarm not twenty minutes ago. Your newfound interest in murder mysteries kept you awake a night, so you amped up your security to give yourself some peace of mind. It should have been impossible for anyone to break in, but here Damian was, standing inside your apartment bedroom.

“Stop abusing your power like that,” you scolded.

“Stop leaving yourself vulnerable,” he countered, without missing a beat.

“I didn’t! Did you not see the steel bar and alarm?” you said with indignation. You had to wonder how he managed to slip in. In another life, he could be a magician, you thought.

“Indeed, I did notice,” he said. “It is quite the cute little system you have.” His smirk was as condescending as ever.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting a big reaction out of you.

Damian’s expression softened. “I am glad that you installed that, though. Now I do not have to worry so much about you when I am away.”

You had no idea how to formulate a response to a comment that was not an insult or sarcasm. You awkwardly changed the subject instead, “So… you need something or…?”

Damian looked at you expectantly as if he was waiting for you to continue. “Do not end your sentence with a conjunction,” he chastised you. “Proper grammar is imperative for effective communication.” You rolled your eyes again. Sometimes he was insufferable.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. And sometimes he was almost sweet.

His gloved finger gently tipped your face upwards so he could inspect it thoroughly. You found his concern rather considerate until he opened his mouth again. Damian’s face contorted into an expression of disgust before he said, “You are beginning to look like Drake.” Although Tim was very attractive, you knew how Damian felt about his adoptive brother. His statement was not to be mistaken as a compliment.

You pulled away and rolled your eyes again. “Got it. You came here to annoy me. Mission accomplished. You ready to leave now?” You pointed to the window.

“I am being serious, Y/N, you look unwell…” He looked around your desk space with a horrified expression. “And I can see why. When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh,” you blew a raspberry as you thought about it. “Yester…today?” you said, but it came out as a question. Damian looked unimpressed. “No, today. Definitely today,” you stated with more confidence.

You could tell Damian didn’t buy it. “What day is it today?” he challenged.

Your eyes roamed around the room in search of clues. The date and time weren’t visible on your electronics. You took a stab in the dark. “Saturday.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “It is Sunday night.”

“Oh…” you pursed your lips sheepishly. Sometimes the days blurred together.

“That is it,” he said with finality. He closed your laptop. “You are banned from watching murder mysteries videos at night.” He went for your phone next. He raised it up for you to see your game of Tetris disappearing as he powered it off. “I am confiscating your phone every evening from now on.”

“What?” you whined, lunging out for your phone. Damian tucked it away and out of reach in the inner pocket of his uniform.

“You are getting time limits. Blue light disrupts your circadian rhythm - no laptop or phone after 10 pm.” He grabbed the crinkly chip bag. “And these, well, you really should not eat these ever. Do you know how much sodium is in this bag? Your arteries will know.” He tossed the half-empty bag into the trash can beside your desk.

“No!” You protested. He had no right to order you around.

“Yes,” he asserted. You watched him fluff up your pillows, tuck the sheets firmly under the mattress, and smooth out the bed spread. “You are going to bed now. Get in.” He lifted the covers for you.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckled humourlessly. You just wanted to finish watching the unsolved mystery of the Gruesome Gotham Murders of 1902 and be so terrified that you can’t sleep for the next three days.

“Y/N,” he said sternly, indicating that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument.

“Fine,” you grumbled. You knew Damian was stubborn and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You figured that you would get in bed to appease him and get rid of him, then you could resume watching your video.

You stomped extra loudly across your room to make a point. You huffed loudly as you crawled into bed. He pulled the covers up to your chin and tucked you in as if you were a little kid.

“Good night,” said Damian.

“Yeah, bye,” you replied impatiently.

Your eyes following Damian as he flicked off your lamp. Once your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized that Damian was taking off his Robin uniform. He stripped down to his undershirt and hung the tunic over the back of your chair before sitting down. “What are you doing?” you asked, raising yourself up on your forearms.

“I am going to stay,” he said, like it was the most normal sentence in the entire world.

“Um, come again?”

“I know you are afraid to go to sleep, so I will stay and make sure you feel safe… even though it is self inflicted fear and I ought to leave you so you learn your lesson. I do not know why you insist on watching murder mysteries knowing that you are going to be frightened.”

“While that’s a very nice offer, it’s also super unnecessary. I’m okay,” you lied. You couldn’t let him stay overnight in your chair just because you had an overactive imagination.

Damian raised a hand to silence your argument. “It is not up for debate. I will stay right here and you will get some sleep.”

“But you need to sleep, too,” you reasoned.

Damian shrugged. “I will make do here.”

Your throat was suddenly dry as you prepared to make a compromise. “You could… sleep… here… in my bed?” You prayed that he wasn’t repulsed by your invitation to share your bed. You and Damian were just friends but somewhere along the way your feelings changed. You caught yourself noticing things about him that you found attractive… like the way his eyes were so expressive and always told you what he was thinking… or how he carried himself with strength and confidence, even if it could be annoying sometimes.

You held your breath in anticipation. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. “Okay,” he casually accepted. While you were relieved that he wasn’t mortified by the thought of sharing your bed, you were a nervous wreck now.

You shuffled over to the very edge of your twin sized bed to make room for Damian. As he lay down, the side of his warm arm brushed against yours. You skittishly scooted away but tumbled out of bed.

Damian peered over the edge of the bed and his brows knit together in confusion. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly to sound normal. You tittered nervously as you climbed back under the covers. This time you lay on your side and faced away from him to put some distance between you two and to hide your embarrassment.

