#haunted by the time someone tried to break up with me and i told them they could cheat on me with other people so long as they didn't leave

[basicallyjaywalker]

Wanna ramble about a moment/character in ninjago you think people need to talk about more?

I don't know who you are anon, but I'm glad you asked!

I am desperate for people to character-analyze Wu. I'm desperate for a lot of character analysis including Nya but since I got a lot of my Nya feelings out with some lovely folks the other night (edit: the other night was a month ago dw about it. this took a minute) I'm going with Wu this time

Master Wu to me is such an interesting case of a character who it is so easy to ignore the bits of the show that hint at his wider issues and traumas. He is a man defined heavily by his family and by his past. A lot of criticism he gets, I think, is due in part to that.

I've mentioned before that I've been rewatching S1 with a friend of mine and intermittently pausing to infodump on them about interesting character things I notice from that season. A lot of that has been Wu-focused because despite having seen RotS dozens of times throughout my life (watching it on CN, watching it on Netflix when only it and Legacy were around, rewatching it with friends) I have only just started noticing the seeds of character written in.

I might also just be reading too much into things, but hear me out

In S1 (and by extension, the pilots), Wu is characterized as your typical old wise teacher. In the first few minutes of EP1: Rise of the Snakes, he is chewing out the Ninja for playing video games instead of training. The line he uses? "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today."

It's a line that gets repeated throughout the series. In fact, it gets repeated that very episode when the ninja go (pun not intended) to fight the Hypnobrai and a literal pre-teen. At first, it seems to just be a piece of wisdom. Some old proverb Wu's picked up over the years, possibly one he even coined himself. However, in EP7: Tick Tock, Wu tells the story of who, possibly, first told him this.

(Source: Tick Tock/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added.)

It was Garmadon. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on Garmadon, if you spend five minutes talking to me you'll learn he was the first character whose story I obsessed over and I want this essay to be about Wu, but I think he plays a role in Wu's overall story, as does Wu's family as a whole.

Prior to this, Wu and Garmadon's relationship has been more of a sibling rivalry taken to a good vs. evil extreme. We didn't know why Garmadon was evil and we didn't know about Wu and his relationship as kids. However, this scene establishes the backstory. They were, as Wu puts it, "the best of friends." That is, until Garmadon gets bit by the Devourer going to get the katana Wu lost.

Now, I know the Devourer bite was destined to happen because of the Overlord or some shit, but Wu doesn't. As far as he's concerned, Garmadon getting bit was a direct consequence of both his mistake and his cowardice. He lost the katana. He was too scared to get it. Garmadon went over instead. Garmadon got bit.

The scene goes on to show the FSM tending to Garmadon in the aftermath. Wu is watching from behind the door, likely told to stay back, but concerned. And in his POV, we get this intense moment, where Garmadon turns, looks directly at him (his eyes turning bright red for the first time), and says "It's all Wu's fault!"

(This clip should begin at the start of Wu eavesdropping. If it doesn't, skip to 0:58. I highly recommend also paying attention to Wu's body language during this scene.)

The camerawork does a great job of showing how this probably felt for Wu. It zooms in, Garmadon's voice echoes, and the background blurs. We see in the flashback that this is a moment Wu has etched into his memory. Not to mention, he was likely a very young child when this happened. LEGO characters' ages are weird, but Wu in this scene has the Big Eyes, which always seem to be used for characters under 12. We don't know exactly how much older Garmadon is to my knowledge, but he doesn't have the Big Eyes, so he's probably closer to 12 and a few years older than Wu for sure.

Imagine that. Being in elementary school and your older siblings gets hurt. They're acting strange. They're lashing out at your father. Then, they blame it all on you. They're hurt because of you. Wouldn't you internalize that?

I could go on about Wu's relationship with Garmadon, but again, I think I've spent enough time on it and I don't want to only focus on that. It's an important part, but there are others.

Let's talk about Wu's relationship with his dad.

Now, I have not yet read the Spinjitzu Brothers series. I cannot speak to any development of Wu and the FSM's relationship in there. I have, however, read The Book of Spinjitzu and blogged some of my thoughts on it here, including some of what it says about Wu.

For those who haven't read it, first, there is a Google Drive folder floating around with all of the canon spinoff books/graphic novels in it. Here's the link if you wanna read them!

The FSM is an... intriguing figure. I mean, in the series he's basically god? He made the entire world. That's already a very high bar to live up to. Then, in Book of Spinjitzu, there's a few specific parts that, when I read them, signaled that Wu internalized a specific message when he was young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 3).

Wu does not want to disappoint his father. It is up to him (and Garmadon until he turns evil) to "uphold the legacy of Spinjitzu" and, by extension, his family. He says he was "very young" when this was explained to him. Considering he seems to already be training at an elementary age, "very young" means VERY young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 16).

Here, we again see Wu being very aware that he has some large burden to carry. Something else interesting here is that the thought of the Green Ninja Prophecy is already weighing on him too. His considering if he might be the Green Ninja is of extra interest because of how the Green Ninja Prophecy and the--I wouldn't call it obsession, possibly fixation?--with who it is factors into his later actions, but we'll get to that later.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 19).

This one in particular gets me because it comes after Wu mentions Garmadon becoming more evil. It is a statement of power. Wu knows that the legacy of Spinjitzu now rests in his hands alone. He cannot let himself fall the way Garmadon did. He cannot disappoint his father. Whether or not the FSM intended it, Wu always knew the fate of the world rested, at least in part, upon his shoulder. He knew this from the time he was a young boy and it remains in his mind to this day.

Now, these quotes are indirect, but they all point to one clear idea: As a child, Wu internalized the idea that he alone is responsible for keeping Ninjago safe. He will play a pivotal role in its history.

There's not evidence in this book that the FSM's was a bad father, per se. However, just because one doesn't set out to harm their children, doesn't mean they won't. I often say Wu has an "Atlas complex," which I have no idea if it is an actual concept but use it to refer to this idea. Wu feels as though he is responsible for holding up the world, much like Atlas. He must keep the balance, he must solve the Green Ninja prophecy, he must make his father proud.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 61).

I'm going to get further into what this means for Wu as a teacher to the current Ninja Team, but for now let's look at Wu's first foray into teaching.

Morro. Wu's Biggest Mistake.

That might seem like an overstatement, but it's not.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

Okay he says regret, not mistake, but I was paraphrasing.

Let's turn back to his quote about his destiny. Wu writes, "Is my life's mission to be the Green Ninja? Or maybe it will be to find the Green Ninja and protect him (or her)??"

From a very young age, Wu was not only aware of the Green Ninja but prophecy but also thinking about his place in it. We see this again when he takes Morro in and trains him.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added)

A big thing Wu is criticized for here is making Morro believe he is meant to be more. That he is the Chosen One. And Morro, being a young homeless orphan just now given some semblance of power and protection, latches onto that. And I can see it, but when you take into account the above that he was trained from (likely) a younger age than Morro and given a similar level of responsibility, it becomes more understandable. Wu is just doing what he was taught. He doesn't believe that he is harming Morro until it is too late.

This is the entire story, but I'm specifically going to be discussing 1:36 onwards here. I also wanted to add that rewatching this scene made me lay down on the floor! What the fuck! But I digress.

There's a lot going on in this scene. For one, Wu washing his hands of Morro in some ways, but not others. He turns his back on Morro when he tells him that destiny has decided, but looks at him again when Morro storms out. He goes to save Morro from the Grundal, but decides that he cannot "teach those who would not listen." Most importantly, when Morro leaves to go find the Tomb of the FSM, Wu leaves the door open. He waits for Morro to return, but never goes after him. And Morro never comes back.

Wu gives Morro's fate a dismissive response at the end of his ghost story ("I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm") but it's clear he still cares deeply about him in the finale of the season.

Wu's VA in this is phenomenal btw. That "Please Morro!" and "MORRO!" make my heart ache.

Morro believed Wu stopped caring, but he didn't. Even after all he's done, even after trying to destroy all of Ninjago--destroying what Wu had spent his life trying to protect--Wu tries to save him. He begs for Morro to come with him. Morro refuses, Wu watches him perish.

Someone else Wu is close to is gone. Wu again considers himself responsible. Everything is his fault.

And finally, we reach Wu today. A cautious, secretive man. He loves his students, this much is clear. Even as early as the pilots, he drops his wise teacher persona to joke around with them.

As with Morro, he trains them like his father did him. He even uses the same methods his father used when he trains them.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 32)

While he is hard on the Ninja, wanting them to succeed and training them to help defend the Realm, he lets his guard down more than it seems he did with Morro. He also learned a valuable message from his experience with Morro when he hides the Green Ninja Prophecy from the Ninja, getting angry when they start to push themselves in the same way Morro did upon learning about it. It's clear he doesn't want a repeat.

Now, I can't speak for later seasons (I will eventually) but this fear of repeats, his students going down a dark path because they're tempted by power or greatness, losing someone else, likely drives Wu not telling them other important information. That is just a passing thought though.

Final notes:

I'm currently in the process of rewatching S7: Hands of Time. I actually got this ask right after finishing EP68: Scavengers, which opens with Wu having a nightmare. In it, he and Misako are walking outside of Yang's temple. While walking, Misako delivers this line in response to Wu reminiscing about the time they've spent together:

(Source: Scavengers/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

This line, to me, is Wu's subconscious trying to tell him something he needs to hear. It's hinting at what might be his greatest flaw. Wu is haunted by his past, by his mistakes. He finds it difficult to tell others because of both his guilt and his desire to not put that worry upon them. In this very season, he makes the mistake of trying to face his past on his own, and he nearly dies for it.

In the same episode, you see Wu trying to make sure Lloyd doesn't make the same mistakes.

(Source: Prev)

Wu stresses the important of the team. It's as if he sees Lloyd blaming himself for what happened to Wu, sees him doing the same thing Wu has, and is trying to prevent him from doing the same thing. This is further emphasized when, after Wu falls asleep (well, fakes falling asleep), Lloyd says "Wu's mistake was going in alone. So was mine."