“Come closer, Y/N. I do not want you to fall off again.”

You shifted infinitesimally closer.

“Closer,” instructed Damian.

You inched towards him but left a good distance separating you two.

“There’s plenty of space here,” he encouraged.

You quickly came up with an excuse. “I toss and turn in my sleep. I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”

Damian let out a hearty laugh.

“What?” you asked with indignance. You rolled over onto your back so you could see him.

“Nothing,” he denied, stifling his mirth.

“Tell me,” you demanded.

“The thought of you, in your footie pajamas, thinking that you could injure a highly skilled assassin, is quite comical. Don’t flatter yourself. Now, come here and go to sleep.” Damian patted the empty space beside him.

This time you listened and moved towards the centre of the bed. You were so close to Damian that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The warmth was drawing you even closer to him but you reprimanded yourself and forced yourself to remain eerily still to avoid another accidental contact. Damian turned his head and you felt his eyes on you. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” you squeaked. You bit you lip anxiously. Your hand played with a loose thread on the blanket.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” you said, this time more confidently although you weren’t fooling him.

“You need not be afraid of the dark, Y/N, especially when I am here.”

You knew that already. You always felt safe when you were with Damian, even before you knew he was Robin. There was something comforting about his self-assurance that made situations less scary. But that’s not what was making you jittery.

“Why do you bother watching murder mysteries? They always overlook clues and never investigate thoroughly. Besides, you have a real detective right here,” Damian said, with a tone of umbrage.

You shrugged and tilted your head. “They’re fun,” was your simple answer.

Damian cocked an eyebrow. “Being so petrified that you cannot sleep alone is fun?”

“I don’t know. I guess I admire you for being Robin.” You don’t know why you said that. You really shouldn’t be feeding his ego. It’s big enough as it is. You kept talking, against your better judgement. “Watching you solve mysteries and fight for justice got me interested in true crime.”

Damian only hummed in response. He was quiet for a while and you thought that maybe he had drifted to off to sleep. Finally, he said, “Would you like to know who committed the Gruesome Gotham Murders of 1902?”

You gasped and turned on your side to face him. You were only a few inches away from him now, but you didn’t even register his proximity. Your anxiety was long forgotten and replaced by curiosity. “You know who did it?”

“Of course,” he confirmed.

“How?” you breathed with skepticism. The case had been undertaken by several of the most high-profile detectives and private investigators over the decades and none were able to solve it. In fact, no new leads had been uncovered in the last eighty years.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Batman and Robin are, without a doubt, the best detective duo in history. Not to mention, that case was child’s play.”

You scoffed. “I don’t believe you. Show me some proof,” you said, calling his bluff.

“Very well, then. I will show you the file the next time you visit the manor.”

“If you’ve solved it, why don’t you tell the authorities then?”

“We have. It is connected to several active cases so the GCPD is not able to release any information to the public yet.”

You scrutinized his face, looking for any signs of a fib. He didn’t waver under your intense stare, but then again, he was accustomed to the batglare so your measly glare was probably ineffective. You decided to trust him. “Who did it?”

Damian turned on his side as well and propped up his head with his arm so that he could look down at you. He pretended to think about it, building up the suspense. “If you go to sleep now, I’ll tell you tomorrow morning,” he said, almost playfully.

“What?” you exclaimed.

“Better get to sleep right away,” he warned.

You couldn’t believe he would tease you like this. There was no way you’d be able to sleep knowing that the answer to the city’s most enigmatic mystery was lying right beside you. You huffed angrily and flopped back down onto your mattress.

Damian let out a deep laugh in response. You grabbed a spare pillow and tried to whack him, but he anticipated your attack and caught it. “Damian Wayne, you are the absolute worst.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I... I would... I would love to see Jameson testing Jake some more... I mean the drabble of him demanding Jake let him do things for him for food was... good...

Your wish is my command, my love

CW: Noncon/dubcon (nightmare, semi-explicit), noncon/dubcon touching and kissing, internal dehumanization, flashbacks, survivor initiates spice and is rejected, conditioned behavior, trauma response, knives, blood

More salt-copper-sweetness than sugar and vanilla, now, Nanda’s voice is rough with his breath hot against the pet’s ear. It’s a warmth that covers him, inside and out. 

It presses against the underside of the pet’s skin, and he opens his mouth to pant, sure that the blood will come back out from within him when he does, that he’ll spill Nanda’s voice back at him, a waterfall of the touch and tension and twist leaving him to fall like an offering or a plea at Nanda’s feet.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” Nanda asks, licking at the shell of his ear, and the pet shivers, all his awareness stretched between the hot tongue on his skin and the cold blade of the knife, the flat side pressed against his ribcage on one side.

Each is a promise, and the pet wants both to be kept.

“I-I...” His own voice is weak, snap of twigs, rosemary boiled in water until the flavor is gone. He shifts, kneeling somewhere that he can’t remember, a small room in a small house on a small street in a town where everything is named for the glory of the man he saved her from. There’s a folded paper on a desk and if he can only look, he’ll know, he’ll know why and where and when. If he can only look-

“I thought it might b-be difficult-... ah!”

Nanda’s hand, rough palms and calloused fingers, curving around the back of his neck over his collar, jerking him closer, and he forgets the note and the room and the town and there is only Nanda, there has only ever been Nanda and the pain. There are metal cuffs around his wrists, his favorite ones that scratch him and sting perfectly for hours after they’re done, keeping his hands behind him, just touching the small of his back with his wrists and his knuckles brush even lower. 

“What might be difficult, pet?” 

Oh, there’s the sugar, the slow melody of vanilla and egg. He loves how his owner says what he is, he has to love it, he was told to love it and there is no love but this one, no life for him but the custard voice of the man who cuts him to ribbons until he begs for more.

The pet’s mouth opens to pant as the knife is turned, Nanda’s motions slow and controlled, and the bright light of perfect pain sparks inside him as the knife draws a line. His skin opens like silk for the blade, and he moans, dropping his head forward onto Nanda’s shoulder, listening to the sound of his laughter like a spoon cracking the crust on creme brulee. Sugar, and fire, and blood.

“That... that it’d be difficult... mmmmn, fuck-... what with y-you... being dead.”

Nanda goes silent, shifting one thigh between the pet’s legs, pressing kisses into the soft, short shorn hair with bald spots from Robert’s muzzle, humming softly in thought. His thumb rubs, ever so gently, at the pet’s nape while the knife slips a little deeper.

The pet whimpers, rocks, ruts helplessly against Nanda’s leg, turns his head enough to lock at the soft skin of Nanda’s neck the underside of his jaw. Blood trickles in a welcome hint of sensation down his side, over the flat space just inside his hip. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Nanda murmurs, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling it up and back enough to see the pleasure-drunk haze in the pet’s eyes, watch him bite his lip to muffle his whimpers and moans as he rocks in an erratic rhythm against the expensive fucking tailored pants Nanda is wearing. “To leave me like that.”

“You... ah, mmmh... fuck, you left me.”

“Look at you.” Nanda’s voice is a whisper again. The knife dips, swirls lazily through his skin like an artist pulling color across canvas. It presses in just a little too deep (not deep enough) and the pet throws his head back, briefly breaking Nanda’s grip, back arching into a perfect bow as he cries out. Nanda’s hand pushes between his legs, then, too-warm and not warm enough, firm grip curving around him, stroking with the same lazy slowness that he has with the knife. “What is it like, to love the pain?”

The pet swallows, the knife digs and digs digs into soft skin along his belly, drops down to his thigh, blood wells up swift and absurdly brightly red there. 

“It’s... it’s hell,” He whispers. “I hate, ah, ah, ah-... I hate this.”

Nanda’s laugh breaks apart like a mirror, shatters into a thousand bites of sweet blood, drips over his mind like oil. If he was kneeling before, he’s on his knees again with his face pressed down against the cool concrete floor of the specialty room, legs spread, and his back is heat and blood and pain. 

Nanda’s hands are on his hips, gripped tightly enough to leave the bruises he will kiss later, as he murmurs, “We know all about coming back from the dead, here, don’t we, J-”

Jameson wakes up.

There’s no gasp, no dramatic sitting-up-in-bed like in the movies. In one moment, Nanda’s voice murmured a name he can’t remember as the pet’s body gave way to his demands and in the next his eyes are open to pitch-black darkness and the soft sound of his roommate’s breathing across the room.

The pet’s-...

Jameson’s body shudders, shivers roiling under his skin. He is hard and throbbing, and one of his hands brushes down over his ribs just to make sure his fingers don’t slip through slick blood. He breathes in through his nose, heart pounding, and looks across the room.

The barest hint of moonlight through the window gives him enough to see Allyn by. Their hair spreads light red and thick around them, the blue light of night turning it all slightly eerie and haunted. The rounded lines of their face, the soft relaxation of their mouth. He wishes Allyn would bite him hard enough to make it bleed, and then pour their rain-voice over him and tell him he’s good. He wants their hands on him. 

He wants someone’s hand on him.

He reaches under the pillow and grabs his collar, keeping his fingers over the buckle to muffle its clinking, and pulls it quickly on around his neck, choking on a sob, on his rage, on how badly he needs to be cut apart until he feels taken in ways he wants no one to ever take him again. 

The constriction is soothing. He’s safe.

He’s safe, here.

He’s so hard the slightest brush against his boxers feels like he could finish just like this, just from the memory of Nanda’s voice whispering are you ready for me, pet?

A different voice, sonorous and droning, are you ready to leave the darkness and come back into the light-

False memories. Stop. Leave me alone. He bites his lip until he feels blood break free, but it’s not enough.

Jameson pushes the blankets down - he’s pouring sweat, cold but it doesn’t make him feel any better - and sits up. His feet settle onto the cool smooth hardwood, as old as the house, and he stands, stumbling to the door. He thinks-

He thinks, water.

A drink of water.

Rub one out to the memory of a dead man, then water, and back to bed.

The bathroom door is open. The light is on. He almost stops, but he knows Nova never turns the bathroom light off if she uses it, she says it’s bad luck, he doesn’t ask but she says it anyway. Everyone thinks he fucking cares about their shit here. He doesn’t.

He just needs-

water-

touch-

to be bled by someone who tells him he is a good boy-

The big guy who owns this place is in the bathroom. Jameson stops in the doorway, staring at his back. Muscles ripple under mostly unmarked skin, the slight curve of waist and small of his back. Jameson pictures his own nails digging into the skin, the soft red welts he could leave there, lines to mark him. How Jake’s hands could leave him bruised in all the best places.

How easily he could force his legs apart or shove him up against a wall and hold him there, hands around his neck, thumbs digging into his jaw on either side. How Jake’s voice would sound when he moaned, when he buried himself inside, when the pain between them was perfect, like it had been with Nanda, like it can be again.

His heart is still pounding, thumping so loud he’s sure Jake can hear it, pouring adrenaline in his veins he tells himself is lust and not fear of how deep this runs.

He moves.