Master Wu is, like many characters in this show, someone who is more complex than meets the eye. He is not just a wise, old teacher. He is a man who, throughout his life, has made mistakes and carries the weight of each of them on his shoulders. He is a man who tasks himself with making up for those every day. He is a man who wants better for his students, his family.

Until the day he dies, he will guide and protect his students. And possibly? Even after death too.

[elytrafemme]

my best friend (no. 4, i'll start assigning emojis soon for lore followers) asked me about BPD and i told them i'd talk more about it in person because BPD is the exact overlap of my own lived experience (note: i am not diagnosed but have extensive history with BPD in a secret more confusing way) and my psychological interest. but like now i'm thinking about it and generally speaking i think anything that was a symptom towards BPD i experienced has either grown more mild now that i'm out of an active trauma situation, OR has just become part of what i consider my amorphous CPTSD thing,

but i do like. think about the efforts to avoid perceived/real abandonment. and maybe i've not gone to the lengths some folks might with this but to be honest the more i think back to my own personal history the more i realize that i do in fact repeatedly do insane shit to avoid abandonment 😭

[milfsloverblog]

Hello author ! I have a request for Larrisa. Reader is a prostitute and Larissa goes to her to forget Morticia. May I ask for shifted cock ? Thank you keep up the good work 🥳

Unraveled Illusions (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x prostitute!reader

A/N: Slowly going through my request list. I loved this idea, wrote this tonight instead of preparing my lessons for next week (work can wait). I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request!!

tw: shapeshifted cock

You thought when your latest client picked you, it was for your body. After all, that's what most people are paying for. They weren’t looking for conversation or connection—just the fantasy of intimacy.

Over the years, you’d learned to read them: the ones who worshipped breasts, ass, legs, as well as many other common—and uncommon—things. Larissa seemed like a hair woman, judging by the way her fingers twisted through your locks, keeping you bent over the bed.

She hadn’t touched you beyond that, though. One hand was locked around your hair, the other... Well, she was stroking herself, seemingly content to maintain the distance between your bodies. It was unusual. Clients usually tried to consume you, to use you until there was nothing left. But Larissa, this woman with her piercing gaze and sharp cheekbones, seemed more like a collector.

You could hear her laboured breathing behind you. But it wasn’t pleasure—at least not entirely. There was something raw in it. Frustration, maybe. Longing.

You turned your head, curious to catch her expression, but her grip tightened, and she guided your face back toward the headboard.

"Stay."

Her voice was low, almost commanding, but there was something fragile underneath it. Something you’d seen before in others: a woman who wasn’t really here with you.

It always came down to projection, didn’t it? You weren’t yourself in these moments—you were the canvas they painted on. Larissa, too, was searching for someone else.

"What's her name?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Larissa's movements faltered.

“Don’t talk.”

You didn’t listen.

“Her name,” you repeated, turning your face enough to glimpse her. "The one you’re thinking of."

She scoffed, shaking her head, but didn’t deny it.

“Not everything has to be spelt out,” she muttered, but the way her shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.

This woman—this ghost—haunted her.

“You know you’ll feel better if you say it,” you pushed gently, straightening enough to sit back on your knees. Larissa stilled, her hand falling away.

She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, and you weren’t sure if she was trying to gather herself or find an escape. Finally, she muttered one word.

“Morticia.”

Her lips barely moved when she said it, like she was afraid of summoning something painful.

"Good." You let the name sit between you, an offering of sorts. “Now, was that so hard?”

Her icy blue eyes snapped to yours, narrowing.

“Do you always try to psychoanalyze your clients?”

“Only when they make it this easy.” You smiled, softening the edges of the dig.

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Larissa smiled back. It wasn’t warm—not yet—but there was something wry in it, something almost playful.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“A little.”

She exhaled a short laugh, running a hand through her hair. The updo she’d tried to keep intact earlier was half undone now, strands curling rebelliously around her face. You thought she looked beautiful like this—dishevelled and human.

You didn’t often allow yourself to feel for clients. It was dangerous, after all. But something about Larissa's loneliness, the way it clung to her like a second skin, called to you.

“You miss her,” you said softly, not a question.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t deny it.

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

“No.” The word was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. But the way her fingers trembled slightly as she worked to rebutton her blouse betrayed her.

She stood abruptly, reaching down for her pants that she quickly put back on.

“I should go,” she muttered.

“Larissa,” you said, her name falling from your lips without thought.

She froze, her hand on the door handle. Slowly, she turned, her eyes searching yours.

"Say that again," she murmured.

“Larissa.”

There was a flicker of something in her gaze, something raw and unguarded.

“You almost sound like her,” she said softly. Her voice wavered, but her expression was steel.

You crossed the room, closing the space between you, emboldened by her hesitation. When you reached her, you lifted a hand, letting your fingers hover near her temple. “Do you want me to be her?”

She swallowed hard. “You can’t.”

“No,” you agreed. “I can’t. Because in what world would she ever want to be with someone like you?”

The words were cruel, but you’d seen what women like her responded to. Pain. It was familiar to them. Comforting, even. You held your breath, waiting for her reaction.

Her eyes flared, something igniting in their depths.

She stepped forward, her presence filling the air between you, heavy and electric. It took everything you had not to retreat—not to give her the satisfaction of seeing you falter. She was close now, too close, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours, turbulent and searching. They flickered like a storm barely held in check, and you wondered if she was about to lash out or leave altogether.

Your heart raced, an unpredictable rhythm, and you weren’t sure if it was fear or desire that caused it. Maybe both. Then, before you could steel yourself, she closed the distance.

Her lips crashed against yours, a punishing press of mouth on mouth. It was rough and demanding, all sharp edges and no finesse, but you met her fervour head-on, refusing to let her dominate entirely. You pushed back, kissing her with just as much bite as she gave.

It was the right move. A low growl escaped her throat as her hands found your hips, gripping tightly. She pulled you against her, guiding you down onto the bed without breaking the kiss. The mattress dipped beneath your combined weight as she covered you, her lips relentless.

The kiss was messy, a heady mix of clashing teeth and lingering wine. Her perfume lingered faintly on her skin, a floral note beneath the heat of the moment. It was intoxicating, but not enough to distract you.

Your hands worked quickly, curling around the collar of her blouse and tugging her closer. The buttons she had so meticulously fastened earlier came undone with ease under your fingers, and when you finally managed to peel the fabric off her shoulders, she hovered above you, breathless and dishevelled.

“You’re an idiot,” she growled, and you knew she wasn’t talking to you but rather herself.

“You’re a cunt,” you shot back, breathless but smiling.

She pulled back just far enough to smirk, the expression sharp and self-assured. “You are what you eat,” she quipped before diving back in.

A laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected but genuine. The sound didn’t seem to bother her; if anything, it spurred her on. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to anchor herself.

Her weight pressed down on you, solid and comforting in its intensity. Your hands roamed to her biceps, gripping them, feeling the tension in her muscles as they shifted and flexed beneath your touch. She moved with purpose, her hands sliding over your body, down to your hips, then lower still.

Your legs moved instinctively, wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. The fabric of her pants rubbed against your skin, and when her hardened length brushed against your core through the layers, you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you.

She hummed softly, rolling her hips against yours.

"Larissa, please," you begged, the words tumbling out more earnestly than you'd intended.

Her movement stilled. Rising to her feet, she left you sprawled on the bed as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she reached for the zipper of her pants. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she slid them and her panties down in one fluid motion. Your eyes stayed locked on her face, unblinking, even as she stepped out of the fabric and crawled back toward you, her movements deliberate.

Your arms stretched toward her as she closed the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, you reached into your discarded purse beside you, your fingers quickly finding a condom and tearing it open with practised ease.

The other hand drifted down her body, brushing over the curve of her breasts, the smooth line of her navel, and lower. When you felt the soft hair below her belly button, your fingers ventured further, wrapping around her cock, heavy and hot in your palm.

The first experimental tug earned you a soft groan. The second, a deeper growl. By the third, her forehead came to rest against yours, her breathing laboured as you carefully rolled the condom over her length. Satisfied, you lifted your eyes to hers, offering a small nod of readiness.

She crushed her lips to yours in a fierce kiss, pushing you back onto the bed. The kiss was rough, more teeth than softness, and you moaned against her mouth, your breath hitching when her fingers finally found you. They slipped through your folds with practised precision, circling your clit with just the right pressure to make you gasp. Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, her control maddeningly exact.

Sweat slicked your skin as your breaths mingled, and more than once, she brought you right to the edge of release only to pull back, leaving you teetering on the brink. By the third time, you shot her an exasperated glare.

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry in the slightest,” she said, her grin equal parts smug and infuriating.

Your response caught in your throat when she finally positioned herself at your entrance. With a deliberate push of her hips, she filled you, the stretch overwhelming in the best way. You whimpered, unable���or unwilling—to hold back the sound.

"Larissa," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

She buried her face against your neck, her breath hot against your skin as she groaned. It almost sounded like a name—Morticia, perhaps—but before you could linger on the thought, she thrust again, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you cry out.

Your arms wrapped around her shoulders as her pace quickened, each movement precise and powerful. Her hands roamed your body, squeezing, gripping, and claiming. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe she wanted you—not whoever haunted her mind. But you quickly dismissed the thought. This was just a transaction, nothing more.

Her pace grew erratic, her body trembling as she neared her climax. To your surprise, you felt your own release building, an unfamiliar sensation creeping over you. You rarely let yourself enjoy these moments with clients, but something about Larissa’s focus, the weight of her presence, unravelled you.

The wave of pleasure hit suddenly, your cry sharp and unrestrained. At almost the same moment, Larissa thrust deep one final time, her body going taut as she groaned through her release. The condom dulled the sensation, but you swore you could still feel the faint pulse of her inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. Then, with a grunt, she pulled away, disposing of the condom in the bin before beginning to redress in silence.

“Dinner?” she asked casually, buttoning her blouse without looking at you.

You laughed, reaching back to zip up your dress. “I don’t have dinner with clients.”

Sliding onto a nearby stool, you bent down to clasp your heels.

“Even if they pay you?” she asked from the doorway, her tone light but curious.