Jake’s eyes must have been closed, whatever he was doing, because he doesn’t see Jameson coming, and he jumps when his hand lays against his back, turning quickly around. He’s so tall, and strong, but there are no bruises from him on the pet’s-

on Jameson’s skin.

“Hey,” Jake says, voice low, river under rock, wearing what seems eternal slowly away. His eyes drop to the collar buckled tightly around Jameson’s neck, and he takes in a breath. There’s no surprise, there. He’s seen this before, they’ve seen so many pets, but none like me, Jameson thinks, almost desperately. Not like me. Not like this. “What do you-”

Jameson backs him into the sink and grabs his face in his hands, pulling him down, forcing their mouths together. It’s less a kiss than a challenge, and Jake makes a sound of muffled uncertainty before his hands slide up to Jameson’s shoulders, and he thinks, yes, make it hurt-

Jake shoves him back and away, holding him at arms’ length. “No.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Jameson snaps, trying to twist free of the grip, but Jake’s hands are strong. “I want you. I want this. Fuck me!” He shivers in pleasure as he pulls too hard and feels a burst of pain that goes right between his legs, his already nearly painful erection seeming to throb even harder. Being hurt hasn’t felt so good since Nanda died.

Since he walked away-

“I said no.” Jake shakes his head. There’s a stubble along his jaw, and Jameson hates Kauri suddenly for getting the redness on his skin where the stubble scratches even though Jameson never does, not anywhere, not on his inner thighs, nowhere at all. Hates how they smile at each other. Hates that Kauri doesn’t feel like this, not anymore, and Jameson can’t imagine it will never stop for him. “You know I won’t ever touch you that way.”

“I want you to!” His voice cracks, he’s desperate, and when Jake lets go, just for a second, Jameson grabs his hand and shoves it down, so Jake can feel how hard he is, rocks forward against the heat of Jake’s palm. “See? I want it. Please, fuck, please-” His eyes are wide with need, and fear - of himself and Jake and his mind and his broken betraying body. “Please, I’m good, please-”

Jake’s hand jerks back with a hiss and he moves away. “I. Will. Not. Fuck. You. Listen to me. Just talk to me for a second-... I need you take in a deep breath, I think you are reacting to a reminder of-”

“Oh, fuck off! If you won’t fuck me, get out of here so I can take care of my fucking s-self.”

God damn it, his voice is weakening, he feels like he’ll collapse under the weight of death he’s walked away from or caused by his own hand. He slumps down onto the ground, onto the bathmat next to the tub, and puts his hands over his face. 

There’s a pause, then Jake again. “Just-”

“Just fucking go!” His eyes burn bright and hot, his breath hitches. Still desire runs up through his nerves and won’t let him go. “Get out! I hate you! I should have stayed with h-him, I shouldn’t have left, I should have been good and good and good and good until, until, unt-til-”

There’s a whisper at the door, Jake’s low murmur in return. Jameson hears, tell everyone I’m handling it if they ask, stay out here. Make sure Allyn goes back to their room, just in case. 

Just in case what? In case he hurts them? In case-

He came in here so he wouldn’t. 

Oh, fuck, what if he hurts Allyn?

A pause, and then the click of the door closing. Jameson looks out from behind his fingers, only to find Jake slowly sliding down to sit with his back against the door. 

“Talk to me,” Jake says softly. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

Jameson’s tears break free, then, burn down his cheeks like a volcano is pouring liquid fire into a city below and leaving wreckage and empty air in the shape of bodies behind. He chokes on a sob and curls up around himself, shaking his head, again and again. 

He can’t stop crying, and Jake doesn’t stop him, only waits. 

He nods.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice is low. Fresh water on his tongue, a snowmelt waterfall by the side of the road. He laughed, didn’t he? He held his hand out to feel the icy water slide through his fingers and sink into the thawing earth below.

It doesn’t snow here.

Why won’t his mind stop inventing memories that aren’t his?

“What happened in your dream? You don’t have to tell me, only if you want to.” Jake’s voice, low and calming, doesn’t stop Jameson’s tears but instead it opens him up to them, he cries the same way he bled, helpless to stop. 

“M-My-... my first-... I was w-w-with him-”

“Okay.” Jake hesitates, and then asks, softly, “Can you tell me what you were so afraid of that you put the collar on?”

Jameson doesn’t look up. He keeps crying. Eventually, though, he manages to answer.

“M-myself.”

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump  @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

➷Icarus

Pairings: Dabi/ Reader, Hawks/reader

Tags: pirate au, mermaid!reader, human!griffin!Hawks, pirate!dabi, angst, lots of it<3

Summary: set in an early 1700s au, during a time where Pirates have began taking over the seas and for runaway prince Touya, piracy is the only escape. But after the most unexpected event, his life takes a completely different turn.

Are y'all proud of me? Look at me! I made an edit, AN ACTUAL EDIT. okay quick thing to say before I hop into this is that I absolutely love this with all my heart. Writing it is my therapy, I hope anyone reading finds joy in this. Stay tuned for the next parts.

The first intake of air that enters your lungs feels like poison.

Sweet, mellow, nectar like poison is what you think of it nonetheless, especially if it's the only price you have to pay to bat your eyes to the aqua color of the sky. Today in particular the sun is too bright, too hot, to proud to shine over the little specs of clouds that dare litter that eternally beautiful azure canvas.

You can literally feel the river of tears that begs to stream down your eyes. Your hair is sticking to your skin annoyingly, but you don't dare brush it off, the little pools of seaweed that you've used to accessory yourself with are ghosting around you, spreading and straying away as you shift to your back.

As you lay on your back, letting the water push you to the surface, your ears are happily halfway submerged to the water, the tickling sensation soothing you just enough. Your (s/c) tail lays flat on the surface, halfway submerged much like the rest of your body. You bend it slightly to the side, flapping your tailfin onto the surface softly. Sprinkles of water splash over your torso, eager to finally find their way back into the water, like a fished out fish, racing in a match against time and the vaporising power of the burning sun.

Absurdly you float, feeling your body spinning and twirling as the tides swiped you from place to place. The dazzling sparkles of light that shine onto the water are magnetizing your gaze, pleading with you to fixated them with a look as the sun slowly travels its path to what seems as a few inches away from its previous spot, to you at least.

Your hand shoots up, right above your head, idling between you and your view of the enormous, bright star, as your long fingers spread you take a peak through the fishy fins that join them together. There's a deliberately feeling of malice and loath as you look at them -you've planted the seed of hatred towards the feature, not so long ago- and the slight undertones of your sheer and much illuminated skin looking fins stretch under your brain's command. You've never thought about it beforehand to this, but they hurt when you spread them, kind of like reminding you that there's a limit to what you're vulnerable or not.

At least the skin on his palm, the skin between his fingers isn't joined like yours.

Ironically, it gives you a sense of freedom.

You've only seen him on his ship. Once. But that doesn't stop you from having a painted image of him in the back of your head.

He's a timid buccaneer with a long ultramarine cloak, dreamy cerulean eyes, raven locks so unkept under the loops of his low ponytail and a barbaric lust to cause chaos. In other words, the Captain of a pirate ship.

That's all you need to know to be fascinated with him. You never heard his name, you never heard anyone speaking directly to him, all you had was a moment in which you exchanged looks, you with your pruned up fear of humans and him with big, bounty charged eagerness to spare you.

Maybe that was what had fascinated you about him in the first place. No other pirate had ever spared a mermaid with such light heartedness and a weird bubbly feeling in your chest had foamed its way into your heart ever since.

It's only when you feel you're disassociating out of this hybrid body that an all familiar trill filled your water muffled ears. That was your cue to swim to the shore.

With one deep breath of the surface air you submerged your form into the water, wobbling your tail around to cure any drizzling numbness that could occur were you to simply swim right on the spot. Your hands sway over your face and spread into half circular motions as you flap your fins and tail prominently, rising your body just under the surface.

You only open your eyes when you feel like your bird friend is close enough above the surface. And when you lock eyes with his golden orbs you notice the sly smirk that paints his whole face.

"Race you to the shore?"

Knowing full well that he can't hear your voice from the surface you nod sharply and only once, signaling your acceptance of his challenge. Ruby red wings flap hurriedly from his back, rustling the waters underneath him. You only grunt, because it's unacceptable that he believed he could throw you off track by doing the minimal damage to your surrounding environment.

Even for someone as fast as Keigo though, it's hard time mess up with the tides, even harder to compete with one if the most excellent swimmers, a merfolk.

Your tails flaps dangerously, torpeding your body forward and into a tube of salty bubbles as you swirl all around while swimming. Your eyes are fixated on Keigo, watching his every move as you shift through currents, the fins of your tail occasionally scraping over slack rocks ever so slightly. Your heart is pumping in your chest as you watch Keigo flap his wings again, you spare him a grin that mimicks his own and he raises an eye brow at you, extending an arm and taking his body just a foot more above the surface of the water.

His hand submerges into the water, startling you enough to make you widen your eyes at the sight of it. Little trails of his speed form in white foam behind his hand as he moves forward but you notice how the flat of his palm comes to scoop over the back of your head.

Like hell you're going to let him win this tim-

Your whole body is shaken suddenly as you are guided to the left, then to the right, your eyes squinting shut everytime your tail painfully bumps into the thin distances between the sharp, spike mounds of rocks you had failed to notice.

"Easy there, you don't have to rip your skull open to keep up with the fastest bird alive."

Keigo smiles at you and wiggles his eyebrow to your direction more than twice. It pokes your ego slightly. This playful comment nudges with your merfolk pride and the raptor seems to enjoy it, it seems like it's funny to him to mess with the way you swim when you can't exactly do the same for him up in the air.

And it's only when his hands wrap around you leisurely through the water, seemingly avoiding to actually touch you, but only interested in the intention to cage you that you pout and close your eyes, ready to flap your fins once more. That's the only advantage you need to outsmart him and out speed him.

Nevertheless, before you even manage to execute the first flap to your master plan, Keigo is quick to lock his hands around you, on you. He's even quicker to pull you over the surface.

"That's not fair!" You squeal.

"Isn't it?" The blond chuckles "I thought that you would like to come in tie with me for once"

"You're-"

"Insufferable?"

You laugh at him feverishly, as thin salty bubbles form in the pits of your chest. The soft exhale that travels out of your nostrils is a hot puff of air against Keigo's wet, naked chest, but instead of wincing to the tingling feeling, you feel the pleasant hum of a chuckle vibrate from his chest to yours.

"More or less"

It comes out as a soft coo, another huff of air against his chest though this time it's impossible not to feel how your skin feels against his. But that's just you, you remind yourself. From your point of view, you eye across his chest, careful not to let your face touch him, but your fins are beginning to betray you, perking up furiously.

Keigo seems to notice the way you shift against his grip, but he doesn't cease with his smile. It's only when he lowers you far away from his body though still keeping you in his grip that you see a fragment of his expression slip into what could be seen as sorrow.

"You merfolk could never convince me you're superior beings, you almost crushed against rocks" Keigo laughs.

Surprisingly, this time your chest doesn't feel heavy.