Looking up, you caught her gaze, noticing the brief flick of her eyes to your cleavage before they returned to your face. A smirk tugged at your lips, mirrored instantly by hers.

“Good night, Larissa,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

She chuckled, a low sound that lingered even as she turned to leave.

“Good night.”

————————————————————————

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[sovamurka]

Thinking about how Ma Meilleure Ennemie can be considered a continuation and an interesting thematic expansion of Enemy.

"No shit, lmao, they both have the word enemy in them".

Like, yes, that's exactly the point.

But there's more to it than meets the eye.

We all know that Enemy in many ways is meant to be from Jinx's perspective (music video supports that) - it's HER internal worries, it's HER exhaustingly sad sarcasm, it's HER wreck of emotions that she can't stop.

The song explains why and how she basically convinced herself that she's a curse and will never be a saint no matter what she does.

She exclaims that everybody wants to be her enemy. For her this word means "the person that everyone hates, the person who everyone abandoned, the person for whom no one prays or hopes".

And then in Ma Meilleure Ennemie Ekko... agrees with her - she IS his enemy. But to him this word has so much more meaning and underlying feelings than just "the person I'm against, the person I hate".

For him enemy is also someone who's always near - if not in body, then in mind. Someone who truly shares history with you and can hurt you in more ways than one.

Who you hate so much because you had too much love in your heart for them.

Hatred is not the opposite of love, it's just love with a minus instead of plus, the true opposite of love is indifference. And Ekko feels anything but indifference towards Jinx, even though he tried so many times to convince himself otherwise.

First verse of the song is basically his admission that she's an essential part of him - no matter what he does, no matter how many times he forces himself to forget, no matter how much he tries to keep his enemy out of his mind.

He knows he should stay away, he knows he should keep his own heart under hundreds of locks to not let anyone break it again. But he can't help it. He still loves her despite everything, including his own self.

That's why he also agrees that she's indeed a curse. The most beautiful one. She haunts his thoughts and he hates himself for finding comfort in it. But it's better to be in a bad company than alone, am I right?

The chorus of Ma Meilleure Ennemie sounds almost like a last resort - a mutual attempt to push each other away.

To make matters worse, the whole "meilleur/pire" (best/worst) dichotomy that is constantly present in the song literally from the beginning, is a simple yet clever play on a famous wedding vow - "Pour le meilleur et pour le pire" (translation: for the best and the worst of it). The more they try to convince each other that they should not be together, the more they intertwine their fates because they repeat this vow again and again.

And then in the second verse of Ma Meilleure Ennemie Jinx finally lets herself say things she was so afraid to say before. Lets her feelings and thoughts be known in the most vulnerable way possible. Not with Enemy's upset angry screaming but with this gentle melodic whisper.

And what does she have to say about her feelings towards the person who she shares so much complicated history with?

That his name cuts her open every time she hears it. And that's why she doesn't say it - it hurts her so much.

Ekko's name literally echoes in her mind. Jinx can't even say for sure whether this pain she feels comes from hatred that formed over the years or from pure sweetness, softness and gentleness that she still keeps in her heart for him.

And then comes Je t’avais dit: “Ne regarde pas en arrière” (translation: I told you not to look back) which is such an obvious Orpheus and Eurydice myth reference when you say it out loud.

Albeit, their situation is an interesting take on this myth.

Let me explain. Orpheus had a chance to bring his wife Eurydice back to the land of the living if he guided her there without looking back or else she would end up in the underworld again. There are several versions of the myth that give different explanations on why Orpheus turns back, but they all agree on one thing - it was done because of love.

However, in Ekko's case it's kind of a reverse situation - Jinx will disappear if he turns away from her.

That's what, in my opinion, Turn Your Back and I'll Disappear song means, actually.

And here, at the end of second verse, Jinx explicitly tells Ekko that he shouldn't look back. He should leave past behind, should leave her behind, let her disappear from his life and from this world altogether or else everything will get infinitely worse.

But of course he doesn't, of course he turns back (time) again and again.

He does it because he loves her, just like Orpheus loves Eurydice.

Despite not having much screen time, timebomb still managed to tell such a wonderful intricately woven story.

I analysed just a small part of Jinx and Ekko's symbolic lyricism. Believe me, there's still so much more to talk about and uncover since this story is told through different forms of art that are all worth your attention.

[ponderingmoonlight]

You're in ur Sanemi/Kny brainrot era n I'm loving it. But may I entice you with JJK?? Gojo getting unsealed just to find out his wife was blinded by the higher ups who held a grudge against him

The world has been dark for a while now, a never-ending night with no dawn. You lost track of time a long time ago, of days blending into weeks, maybe even months. Ever since the love of your life was taken away from you, nothing was the same as before.

Chaos broke out, a wave of sadness, devastation but also anger crushing down on you. As his beloved wife, many cherished you. But people like the elders…

It was a well-found opportunity for them. Now that Satoru was gone without return, they were free to let their anger out on someone.

And that someone was you.

Since they took your sight in exchange for ‘the horrible things your husband has done to humanity’, the world has been a blur of sounds, scents, and the haunting memories of the last time you saw him.

Satoru.

You sit in silence, your fingers tracing the familiar patterns of the fabric draped over your lap. It's one of his, Gojo's favorite haoris he only wore to special occasions or when he tried to seduce you into bed. You hold onto it like a lifeline, the last tangible piece of him you have left. You don’t know what’s worse: the darkness that swallowed your sight or the hollow emptiness that came with his absence. The higher-ups... they told you he was gone for good, that he was never coming back.

But you never believed them. You couldn't.

The door creaks open, and you stiffen. You've grown accustomed to the way people move around you, the way they think you won’t notice their presence. But this... this is different. You feel it - a surge of cursed energy, powerful and unmistakable. It’s overwhelming, drowning out everything else in its presence. Who is this? A sorcerer you didn’t meet before?

“(y/n).”

His voice is the first thing that breaks through the fog and pondering, that familiar lilt that used to make your heart race. You don’t dare to breathe, afraid that this is just another cruel trick your mind is playing on you. But then you hear it again, closer this time, filled with a mix of relief and something darker, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“(y/n).”

Your name. Unmistakably out of his mouth.

“Satoru?”

Your voice trembles, barely a whisper. The air feels heavier, charged with his cursed energy as it presses against your skin.

You feel his hand before anything else, warm and solid as it cups your cheek. He’s here. He’s real. But the second your fingers touch his, you notice the way they twitch, the subtle tremor running through them.

“What did they do to you?”

His voice cracks, and it shatters something inside you. Of course, Satoru doesn’t know what the elders did to you. He didn’t learn about the fact that they blinded you on his behalf.

You try to smile, but it falters.

“They... they wanted to punish you, Satoru. They knew taking you from me wasn't enough. Just in chase you decide to come back…”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can feel his hesitation, the way his breath hitches as if he’s trying to hold back the storm raging inside him.

“They took my sight,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“They wanted me to suffer in the dark... to make sure I never see the light again, that I will never be able to see you again, even if you manage to return.”

A sharp intake of breath is his only response at first. Then, he pulls you into his arms, holding you so tightly you can feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own. The world outside is chaos, but here in his embrace, it’s just the two of you. And for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything will be okay, that his return will make everything right.

But the darkness is still there, an endless void behind your eyes, a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. And you know, deep down, you'll never be the same again. Your whole marriage will never be the same again.

What if something like this happens again? What if your husband eventually doesn’t manage to escape? Those past months, you never lost hope, always waited right here on the couch for his return. But those cruel moments of waiting, of losing that spark of hope in your heart taught you more than urgently that even Satoru Gojo can’t escape everything.

“I’ll make them pay for this,” Satoru murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, promising retribution.

“I swear on everything, (y/n). I’ll make them regret the day they ever thought they could hurt you.”

You nod, pressing your face into his chest, breathing in his scent as if trying to commit it to your memory.

“I know you will. But, Satoru... I’m just glad you’re back.”

He pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling your face as if you’re something fragile, something precious.

“I’m never leaving you again. Not now, not ever.”

You want to believe him, want to trust that things will somehow return to the way they were. But even as he holds you close, you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve lost.

And as you lean into his arms, the darkness remains, an inescapable part of you now. But with Satoru here, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to live in it. Together.

[wannabanauthor]

What if Tommy and Eddie discussed the breakup, and it goes from serious to funny?

So Eddie goes to Tommy's house and is like "I'm here to check on you, let's get a beer."

Tommy tries to refuse, but Eddie says, "You broke my best friend's heart, so the least you could do is explain your reasoning to me."

Tommy reluctantly goes. After a few beers, he starts rambling.

"I fucked up, and I don't know how to fix it or even if I should fix it. I was falling in love with him, and it snuck up on me. I didn't expect for it to get more serious," Tommy says. "I thought it was just going to be fun for awhile, and we'd go our separate ways."

"Your second date with him was to his sister's wedding," Eddie points out.

"Oh so sue me! It's not my fault I caved. He gave me these pleading puppy eyes, and I found myself agreeing."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Well, if you never expected it to get serious and didn't want it to get serious, then why haven't you found your rebound yet? It's been weeks. Even Chimney and Maddie are telling Buck to start dating again."

Tommy groans into his hands and then rubs his temples. "Fucking traitors."

"Well, I know this hot priest-"

"Been there, done that," Tommy says and takes a swig of his beer.

Eddie looks at him with a bewildered look on his face. "What?"

"What?" Tommy responds with a shrug. "I was raised Catholic. Guilt about sexuality is easy to spot, but he made the first move."

"Do I even want to know how?"

"Ever had sex in a confession booth?"

Eddie's eyes are wide and horrified. "Please don't tell me-"

"It was an old booth in storage, but it was still pretty hot. Once I admitted to myself that I was gay, I had a lot of catching up to do."

Then Tommy goes quiet and gets sad again. "I'll never meet another Evan in my life. I think he's ruined me for other men."

"Don't say that. While, I prefer you two together, you can always find someone else."

Tommy snorts in disbelief. "Yeah, not gonna happen. At least when it comes to sex. His adorable face and cheery smile haunt my dreams, and his proficiency with dick makes it impossible for me to get it up even when watching porn."

"Oh no, I need more alcohol for this," Eddie says and orders some shots.

He and Tommy go through a couple of them.

Tommy's tongue gets looser. "His dick is fantastic. Perfect length, thickness, and stamina. I know my body pretty well, and let me tell you, the prostate orgasms from him were out of this world. I barely lasted five minutes before coming just from him fucking me."

Eddie is drunk enough that he's not even fazed.

"Not to mention he has this slight curve that makes him hit the spot every time, and goddamn, I miss that dick and the dork attached to it," Tommy continues. "He made me feel comfortable and safe and cherished. Being around him was effortless, mostly, and I miss him so much."

Tommy starts sniffling, and then tears roll down his cheeks. "Fuck, I don't want to cry."

Eddie puts a comforting hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Call him. He's a mess and miserable without you. He's been baking so much that the entire station's hemoglobin A1C levels are pre-diabetic. We had to force him to focus on savory cooking."

Tommy shakes his head. "He doesn't want to hear from me. I broke his heart. I'm the last person that should be contacting him."

"He does want to hear from you. He's only been baking and cooking so much to stop himself from contacting you because he wants to give you space and respect your boundaries post-breakup."

"What would I even say? That I panicked and ran? I told him he would break my heart if we moved in together. There's no coming back from that."

Eddie sighs and sets his drink down. "Listen, the first time you ended things with Buck, I told him he was an idiot but to call you anyway. Now it's your turn to be the idiot. Go get your man back. Call him. Talk to him. He'd settle for a text. Just do something! You both are suffering without each other. You don't have to move in with him. He just wants you back in his life."

More tears run down Tommy's face and it turns into full sobs. Eddie scoots closer to him and gives him a hug. Tommy clings to him, sobbing even harder.

After drinks, they stop by a taco place and sober up while eating delicious birria tacos. They go back to Tommy's place, and Eddie sleeps on the couch just to make sure Tommy is alright. Before he falls asleep, he texts Buck.

"If Tommy contacts you, go easy on him. He's an idiot too."

When Tommy wakes up the next morning, he nearly stops breathing when he sees that Evan texted him.

"I miss you." was all it said.

Tommy cradles his phone in his hands for several minutes before pressing the call button. He holds his breath until Evan answers.

"I miss you too," Tommy says.

[makeyoumine69]

Farewell Serenade (Memory Reboot Epilogue)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Patrick are finally reunited, but there are still so many secrets the two of you have to unravel, and some of them could be dangerous, especially when the echoes of the past are still haunting you like ghosts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Tainted love vibes, blood kink, oral sex, penetrative sex, body worship, hand jobs, anal fingering, cum shot, spanking, marking, teasing and humiliating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, praise kink, dark themes, angst, hurt/comfort, obsession, self harm, mental issues, Patrick and reader are switches. I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 14k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Asketa — Farewell Serenade; Vowl.,Sace — 2000; FM-84,Ollie Wride — Running in the Night.

𝐀/𝐍: Hello everyone! I don't even know what to say except that I will miss this story so much, but it will always be in my heart. I want to thank everyone who supported me on this journey, I love you all!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST], [CHAPTER 5].

When was the last time you traveled outside of America? You didn't really remember because you never really felt the need to, but after all the stressful things that had happened in your life lately, your subconscious told you that you definitely needed a break—a reboot that would give your life a fresh start. So after the drug case was over, with the help of Vincent and your lawyer, who came to New York almost immediately when you needed them, you and Patrick didn't think much about going abroad—somewhere far away where no one could find you. And so it was that Vincent's random story about his last vacation in Germany, to Stuttgart to be exact, became the deciding factor in your choice of where to go. 

The flight to Stuttgart went as smoothly as possible, since Bateman couldn't stand anything but a private jet or the most expensive seats in first class, and although it wasn't your first time flying first class, this time it felt so different, so special and memorable. The thing that surprised you the most was that you didn't really talk much about all the shit that happened between you two. Although Patrick tried to bring it up several times, but after you asked him not to dwell on it and just enjoy the fact that the two of you were finally... Finally what? Together? 

At first this new reality was very strange and confusing.

All the negativity, anger, and despair began to disappear as you realized that happiness and the freedom to follow your own desires was the memory reboot machine you both were looking for. That only by accepting your true selves could you finally break the chains of depression that had been biting at your skin for so long.

A soft, barely perceptible breeze fanned your face and the sun shone brightly over Stuttgart, the scenery unfolding before your eyes more like a picturesque frame from a romance movie than reality. Even after spending several days in Germany, you couldn't believe that all these things around you were not a dream, but your new life. The villa you stayed in was absolutely amazing, as it had two floors and a huge outdoor terrace with a large pool—Patrick enjoyed swimming in it so much that one day he told you he was going to buy this villa. At first, you didn't believe him until he took you to the bank to close the deal. Was that necessary? Was it an act to show off his wealth? You never really asked, because you were taught that sometimes asking too many questions could only complicate your life, and you didn't want to spiral and start the cycle that you managed to break.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you splashed the water with your legs. The sun reflected off the water, making it shimmer as if someone had poured a bucket of little diamonds into it, and little ripples appeared here and there as Bateman swam around, ass naked, and you couldn't really remember how you'd imagined seeing something like that, nor did you imagine that one day things that happened in real life would outshine your fantasies.

"What are you thinking about?" Patrick's velvety voice stopped your train of thoughts, and before you could even react you felt him grab your ankle—he was half in the water, hot and pumped up after his heavy workout. "You seem...worried?"

You frowned, but then chuckled as he tickled your inner thigh. "Nothing special," you replied, looking at him and leaning down to stroke his wet hair. "It's just... don't you think it was a bit imprudent to buy this house?"

The man chuckled. "Why not?"

"Patrick," you cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to concentrate on what you were about to say. "You don't have to pretend...you don't have to throw your money around like you're trying to buy everything and everyone...you don't have to do any of that...not with me."

Bateman didn't say anything, his prominent eyebrows knitted together, and you already knew what that meant—he was already overthinking, overreacting, overstepping his own emotional boundaries.

"Hey," you tried to pull him out of his stupor. "I didn't mean..."

"It's my money," Patrick suddenly blurted out, still frowning. "And I can do whatever I want with it."

God, this man always made trouble out of nothing.

But he was right. After all, his money was his to spend, and you could only give him advice or opinions he would never really care about—such an attitude only irritated him—having the last word was something he couldn't live without. He was addicted to being in control of the situation, of the person he was interacting with. It felt as if he had the chance to control the whole world, he would, but who were you to judge him when you had already promised yourself never to try to change or fix him. Just because Bateman never really needed someone to fix him, he needed someone to accept him for who he was while he tried to fix himself.

"You're not listening? Again?"

Patrick let go of your leg and swam away from where you were sitting. Sometimes his childish behavior really got on your nerves, although you imagined you were in his place, acting like a fucking teacher trying to explain such basic things as being more human to a bratty kid who never really wanted to know—what it was like? Being more in touch with humanity.

"Oh, God," you almost cussed, splashing water with your foot. "Don't be like that! I didn't say anything..." a palpable irritation erupted from your chest. "Well, maybe I did, but you know I didn't mean to insult you."

Watching him swim as smoothly as a fish in water, you gasped without even realizing it, your eyes catching every glimpse of his toned muscles, his firm ass sinking under the water, but you could still see the outline of it—you wanted to fucking get a bite of it—but the moment was probably ruined by your rather offensive remarks.

"We're not in a school," Patrick answered suddenly from a distance. "And I'm not a schoolboy to be offended," his grumbling caused a soft, barely audible chuckle to fall from your parted lips, and at some point you caught yourself thinking that you were ready to admit that you were wrong, just to end this caricature conflict. "Will you swim for once? Since the first day, you just sit on the lounge chair or something, but you never go in the water," he added, and you crossed your arms in defense. "Are you afraid of water or what?"

Don’t even start it.

"I... I don't really want to talk about it," you stammered nervously, brushing your hair, hoping he would catch your eloquent gesture and change the subject. "The scars are still fresh..."

"Scars?" He repeated your words and swam closer to you, placing himself between your open legs. "This is getting interesting."

"No-"

"Oh, yes," the man snickered amusedly, stroking the inner side of your legs with his wet hands, causing you to shiver. "You can tell me...I promise not to...uh...I promise to take it seriously."

This liar.

With a heavy sigh, you took a moment to think about whether you should have opened up to him completely or if it was not the right time. Were you really ready for this?

"When I was a kid, I almost drowned," you confessed openly, but curtly. "And, you won't believe it, but I can't even remember the last time I talked about it with anyone...because...it's not the kind of thing you want to talk about."

Patrick didn't interrupt you. He listened carefully and rested his chin on your knee. You didn't even notice how you cradled his face and stroked his cheek, then the top of his head, how his brown soft hair was soaked in water, making it look even longer than it usually did.

"Was it..." he began to speak, cautiously, as if afraid to say the wrong thing—it amazed you. "Someone's fault or..."

You shook your head. "No! It was nobody's fault... I was just a reckless kid, but after that I have a terrible phobia of anything that has to do with water."

"You don't take baths?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to push him under, but his cocky, boyish smile made you stop, and instead of doing what you thought would teach him a lesson, you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, pulling his closer, the man purring in return, nuzzling against your skin.

"Of course I meant open water," you almost whispered, your voice getting deeper, softer, laced with not just arousal but pure affection. "That unfortunate day I was in LA with my family and there was a storm or something...but it didn't stop me from wanting to find some starfish...I literally ran away from my parents and got into the water...before I was washed away by a huge wave."

"I never thought you were such a bratty child," Bateman murmured, grazing the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his lips sucking the little marks his teeth left. "But now I'd remember that you can be even more foolhardy than you already are."

Bastard...my bastard.

Still amazed at his unnatural concern, you bent down to peck him on the forehead, but the moment you did, you almost slipped into the water, and Patrick, instead of preventing it, only helped you to literally fall into his arms, and once you were in the water, you squealed.