Instinctively you let your whole weight fall on his arms -what are you to a supernaturally strong griffin anyway. You hang your hands on both sides on your body, bobbing your fingertips right onto the surface, dipping them inches into the warm body of water.

"Sorry, your only obstacles seem to be puffy clouds huh?" Your sarcasm is lost in the grander scheme if the smoothness of your voice.

"You could never outrun me, let that sink in" He says, kidding with his head to the shore "where do I drop you?"

"Here's good, the sunset's nice from here" You reply "and yes, I can outrun you that's why I was so feverish about it."

The monotony in your statement is in contrast to its context and Keigo raises a brow at you, though it quickly drops as you manage to miss it. It's too eerie, too complex for his own good to pry into the feeling he's getting from your behavior, but if he were allowed to, he'd talk about how you don't seem to be your usual self.

With a swift flap of his wings he lowers himself into the water, his lungs filled with as oxygen as hes believed he needs from only a second ago. His hands come loose once the sheer liquid engulfs him; he feels how your fins tap against the feet, tickling him to the touch as the moisture softens them up again.

He wonders, if that's how soft his feathers feel to others.

His eyes don't open in the water, more likely because he's diving for the split of a second. It doesn't feel like a life time, just like any other time hes felt time pass by when diving, but he's putting that on you. He won't admit aloud, but his heartstrings pull slightly at the thought of you rooting yourself into him.

At least that's how he feels. And his smile widens when you pop your head out of the water you and shoot him a glare of your most glistening eyes with your lips pressed together in a thin line. He flies lower, with the intention of landing and flips his body so that his legs are facing the sand underneath him.

"Ah, today's nice." He sighs the moment he lies on his side, his elbow popping just in place for his hand to cup his face.

"It is, isn't it?"

Keigo smiles but a hollowing heat spreads to his chest, it's though as he can feel the bones underneath the layers of his own skin. It's his choice to ignore the feeling, rather, he coos a little over to your side, spreading a wing to your side. Red feathers splash happily into the water as they submerge, causing him to scrunch his nose pleasantly to the feeling.

"Keigo"

His feathers perk at the sound of his name, little, ruby feathers spike to his heart's commands. Tenderly your hand shoots to the sharp edge of his left wing, brushing down a few of the stray hawk downs.

He twitches to the touch; with legs that turn stiff as the slim looking black claws of his toes pop, his body shudders the peculiar affection. Keigo isn't used to being touched in the way merfolk get all tacky with each other. Griffin hybrids aren't as sleek and affectionate with their younglings, rather, being physical is discouraged.

"Mmhm?"

The way he coos against you like a little chick though, can't be discouraged by anyone other than you. As more feathers wrap around you, shielding your exposed scaly body from the scorching of the sun. The talons of his hands reach out to caress the hair above your ear, running some strands through his fingers.

You don't dare speak yet. There's a blasting of emotions that's happening inside your chest that your lungs can't respond to. It's only that, your face is so close to his, your nose almost in sync with his. But his eyes didn't look at you in a way that had once seeked.

Heavy chest and a quivering breath, even underwater. That's all the Keigo ever gave you. With his charms, and the perky feathers on his chest and hands that cooked everytime you were close. The pluming wings on his back that reaped the skies in a single flap; a creature worth of a mermaid's love was either worthy or atrociously mischievous, wasn't that the old saying?

And there was a time where you had been in love with him. A time where you had thought that mating for life with the griffin would be the right for you. Many merfolk had swam the path before, many had contributed to the birth of those atrocious, deadly sirens as a species, but at a time, the thought of your own little siren with Keigo sounded like a fairytail.

And that was all it was. Keigo had his eyes on a fairy, then on a raven griffin from his friend's flock.

If Keigo knew of all the hot tears you'd shed first him in the past, would he have sought to mate with you?

Well now you didn't care.

You didn't care about the world of creatures ever since that day.

"Keigo-"

"Y/n-"

You speak simultaneously, almost letting out the hazardous intentions of your statements overlap each other. It only makes you want to giggle though, as much as Keigo seems to want to sit back and wait for you to speak, the sheer profanity that lays beneath what you're planning to ask is coiling the blood in your heart in the most endearing way.

"Can I go first?" You ask and Keigo nods into your eyes.

His golden orbs dont leave yours, not even for a second.

"Is walking hard?"

Keigo's first response is to cock an eyebrow at you. It seems like such a silly, innocent question to which he can't give a definite answer, still the little smile that creeps to the corner of your lips is convincing enough for him to think of one

"Huh?" He laughs as well but this time, his hand comes to rest leisurely over your cheek.

You share a look in silence. The pointy tips of his talons are merely touching your skin in small places, while he scratches tenderly around your skin. Your faces are only inches apart and although it should hurt that he's only a ghostly breath away, your heart stutters at the thought of you learning more about walking.

"I'd like to walk"

In your excited state, you miss the way Keigo snuggles his nose right next to yours, unbeknownst to you, you deny the way his lips beg to clash with yours.

"Keigoo, tell me!"

Keigo seems to sigh a little over his own breath. The little nibble on his heart is quick and gone before he gets the chance to even feel it, so he doesn't blame it on the lack of the contact he had sought for.

"It's like," He pinches his nose "I guess it's like standing but with motion, like when you grab into a rock and pull your body around it?"

"Do I grab on rocks?"

"No, you just stand on your feet. And move them like so."

"Interesting"

Keigo scratches the coarse hair on his chin, puckering his lips to the side of his face as he's trying to think. As if he's trying to out the pieces together.

"And is it hard to learn how to walk?"