"Oh, GOD!" You panicked and began to wriggle nervously in the water. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

To your irritation, Bateman just laughed and held you closer. "Shh, I've got you," he grinned and wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up a bit. "You don't have to worry when I'm around, you know?"

Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him press you against his chest. "Really?"

"Any doubts?"

The water was so warm, but his body was much warmer, you could practically feel the tightness of his muscles as he swam to the side, still holding you close; his question was hanging heavy in the air as you didn't know what to say. Did you really feel safe in his arms? 

"Do you really care what I think?" You asked him back, your eyes wandering down to his parted lips.

"Answering a question with another question..." he whispered above your ear, his nose brushing gently, almost sensually, along your cheek. "...is a thing I hate so fucking much..." With that, Patrick grabbed your ass, his mouth so close to yours. "Have the guts to tell me you don't trust me..."

"That's not....what I wanted to say," you gasped into his lips as the two of you became more and more aroused, twirling in the water like a couple of swans. "I trust you, I really do!" 

"'But something's wrong anyway?"

"No..."

"Do you think I'll hurt you again?" Bateman asked, looking intently into your eyes, his arms wrapped around your shaking body, although you were no longer panicking. "Leave you? Fool you?"

With a loud exhale, you tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let you.  "Stop it," you replied curtly. "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?" 

For a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other, at your intertwined limbs, your naked flesh, the way your breath mingled in a rapid flow—you were more connected than either of you could truly imagine. But if you were about to admit it, you couldn't be so sure that Bateman felt the same way about you.

"Look, we never really talked about it," you continued after a pause. "We never talked about us."

Now it was his turn to turn away and distance himself from you, but as soon as he let you go, an icy fear paralyzed you and made you cling to his shoulders, no matter how pathetic you looked.

"For God's sake...you're not going to drown...it's a fucking pool!" Patrick's words hit you like a high-speed train, but you didn't let him go.

After a short sigh the man leaned his broad back against the wall of the pool, your hands were still on his shoulders and he didn't take them off—a good sign, you thought as you slowly and carefully squeezed his muscles. Patrick let out a shaky gasp, you smiled at his reaction, but you were still not ready to let go of the current conversation.

"Patrick," you began in the sweetest voice you could muster before gently kissing his temple. "I just want to know-"

"Know what? Do you really want me to... confess or something?" His face broke into a wry, nervous grin. "In that case, I've got some bad news for you."

Why can't he shut up for a few seconds?

Annoyed, you suddenly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up completely, causing his eyebrows to arch in shock at your audacity. "I don't need any confessions, believe me," you muttered, pushing him harder against the marble wall behind him, completely forgetting that you were both still in the water. "I just want you to stop talking for me... and giving my words the wrong meaning. Is that too much to ask?"

When you removed your hand, you didn't really expect him to say no; you just crushed your lips against his, not even giving him a chance to react and take control back into his hands. But to be honest, Bateman didn't really struggle, on the contrary, he made a muffled sound as you sucked on his tongue, your mouth so eagerly dominating his hot one.

"Fuck," he cursed between kisses. "You're driving me crazy."

"I know," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist under the water, his strong hands resting on the edge of the pool, watching you tilt your head back and almost immediately taking it as a call to action, leaning forward to kiss your neck. "Mhmm-we're not going to count that as a confession, are we?"

You could hear him moan softly in response, his soft lips pecking at your skin, sending tingles up your nerve endings, setting them on fire, but you did your best to keep yourself together, not wanting to give up first—not when you had another fight... or maybe this wasn't a fight at all?

Patrick didn't leave you much time to think, to breathe, to resist when his hands found their way to your body again, but this time he acted much more possessive, groping your curves with such a strong excitement as if he was doing it for the first time. Panting softly, you hugged him and pulled him closer to you so that you were literally hanging on to him with your hands and legs. The water supported both of you from underneath, giving you a strange feeling of weightlessness. It felt surreal and incredible. For a second, you stopped doing everything to just look at him, to make sure he was real. 

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked as soon as he noticed your confusion. 

Damn all the nicknames he used, as well as his ability to use them. "Nothing...just making sure everything is real," you chuckled a bit shyly. "That I'm not sleeping."

"You're not," Bateman sneered, pushing his hips against yours to grind along your pubic bone - you almost lost it. "Because I'm going to make you feel much better than you can imagine in your dreams."

"That's very arrogant of you," you teased him back, but in the next second you moaned as the man subtly slid his hand between your bodies to rub your most sensitive spot between your legs. "But I... I like it..."

A low, soft chuckle escaped his chest. He was playing with you again, but only because you let him. At least you wanted to think so—it made you less embarrassed, but after all, there was nothing wrong with being obedient to a man you thought you were in love with. Especially if he didn't mind being a little submissive for you as well. 

A bit later, when your lips were puffy from the kisses and you were both so drenched in water that you were starting to cool down even though your bodies were radiating an immense amount of heat, Bateman lifted you out of the water without saying anything and placed you on the edge of the pool while he still remained in the water.

"Huh?" You huffed and looked down at him, confused. 

"Relax," he winked and spread your legs, stroking them as if preparing you for something bigger. "Told you, I got you. Always."

Always.

That one word stuck in your mind like an engraving you never asked for, but now you couldn't even imagine your life without him: his walnut eyes, his deep baritone and all those little moles that covered his perfect body... Everything about him was too much, it was overwhelming. If you could fucking drink him up like some kind of medicine that would flow through your system, if you could become one with him in the most direct sense of the word, to know his thoughts, to understand his mind...

It was never enough—you always wanted more, but now, when he was right between your spread thighs, his mouth exploring your tender flesh, inch by inch, his lips sucking and kissing you here and there, forcing you to shiver and grab his hair to bring him closer, and he didn't protest or scold you for pulling his hair—maybe you had a mental connection, an invisible thread connecting your brains, because Patrick could literally know exactly what you wanted. He knew where to pull and where to push, everything he did felt amazing, like he was inside your head.

"Patrick...fuck...it f-feels so fucking right," you whimpered before bringing a finger to your mouth and then having to bite down on it to stifle the moans as Bateman increased the pace of his caresses, his mouth relentless and his hands holding you in place—spread out and open for him. "Oh shit, keep going...please..."

Smirking, the man let out a wet pop as he pulled away from your core to look at you. "You don't have to ask," he licked his glistening lips, savoring the taste of you on them. "Though I do like it when you beg for me."

Of course you do, slut.

You didn't say it out loud, your finger was still in your mouth as you balanced on the edge of falling apart as Patrick went down on you again, helping himself with his hands as you trembled more and more—he wanted to see you unravel under his touch, collapse right into his mouth and you were more than happy to give it to him.

"A-ahhh...Pat-Patrick...mmm-yes...keep using your mouth like that," you encouraged him, quivering and barely breathing, your teeth almost sinking into your skin from how hard you were biting your finger. "Fuck...I'm so fucking close..." you pinched your hard nipple, your legs shaking in his grip. "Mmm...I love it...a-arhhh-fucking love it so much..."

An overwhelming pulse coursed through your veins, you thought you were going to faint, but Patrick's raspy voice became your anchor to reality amidst this madness, your heartbeat pounding against your eardrums like a hammer. One second—his mouth so hot against your flesh; two seconds—you couldn't control yourself anymore as his growl sent little vibrations that pushed you over the edge and then you finally imploded, letting a shock wave crush you. Bateman didn't stop even when you grabbed his hands from being too overstimulated, as he literally drank you dry. 

"Damn it, Bateman!" You yelled, staring down at him. "Slow down... do you want to kill me or what?"

Just as you said it, the man stopped and blinked several times—there was something off about his reaction, but when you tried to pull away, he shook his head as if trying to fight the sudden delusion.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was so shaky when you asked him that, but you were really worried.

Panting, Patrick wiped his lips with the back of his hand and finally got out of the pool to hover over you, lifting your legs with a practiced motion and bending them to press against your chest. "If I wanted to kill you," he said suddenly, aligning himself with your tight opening. "I'd kill you already...I've had so many chances."

"What? W-what are you talking about..." You wanted to ask him what the hell it was, but he never let you; the man was as selfish as ever when it came to fucking you.

Bateman pressed you harder to the floor, leaning on his hands, his biceps flexing as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, but with each passing second his thrusting became harder and faster, as if he was trying to lose himself in you. There was nothing gentle about it—you were facing the whole other side of him—you could tell by the way he was grinding his hips against yours. The level of penetration was so deep that you could feel the curve of his dick brushing mercilessly against the walls of your inner channel, causing you to literally writhe under him, not really knowing if you wanted to push him back or pull him closer.

At one point, his thrusts were so painful that you had to claw at his skin, but that didn't stop him, it just made him go faster. You could hear his balls slapping against your ass with such a loud noise that it made you close your eyes in embarrassment, and you weren't usually a shy person, but... dear God, this man was like a barrel of power and you never knew when it would explode and if you would survive.

"Patrick...mhmm...so deep...fuck!" You couldn't help but moan, your legs lifted so high that they almost floated over your shoulders. "Wait..."

You tried to call out to him, but he seemed not to be listening, his brain clouded with a crimson fog of rage, violence, brutality, and God only knew what else. But here, with you, he didn't dare to hurt you the way he always loved to hurt people and it made him sick that you became his personal kryptonite and if someone dared to touch you even with a finger—he would fucking destroy that person.

"FUCK," the man cursed loudly, as if he had finally come back to reality. "Why are you like this?" Patrick snuggled against you even tighter, pinning your wrists above your head and jackhammering into you with reckless abandon. "Why do you let me... do this to you... fuck... you're so fucking... mine... that it hurts..."

"Pat!" You squealed as you felt him push too deep into you, his dick definitely hitting your belly. "I want you to... listen to me," you blurted out in a breathless voice, the words coming out like a broken record. "...and calm down. Please!"

Bateman let out a guttural growl and wrapped his hands around your neck, not squeezing it, at least not yet. Whimpering, you wanted to claw at his flesh, even though you knew he hated any marks on his perfect skin, but now, when he was about to lose his mind for sure, you thought it was the right choice. Without hesitation, you grabbed his hands that were still around your neck, almost scratching him, and he hissed, but never really stopped pounding into you.