"Well I'll tell you if you tell me why you're so interested in learning all these stuff!" His claw soughs slightly onto the sight of your face, forcing you to face him once again.

He's never seen you express concern about this particular subject. But as he guesses, most mermaids do from time to time.

Nonetheless, now is his chance to spurt out what he wishes to say, now that his nose is on yours again. Now that your lips as ghosting over his again, now that your palm reaches slowly for the harsh flex of his bicep.

"I-"

But once again he's cut off.

"It's for a friend. She saw this pirate the other day."

The words that slip so reluctantly off your mouth finally manage to peak Keigo's interest in what you're trying to say. The mere hesitation in your struggling voice is accompanied by the twirling of your tail around his legs. It's a struggle to get as comfortable as before, but Keigo gladly ignores anything that doesn't involve staring in your eyes.

"Tell your friend" Keigo pauses. His wings push you onto him further, trying to coo you in his consultations "a pirate isn't worth her tail."

"But why" You mutter against him.

An atrocious feeling in his gut spurs the moment you let the palm of your hand slip down and splash onto the water. The silent act of giving u accompanied by you hanging your head an inch lower, just so that your lips miss contact by what can only seen like a huge gap. To him.

"They're sick, and they're thieves and they murder creatures for bounty"

"They do?" You ask, terrified

"They tie them to their ships, they shoot them, anything to carry them back to their orm and sell them for money. Tokoyami barely escaped them."

"How will they know I'm a creature if I have legs"

Keigo sighs. The memory is enough to send chills down his spine and cause the feathers on his hands and feet to spurt absurd and proudly. Whoever this friend of yours is, they're out of their mind.

There have been merfolk who have rejected their nature throughout their centuries to nest with humans, only to grow sorrowful in their regrets that they chose to live such mundane, mortal lives. To want to be with a pirate, the worst of the worst, someone who could only die in a few years of being on a ship, was like disgracing the creature world.

Wait- he heard right didn't he?

"You?"

[izuru-writings]

hello, I hope you’re doing well :]

if I may, can I request a scenario where the reader challenges izuru to a game (something like chess or just a basic card game ) and they actually manage to beat izuru without even knowing that izuru is basically good at everything? this could be a one shot or headcannons, whichever you prefer to do! gender neutral pronouns please.

~mod celestia

Absolutely!

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Tags: Oneshot, non-despair AU.

G/N reader beating Izuru at a game of chess without knowing who he is.

Hope's Peak, the school of your dreams. Who would have thought that chess, something that you saw as just a hobby, would make you get scouted? Yet, your talent at competitions was unquestionable, winning all the tournaments you had participated in. Of course, you were proud of this, but being recognized as the Ultimate Chess Master was still a surprise, a very pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless.

As one of the newer students, teachers and classmates alike wanted to test your talent, to the point where you had no choice but to obligue. To no one's surprise, game after game, you won them all, some with more ease than others, but still complete victories.

After every friendly challenge, it seemed that no one could beat you. This was your ultimate, after all. Until one day, a group of students practically dragged a boy with a completely uninterested look on his face towards you. He looked more intimidating than most, having long, dark hair, piercing red eyes, and wearing a clean, black suit. You didn't know this boy, but you could assume why he was there: he was most likely going to play chess with you, so even though he did look scary, you did your best to look confident. There was no way you would loose after all, right?

"They wouldn't stop pestering me until I came to see you"

He looked slightly annoyed as he spoke, yet his voice was barely above a whisper, it was nice and calm despite his words.

"They probably want us to play, wanna accept the challenge?"

You answered, forcing a smile despite how eery his presence felt.

"It would be pointless, the outcome would be predictable"

You weren't sure if that was him saying he would win or if he was giving up, his tone of voice didn't give it away. You decided it was the first option, given how calm and bored he looked at the situation.

"If you're so sure about that, then why not take a chance?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he just took a seat in front of you in complete silence. That's how your most intense chess game ever began.

Time was passing by, the number of people, both staff and students, watching the game slowly started to increase. You didnt know why there was so much interest in this. Granted, he was giving you quite a challenge, it almost looked like he could predict your moves before you even thought of them, but it was still just a game of chess.

Minutes started turning to hours. He was extremely good at the game, so much that it was beginning to feel scary. At this point, you weren't sure if you would win, not with how good he was at your field of expertise. What else could you do? It was like he could read your mind like an open book. You were mentally giving up when you thought of your next move.

"Checkmate"

You said the word almost with relief. It had worked, you had won. Smiling with fulfillment, you raised your eyes from the board to look at him. He now had a semi-readable expression, it only lasted a few seconds, but you swore he looked surprised for a moment.

He got up from his seat. You thought he was going to leave when he spoke.

"This wasn't entirely boring"

Was all that he said. Too tired to take it as anything other than a compliment, your smile widened a little.

"Hey, well played, uhm... What's your name?"

You asked, feeling a bit sleepy now that the tension from the game was fading away.

"I'm called Izuru Kamukura, we'll do this again tomorrow, there's something I need to test"

With that, he left, leaving you mentally exhausted at the thought of going through that again... What did he need to test in a game of chess anyway?

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this! I actually had to rewrite it midway through, but I'm proud of how it turned out.

[jjk-anime-horray]

Call of Spirits

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

Spirited Away Au

Chapter One:

Moving away from what you have known for most of your life is challenging for anyone. In your case it was moving away from the home you once lived, laughed, and cherished. Traveling away to live in a place far away from the house you once knew into a completely new one.