"I love you," you blurted out abruptly, losing your own breath as you realized what you had just said, but you didn't hesitate to repeat it again, more confidently. "I love you so much that I can't even find the right words to express my feelings!"

And now you finally managed to reach out to him through the red veil of lust that clouded his consciousness—the man stopped, his eyes searching desperately for yours only to look somewhere behind you—he was shocked, frightened and speechless. 

Maybe this was not the right time, but you couldn't rewind time.

After a short pause, Bateman shook his head as if trying to wake up. "These... sentiments..." he murmured barely perceptibly, still deep inside you but not moving. "I never thought you were capable of them."

"Why? Am I inhuman?"

"No-"

"So are you," you cupped his face, his skin literally scorching your hands with its heat - he was burning from the inside out, but you didn't care. "You're more human than you think...believe me."

For a gliding second, the two of you just stared at each other as he suddenly removed your hands and pulled away from you—it all happened so fast you didn't even have time to think. One moment you were one, and the next you were lying alone, naked and soaked with water, watching the love of your life walk into the house without saying a word.

Why does he always have to be like this?

Barely holding back your tears, you slowly stood up and, unlike Patrick, took the towel and wrapped it around your aching body. How could he leave you like that? You decided to open up and he just left? Without saying a word?

Crybaby. 

Your first thought was to follow him and confront him for acting like a fucking schoolboy, but you stopped yourself and decided it wasn't worth it—you would let him have it his way, because you didn't want to stoop to his level, you weren't pathetic. But if he wanted to be pathetic, you wouldn't interfere— being a babysitter wasn't appealing to you.

Later that day, as the sun began to set and it became a little cooler, you were still sitting outside, not really wanting to go inside, even though you were about to freeze to death, you preferred to be alone. Sitting on the soft lounge chair, you wrapped yourself in a white fluffy robe, even though you dried yourself, you still felt uncomfortable, as if Patrick's last words stuck to your skin like something slippery. Something you couldn't scrub off even if you wanted to. 

Trapped in your thoughts, you found yourself thinking about just going back to America. Yes, you could just leave this place without even talking to him and pay him back with his methods. The question was, would that make you feel better? You doubted it.

A short, refreshing breeze blew around you, making you curl up on the chair like a cat. Too overwhelmed with various ideas, thoughts, excuses you could find to somehow escape this whole situation, you didn't notice an approaching figure. Gracefully as ever, Bateman appeared right next to where you were resting. He was wearing nothing but white sweatpants, his hair still wet and slicked back. When you spotted him, you were not surprised—on the contrary, you expected him to come back, because this man was impatient and always craving attention, but this time there was something strange about him—you examined his posture only to see two glasses in his hands.

"Here," the man offered you a glass with a golden liquid in it—probably whiskey. "This will help you warm up."

Devoid of any emotion, you turned away from him, demonstrating that you didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to see him, and didn't feel like having a drink.

"Listen, I want to tell you something," Bateman continued his attempts, even though his agenda was still unknown to you. "You're going to need this." With that, the man placed a glass on the lounge chair next to your feet, before nestling into the chair on the other side of you. "One day I decided to go to the Tunnel, where I met a girl," he paused and took a sip of his drink, not really looking your way, as if afraid to meet your gaze. "She was pretty... not really beautiful, but pretty. And she was young, I could say she was very young...but already so wrecked."

The way he chuckled—the dark edge in his voice—made something heavy fall into your stomach and you took the glass of whiskey, your hands suddenly shaking, cold shivers running down your spine. The pause was getting too long, but you had no intention of rushing him. 

"So I took her back to my place, and she was drunk as hell by then," you could see his fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles turned white. "The bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut for a second. And then we fucked, but I didn't feel anything until I finally got my hands around her neck."

Eventually, you were glad that he had given you a moment to digest everything he had said. A sudden numbness washed over you, making it difficult to bring the glass to your lips, but when you managed to take a sip, the sharp alcohol burned your throat. But it didn't help. Not even a little.

With a shaky gasp, Bateman dared to look at you. "The thrill of the kill... was the only thing that could make me feel anything, but when I thought I was going to end her here and now... I realized she wasn't fighting," he paused again to finish his glass in one quick gulp. "She was fucking begging me to kill her... can you imagine that?"

You didn't know what to say, you were literally at a loss for words as itching tears began to well up in your eyes, and it had nothing to do with fear, it was all about the pain—you could feel it in every word he had just said. The unbridled, raw pain of a desperate man you happened to fall in love with.

"Why... why did you tell me all this?" You asked in a raspy voice.

"Because," he turned suddenly in your direction, almost getting up from the lounge chair, his breathing labored and uneasy. "I want you to know who you're dealing with... since you said you loved me..." Every word he said sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the already cold air surrounding you. "It's not too late to take back your words..."

"No. Not gonna happen," you cut him off, sipping more whiskey. What the hell was he talking about, how could you take back your words when you were absolutely sincere when you said them? "Even if I had the chance to erase your memory or use a time machine and go back in time... I wouldn't do it. Because I meant it when I said it, I really did, and you know it! That's why you're trying to push me away now, right? With all these spooky stories?"

Bateman didn't flinch even when you literally snapped at him, towering over his seated form and nearly splashing the contents of your glass right into his blank face. And now he decided to act as if nothing had happened? Now? After he literally dumped all that emotional mess on you like a bucket of cold water?

"I know it was stupid of me to even mention love... feelings... but instead of all this nonsense, you could just tell me that you despise me," you croaked through the tears that were stuck in your throat like a lump. "Because what you said...it's not funny to speculate about it!"

"It's never supposed to be funny!" Patrick retaliated and stood up as well, now standing very close to you, your lips just inches away. "Nobody takes me seriously! I'm so fucking sick of it!" His furious temper seemed to finally take over, revealing the true side of his personality, and you risked being drawn into its darkness. "Believe it or not... but that day when you called me from Paul Allen's place... I was ready to kill that bastard if I found out he touched you with his finger!"

Bateman's cruel words triggered the memories you never really wanted to remember—that fucking party you went to at Paul's apartment, those fucking hookers or models...or whatever they called themselves. Those fuckers who drugged your drink and tried to get their hands on you. That one moment when you rushed into the dimly lit living room to pick up the phone and dial the only number you could think of to hear the voice of a person who hated you the most, but at that moment felt like the only lifeline you could dream of. And when Patrick didn't pick up, each beep was agonizing and heavy—you thought you would die without hearing his voice.

Astonished, you nervously fixed your hair and let out a heavy breath. "You would...you would do what?" Your question wasn't supposed to sound like mockery, but it probably did, because the next thing you heard was a muffled crunch. "What..."

You didn't finish your sentence because you simply couldn't comprehend what had just happened—that crunching sound was the glass that Patrick simply crushed in his hand while you tried to call out to him through the depraved prism of his twisted mind—crimson drops of blood painted the floor in intricate ornaments, forcing your stomach to churn.

Why... Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt yourself so badly?

"Holy Christ!" You finally managed to blurt out, taking his injured hand in yours to open it and see the wound. "Why did you do that?!"

"And why do you care?" Was all he replied, staring at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You think everything I say is bullshit. Maybe this is not real either?"

And then, all of a sudden, he grabbed your hand with his bloody one, you could feel the shards of glass almost sink into your flesh, and even though they never did, you could feel the pain—his pain.

Pain. Everything is about pain.

"Please, Patrick," you almost begged, but didn't take your hand away as you watched the scarlet liquid cover more of your own skin. "Let me help you."

Bateman's cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covered his beautiful face, but he didn't even hiss, as if he didn't really feel any physical pain—that was terrifying, but you didn't falter. Carefully, without any hasty movements, you forced him to follow you into the house, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. 

The man didn't say a word, he was in some kind of trance, you couldn't even remember seeing something like this before, but now was not the time to ponder about it, not when he was bleeding like this. You had to use the sleeve of your robe to keep him from gushing out and staining the house.

As you dragged him into the bathroom, you opened the mirror cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit and found some bandages, antiseptic and tweezers. Humming something to yourself in desperation, you glanced into the mirror to see him suddenly slide to the floor with his eyes closed.

"Patrick!" You yelled and ran to him. What if he had damaged the veins? What if you could not stop the bleeding? "Look at me, don't close your eyes!"

As soon as you touched his face, the man brushed your hand away as if swatting an annoying fly. "I'm fine," he said, gritting his teeth, but no matter how hard he tried to hide the tremor in his voice, you could hear that nerve—he was crying. "Just... give me the damn bandages. I'll take care of myself."

"Are you...crying?"

Gently, as if he were made of porcelain, you tilted his chin up and brushed his wet strands away, his usually sparkling eyes so dull and empty it made your heart shrink in pain, but you didn't give up. Ignoring the overwhelming fear, you unpacked the bandages and soaked one of them in the antiseptic before pressing it against the wound, but then you just poured the liquid all over his bleeding hand when you realized there were too many small shards embedded in his flesh.

Embarrassed, Bateman could only sob softly, and he didn't even try to pretend that his defenses weren't down with the first tear that slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured abruptly, sniffling and shaking his head from side to side. "I didn't want it to end like this."

"Shh," you stroked his hair with your free hand. "Let's talk about this later." As you blew on his wound to soothe the itchiness of the antiseptic, you didn't even notice the way Patrick was looking at you under his messy bangs—he was looking at you like you were some kind of miracle—if only he could go back in time and not say all those things about him being a fucking psycho. But then again, would it be fair to keep that from you, knowing how dangerous it could be for you? "Uh, I'm not sure I can pull out all the pieces...maybe it's better to go to the hospital?

"Fuck that," Bateman snapped, swallowing his salty tears. "Not an option."

With a weary sigh, you took the tweezers and began to pick the pieces of broken glass out of his hand—if someone told you one day that you'd be sitting on the cold bathroom floor covered in Patrick's blood because that idiot forgot how to use the glasses, you wouldn't believe it. 

"You're the most stubborn man I've ever met," you said with a wry smile. "The most arrogant and self-centered and selfish..."

"Okay, okay!" Bateman held up his hand as a white flag. "I get it. No need to keep repeating it-uh!"

As soon as you heard him squeal in pain after pulling out the large shard of glass, you stopped in your tracks, barely holding the tweezers in your hand. "Oh, sorry!" You quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be more careful!"

As you leaned down to better concentrate on your task, the man suddenly pulled you closer with his uninjured arm to press his heated mouth against yours. The kiss was nothing like the ones you had shared before—you could taste his tears, the saltiness of them, the agony and despair. At first you wanted to break away and scold him for being reckless and foolish, but he was the first to break the kiss, only to bring his bloody finger to your parted lips. On the verge of losing your grip on reality, you closed your eyes and allowed him to push his finger inside.

What is this madness with a copper-like taste?

Maybe this man was really a demon sent straight from hell to torment people and find out their most depraved desires, their true nature, which turned out to be something sinful and deranged?  Who else could he be if he could make you do such twisted things? If he could make you lose control and forget what the word "normalcy" even meant?

While you were busy processing the questions that would never be answered, the two of you were still pressed tightly together, the bloody kisses on your lips and then your neck only increasing the risk of losing your sanity here and now. However, the tweezers you held in your hand became your anchor to reality as the cold metal almost bit into your skin with its sharpness. 

"Patrick," you purred against his red lips, catching your breath. "Are we crazy? I know it's a stupid question, considering everything that's happened between us..."

"I guess you could say I've plagued you with my craziness...but I'm not sorry for it," he crooned in a mischievous voice, his lips curled into a slight smirk. "And I don't want you to take it as a joke or romanticize it."

How could he say that after he literally made you suck his bloody fingers? But wasn't it you who allowed him to do it? Who craved that in the first place? That thrilling aura of danger, mystery and darkness that always surrounded Bateman like a second skin. 

"I'm not gonna leave you," you said briefly, continuing to clean his hand of the shards. "I've lost too many people I care about."

Patrick listened intently without arguing, ignoring the urge to hug you again, to comfort you, to reassure you that you would never lose him, because this was not about him, this was about your safety. Your words about him being selfish stuck in his head like an obsessive melody. 

Selfish, egocentric, unsympathetic—a perfect bundle of traits for a psychopath like him.

The day you were about to leave and go back to New York, you couldn't sleep. When you woke up early in the morning, you rolled onto your back. The birds were chirping peacefully in the distance, and you were somehow jealous that you couldn't be as serene as those cute little creatures. Unlike you, Bateman slept like a baby on his side, holding a pillow and sometimes jerking slightly—probably having a vivid dream or something—his right hand was still healing, but thankfully the wound wasn't bleeding anymore. Although you were not well rested, you thought it would be more productive to get up and finish packing your things since you had a flight in the afternoon. Quietly, you pulled down the blanket and sat down on the side of the bed, but then you heard Patrick's muffled whimper, which startled you a bit.

Oh, no, not him having another nightmare.

Concerned, you crawled back onto the bed and hugged the shivering man from behind. "Shh, it's okay," you whispered into his ear, pecking the back of his head before nuzzling his neck—the mixture of his cologne and aftershave hitting your nostrils like an intoxicating haze. "This is just a bad dream."

Noticing that he was relaxing a bit, you slowly began to roll back onto your side of the bed, but suddenly his strong hands cupped yours, causing you to hug him tighter in a silent plea. This was not something he usually did—it stirred a deep feeling of affection in you—even in his sleep, Patrick seemed to have control over everything, including you, but now it was different.

For a moment you weren't sure if it was right to wake him up like that, but then you thought it was better than just shaking him and telling him he was having a nightmare. Also, how many times did Bateman not care if you were sleeping or not when he just got on top of you and started fucking you mercilessly? Well, you never protested or complained about it, but after all, you were not him.

When the man made the same sound again, you had to push all thoughts away—you would have plenty of time to think about things—now all you could think about was the softness of his skin, the shallowness of his breathing, the strong grip of his hands on yours. Patrick needed you, and that was the most tempting thing of all.

With a quick movement, you slid your hand under the blanket to caress his perfect tiddies one by one, the tip of your finger teasing his nipple with feathery touches. God, the things you wanted to do to this man frightened you in ways you never thought you could even imagine. 

Now was the time when you could finally agree with his statement about plaguing you with his insanity, for how else could you describe it? 

"Mmm," Bateman's low gasp that fell from his parted lips echoed through the bedroom as you lowered your hand and stroked his hard bulge in his Calvin Klein briefs. "I didn't kill her...I didn't," his mumbling was growing more and more erratic. "I just...wanted that bitch to shut her mouth..."

You couldn't hear it anymore. "Patrick, Patrick!" You called his name and shook him slightly. "It's just a nightmare! Please come back to me!"

Just as you said these words, his body went limp in your embrace, some cold buds of sweat sliding down his forehead as he opened his startled eyes and looked up at you. Bateman remained silent, his hands unclasping yours only to grasp the sheets in a violent grip. 

"What time is it now?" He asked as if nothing had happened.

"'Too early for you to worry about that," you tried to hug him again, but he pulled away. "You had a bad dream. Maybe it was not the best idea to watch horror movies before bed last night?"

Patrick sneered into the pillow, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew he was smiling. "I... I didn't mean to wake you."

"But you didn't-"

"I hate it, I fucking hate seeing any dreams," the man suddenly replied through clenched teeth, then Patrick looked at his bandaged hand—he was trembling. "Do you... do you see them too?"

"Most people do," you replied, planting a light kiss on his temple, his soft hair tickling your nose. "I think you just miss New York and your familiar surroundings. When we get back, you'll feel better, I'm sure. But for now, is there anything I can do to help you relax?"

Damn, that probably sounds so cheesy.

Finally, Bateman turned to look at you. "You can finish what you started," he replied with that classic boy-next-door smile that was his favorite and most useful weapon in seducing people, and you were no exception. Sometimes you hated being so weak to it, though. "I think I missed the moment when you became so bold, darling."

The air in the room was thick with tension, the little electric impulses cursed through your system by his raspy voice, which was nothing but a testament to his arousal and it only fueled your desire to make him moan, writhe like a caged bird, to make him cum on the sheets and still ask for more.

"Oh, I forgot the last time you called me like that," you droned, wrapping your hands around his waist and pressing against his tight ass. "Was it when I fucked you with that dildo I found in your little secret box?"

Meanwhile, you used the moment of his confusion to dip your palm into his underwear—his tender flesh was burning like fire—you had to use all your willpower to stop yourself from biting his neck. Patrick's panting became more uneven with each passing moment, but when you began to rub his swollen tip, smearing his thick pre-cum around it, he literally arched his back like a bowstring.

"You like it when I take care of you?" You licked his earlobe, then grazed it a bit, causing a low moan to erupt from his chest, but you needed more—you craved it like oxygen—the power he allowed you to bear was too addictive. "Talk to me... I want to hear my sweet boy."

Patrick groaned louder as you gave his dick a long, hard pump. "Damn," he closed his eyes and blushed uncontrollably. "Feels good... so f-fucking good."

Impulsively, you drowned out his moans with a lingering kiss, your tongue slipping along his in a relentless battle for dominance until he let you have your way and you sucked on his tongue with all your might, your hand massaging his tight sack, then switching back to rubbing his shaft and then his red-hot tip again. Eventually Bateman began to thrash around on the bed, thrusting into your hand, and you picked up the pace, jerking him off more vigorously, the wet, sloppy sound driving you both crazy. Each time the two of you had sex, the outside world ceased to exist; there was just the two of you, your inflamed bodies, your most sinful desires...

"Fuck," Patrick cursed, gripping the edge of the bed with one hand and pulling you closer with the other as you kissed again and again until your lips began to hurt. "How did you get inside my head... so fucking easy?"

It was not easy at all.

If only he could understand that.

With a mischievous grin, you nipped at his Adam's apple, then moved lower to his chest, flicking your tongue around his taut nipple and sucking on it with undisguised greed, but then you had to shush him with your mouth when he became too noisy.

"You've got a lot of secrets to unravel about me, baby," you sneered condescendingly and pinched his engorged peak, making him whimper so pathetically that you began to regret not taking that dildo with you. "Uh, you're shaking so bad already. Do you want to stain these expensive sheets again?" You teased him, your grip like a tight ring around his balls, squeezing them so perfectly that you could feel his dick pulsing in desperation for release. "Not that I care, but... I remember you telling me that you love to keep every drop of your cum inside me..."

With that, you gave his thick cock several quick strokes before letting go and moving your hand from his groin to his toned butt for a squeeze and then, before you knew it, you were outlining the rim of his puckered hole.

"Oh shit," Bateman bit his wet lower lip, his face flushed like fucking tomato juice. "You're not going to get away with this...you know that?"

You just giggled in reply. "Don't you think that's kinda irrelevant to say when you're lying here all splayed out for me like a bitch in heat?” You slapped his ass without a second thought. "I know what you're made of..." Another slap that made him moan. "I know what you want..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that... what do I want?"

By this time you were almost on top of him, grinding against his muscular body, but not afraid of him snapping at you, it took you several seconds to lubricate your fingers with your saliva before you plunged them into his tight inner channel, sending shivers right through his core, and it was fucking delirious to see him trembling like that and to know that you were the reason for it.

"This... this is what you want," you explained, pushing your fingers deeper before pulling them out and repeating the motion, stimulating his prostate with precise accuracy. "You're tired of being in charge all the time...and you wanted someone to take care of you without finding it your weakness."

And you were not even going to ask him to accept it—you just knew it was true—it was written in his every moan, every jerk of his hips as you were fingerfucking his ass. Everything was perfect the way it was—you were perfect for each other, no matter what flaws you both had, because ultimately these flaws were what made you you.

When there were no more words to be said and the sun began to rise, the two of you were still following the electrifying momentum of raw, unbridled lust. Moaning into each other's mouths, you continued to thrust your fingers as deep as you could, finding the best rhythm, while Bateman couldn't hold back any longer as he desperately jerked off in sync with your fingers until his whole body was strained to the point of exploding like a bomb. A loud moan of pure satisfaction pierced the room as he finally erupted in thick ropes that covered his flat stomach, but he never stopped pumping himself, not even when he began to suffocate.