Thoughts of the unknown clouded your head as you travelled through the countryside, brushing by trees as your father drove over the land. You mother was in the front seat of your family van with a old map because of the lack of service in the land. It wasn't like it was bad, but it was just different from your home, it wasn't home, and frankly you just want to go home.

"(Y/n) dear you're going have to lighten up, the new town we're moving too it going to be full of new opportunities, and adventures!" That came from the voice of your mother, the same voice that was adamant on moving in the first place because she wanted a change of scenery.

"She's right champ, you can only enjoy something new if you're willing to give it a shot!" That was the voice of your father, deeper than your mothers, he was nice, but he loved to cut corners and take short cuts while he could.

Your parents were always overly happy and cheery like this, well most of the time, and while you found it a little bit annoying in this situation you ultimately knew that they were right, but even then moving on is way easier said than done.

The outskirts of the town outside of Tokyo was undeniable beautiful, green grass, blue skies, but due to your emotions it all seemed grey and brown in your mind, bland, not your home, but just a place you were traveling too.

"Oh, darn. We must have missed the turn off, well that's what four wheel drive if for."

"Dad what are you doing?"

"Hang on guy's it's going to be a little bit of a bumpy ride."

"Can you just tell me?!"

"(Y/N) you're going to need to sit down."

Just as your mother told you to sit back in your seat the car roared and rushed forward off the paved road and onto the forrest path ahead of you.

Something about this forrest felt familiar yet off to you, it felt eerie even though it was in the middle of the day. Cold even though it was sunny and warm out, but magnetic like the traveling tolkens you hang on your fridge.

The tunnel that your father was driving into hundreds of feet before you, the one lined with broken stone statue, and slight green moss was something that you probably should have just left alone, something that didn't seem like it belonged in this forest. Your gut telling you that is was out of worldly even though your parents didn't feel it like you did.

But as your father drove through the gate, even though it can be seen it feels unknown. Well, now you're going to have to find out of your stomach was right, and not just the product of being hungry.

"Woah, what's this old building?"

"It looks like an entrance."

That car haunted in front of an old shrine like archway, but you didn't really care what is was made of when you heard your parents debating if the stones were old or made of plaster, It just gave you the creeps.

"I think we should check it out you guy's it seems really cool, like and old amusement park or something." You father pitched to you and your mother.

"I think that would be fun hun.....(Y/N) why aren't you moving darling?"

"I'm not going!" You proclaimed. "It gives me the creeps."

"Don't be such a scaredy cat (Y/N)!"

"It's fine, the movers will just get to the house before we do. They have the key's anyway."

"All right just a quick look.'" You mother chimes, but you have other plans.

"I'm not going!"

"Fine, then just wait in the car."

When your two parents start to walk off you have the sudden realization that you don't want to be alone in this place so you scramble yourself out of the car as fast as you can, and run off after your parents.

"Wait for me!" You say while dashing after your parents.

"Watch your step everyone, it's slippery you might trip." You father warns as you near some mossy rocks.

"What is this place?" Your mother questions as all of you arrive a town like screen, buildings lining the streets however there was a complete lack of people. Cobblestone lined the ground and marked the paths for walking that compliments the older styled Japanese shinto architecture.

"Oh do you hear that noise, I think its a train."

"Oh I knew it is an old amusement park, didn't I tell you dear?"

"Yes you did, this place is cool we should continue exploring it."

"Hmmmm, do you smell that dear?"

"I do it smells delicious, we should check out where it's coming from!"

While your parents followed there nosed towards the scent you started to look around at the old building, and wander through the streets. You feet patted against the cobblestones while you wanders carefully though the mysterious haven. Noticing that it was later in the afternoon you walked to find your parents to give them the news.

When you found them they were sitting at a bar, and shoving there faces with food so much that it seemed obsessive.

"(Y/N) you need hmmph to grunidhchomp try this food is so gooodd." You mother and father said in unison as they shoved there faces with yakisoba, chicken, and many other treats. However you weren't hungry, and actually felt weary so you decided to adventure more through the supposed theme park.

The longer you wandered the day went by, and soon the sun was setting. You were currently walking on a wooden arch bridge, painted red, and then when you looked at the water underneath you noticed that they sun was starting to set.

Using your head you make the decision to find you parents again, and turn back to find them since it was starting to get late. But when you turned around you where met with the race of a creature that looked like a ghost and raddish combined into one. You help in surprised as you feel it brush by your form, and you started to panic as you saw more ghosts starting to appear when the day's light started to wane. All of the dormant street lights started to burst with colored light when they light of the day finally disappeared into the night, blasting attention onto the fully formed spirits travelling over the bridge you were standing on.

In a hurry you sprint past corners and fake street blocks to find you parents, bumping into more phantoms along the way scaring you even more than you would have thought.

Finally you arrived at the food bar that you're parents where at before, but when you arrived the sight you saw made you gasp and want to scream. You parents had turned into big fat pigs!

Wanted to move, run, scream, and shout you couldn't because your body was frozen in it's place like the stones under your feet had turned into quicksand trapping you where you stand.

One of the spirits around the corner, a dog spirit looking thing, raised it's nose and sniffed a big waft. In it's deep grumbly voice it gurgled the phrase out that made you know that you didn't belong here:

"I SMELL HUMAN!"

You know that the beast saw you, but you couldn't move. The weredog started to bound towards you, but you were swiftly pulled away by an unknown figure only saying a hurried "we have to go" in his boyish voice before dragging you over the red bridge into the unknown of the bath house with even giving you time to say a word. The spikey haired male dragging you behind him as he tried to get you away from the crowd of spirits and into safety without you knowing where you were even going.