"Good boy," you watched him convulse like a leaf shaking in the wind. "You're such a good boy to me. I love you."

For a brief moment, your heavy breathing was the only sound in the bedroom, as if everything outside it was nonexistent. There were no barriers, just you and him—his hand in your hand—his soul intertwined with yours.

Huffing, Patrick gasped greedily for air, but then, when your eyes met, he seemed to stop breathing again—the inner conflict could be seen behind those two dark pools that were his eyes. "I love y-you too...but if you ever dare to leave me again...I promise I will find you...and kill you."

Later that day, you took a cab to the airport. And even though you personally didn't care which class, business or first, you flew, Bateman grumbled the whole way, arguing that he hated being crowded.

"Next time we'll take a private jet," he grumbled, his hands crossed over his chest, the Rolex shimmering in the sunlight. "Why did I ever follow your advice?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to reply with something cocky, but then you noticed the way he fiddled with his fingers, nervously trying to hide his wounded hand. "Just because you have a lot of money doesn't mean you have to spend it like crazy," you explained, gently taking his injured hand in yours. "But next time, I won't give you any advice. Deal?"

From the confusion you could read in his face, it seemed to you that Bateman hadn't expected anything like that from you, and you were so damned pleased with yourself, because you were finally on the right track to understanding how to treat him properly, so that he would reciprocate with the same attitude. But even the most perfect mechanisms could break down sometimes.

"Oh, well," he sighed, looking down at your clasped hands, but not removing his own. "I didn't mean that I don't like your advice..."

"Forget it," you cut him off, smiling as you frowned at your words. "Really, it's nothing. I'm not your Mommy or Daddy to lecture you about your money.” 

"I think I've heard that before."

"Maybe."

"Mommy and Daddy," Patrick suddenly laughed like a maniac. "You know... I can be your Daddy if you want..."

"Jesus Christ, Bateman! Don't even start!" You nudged his shoulder slightly, but it only emboldened him to scoop you into his arms and seal your lips with his soft, loving ones. "How do you manage to say the cringiest things at the most inappropriate times?"

"Cringiest things?"

Dear Lord, have mercy.

Just as you were about to answer, the taxi driver suddenly turned around and gave you both a cheerful, genuine smile. "Wir sind fast da." (We're almost there)

Confused, Bateman narrowed his eyes before averting them from the cabbie, pretending to look in the window. As much as you wanted to laugh and tease him for his childish behavior, you returned a friendly smile to the driver and murmured: "Vielen Dank! Was kostet die Reise?" (Thank you! How much for the ride?)

The driver pointed to the meter, you nodded, and pulled out your wallet. "Bitte sehr. Behalten Sie den Rest." (Here you go. Keep the rest)

The longer Patrick remained silent, the more he looked like a small child who was offended that no one was paying attention to him. When the car pulled up at Stuttgart Airport, you thanked the driver and got out of the car before Bateman could say anything.

After taking your luggage, the two of you entered the busy area of the airport, people were rushing here and there, which of course made Patrick even more annoyed.

"I didn't know you could speak German," he managed to get the words out, but he still looked insulted. "Was it necessary to act like that?"

Hello, my name is Patrick Bateman and I'm a 27-year-old kid who can't stand being ignored for five fucking minutes.

Irritated, you stopped abruptly and he almost bumped into you. "First of all, I studied German in college, and since the company I worked for in Chicago did business with a lot of German partners, I needed to revive my knowledge," you blurted out, extending a finger in a stay-the-fuck-up gesture. "Second, I've been speaking German a lot since we got here, and you never bothered to notice! Really, Patrick? And what do you mean, was that necessary? Paying the taxi driver and thanking him for the ride? Are you serious?"

"I was talking to Bryce." Bateman's sudden words hit you like an avalanche of rocks.

For a fleeting second, you didn't even know what to say. What were they talking about? Had Bryce told him about the night you had spent together? Or rather, the nights. Shit, oh shit. That was bad. You knew it was going to be so bad for you because you kept it a secret and hid it from Patrick, but on the other hand, it wasn't cheating because, fuck it, Bateman married Evelyn just to make you what? Jealous?

"When did you ever find the time to do that?" You asked, trying to shake the anxiety off your shoulders.

"When you were in the shower before we left," Patrick's eyes scanned your face with a mysterious interest that made you swallow hard. "He invited us to Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, the one on the eastern tip of Long Island. A fucking golf club, can you imagine? That blonde bitch has already changed him so much."

"Blonde bitch?"

"Evelyn Williams."

"Uh, oh, yeah, Evelyn," you made a thoughtful face as if you could hardly remember who it was, when in fact you knew everything all too well, starting with the fact that Tim and Evelyn had been fucking behind Bateman's back before they got divorced, since Bryce had told you about it when you met several times after Patrick and Evelyn's wedding. You and Timothy used to fuck until you witnessed Bryce's meltdown over his fucked up relationship with Evelyn Williams. "It's just... you talk about it as casually as if you weren't married to her once."

"Was I?" Bateman arched his eyebrows theatrically and rubbed his chin. "I don't remember."

"We're going to miss our flight if we keep rumbling like this," you complained, pointing to the large information board. "And...I didn't know you guys loved golf?"

The two of you exchanged a few sly glances before heading for the gate where your plane was waiting for you. A plane that would take you back to the crazy city life of New York, the city you swore you would never visit again, but as the saying goes—never say never. 

My life was like a comedy that turned out to be a drama and I was the director who screwed up the script.

Imagine yourself praying that today would be bad weather, rain, thunderstorm or fucking snow (even though it made absolutely no sense) and you wouldn't have to go to the golf club to see Tim and Evelyn and pretend that nothing happened. If Patrick could pretend that nothing happened between the four of you, why was it so hard for you, almost impossible? You also had to take into account the fact that Patrick still didn't know about you and Bryce, and you had serious doubts that he would be as indifferent about it as he was about Timothy and Evelyn's affair behind his back, or maybe it wasn't even behind his back and he knew everything from the beginning? This did not make it easy for you to understand how you all got into this situation. Why did he marry Evelyn in the first place? 

"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar female voice pulled you out of the swamp of thoughts and when you raised your eyes you saw her—Evelyn Williams in the flesh. Even though the last time you had seen her was at her wedding with Patrick, which seemed to be so long ago (but wasn't), the woman didn't seem to have changed at all. "The boys asked me to bring them some drinks... Do you know how to call the staff here?"

Stunned, you looked around—the two of you were standing under the big tent that was located not far from the big golf course where Patrick and Timothy were practicing their shots, because there was a rumor that Paul Allen was about to join your little 'golf party', and of course nobody was really happy about it—especially you, but not because you didn't like Paul, you just didn't want to dig into the dirt, preferring to keep it all in the past.

"Uh, I think Patrick has a phone," you replied a little awkwardly. "I can go ask him."

As soon as you started to move, the woman stopped you with a polite hand on your shoulder. "Actually, they asked us not to bother them for a while."

"Oh," you stammered, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. "'Something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Evelyn grinned brightly and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the large decanter that stood on the narrow table. "Want some juice? Patrick told me about your little trip to Germany! I tried to convince him to travel when we were... well... never mind, he always refused!"

The blonde let out a nervous chuckle and took a sip of juice, your eyes never leaving her slightly embarrassed face. There was something wrong with this whole situation, but you couldn't reveal your fear. 

"I wonder what exactly he told you, but... I don't mind talking about it," you crossed your arms and leaned against the table with the non-alcoholic drinks. "Ask away."

Meanwhile, two rich men, dressed in the most expensive polo shirts and shorts of some famous brand from the latest fashion week, were discussing the latest news of the financial world.

"Those bastards we had a meeting with last week are a fucking bunch of freaks and believe me when I say they're so deep in the shit they're going to fucking drown in it one day. Now watch and learn," Bryce finished his expressive monologue with a practice swing of his club. As the ball fell into the hole, the man lifted his sunglasses to wink at his friend. "See that, Bateman?"

"Nice shot," Patrick mimicked Tim's actions, adjusting his sunglasses as well. "Although I still don't understand why you chose a fucking golf club out of all the places we have?"

Leaning on his club, Bryce turned to look at the tent, and the moment he did, Evelyn began waving at him as if she were the most ardent fan and Tim the worldwide golf star.

"It was her idea," the man replied, stepping back to place the next ball for Bateman. "She was bored with regular dinners and going to some nightclub was out of the question after that... story that happened at Le Bain."

Patrick frowned and quickly picked up his club. "Le Bain? Really? What were you doing there anyway?"

Bryce didn't answer directly, instead he rubbed his head, marking time, and that didn't really look like the Timothy Bryce Patrick had gotten used to knowing. "What kind of shitty story did you get into this time, Bryce?"

"Nothing serious," Tim replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You got a lighter?" With a soft click, Bateman opened a white-gold Zippo lighter, and after Bryce took several drags, he looked back in Evelyn's direction before finally starting to talk. "Almost crushed some asshole's skull," he said so casually that Patrick could only smile like an idiot for a moment. "The guy asked for it, I swear."

"You did what?" Bateman questioned after a boyish giggle that escaped his throat faster than he could even suppress it. "And I thought after rehab people should be calmer and more stable."

"Oh, fuck you! That scumbag tried to rent Evelyn out like one of those hookers, well, you know, hookers, whores, you know better than me-"

"I KNOW!"

Bateman's reaction really amused Bryce, who couldn't help but grin as he watched Patrick get more and more flustered by the second. "So after this incident, Evelyn doesn't want to go to clubs...unless it's a fucking golf club!"

Now it was Patrick's time to sneer. "I didn't expect you to become a henpecked husband so quickly," Patrick joked, finally hitting a shot—two men watched as the ball flew until it landed next to the hole, but never fell in. "Golf sucks. I fucking hate it!"

"Don't cry, Bateman, shit happens," Timothy tapped Patrick's shoulder in a mockingly comforting way, but then the man suddenly became very serious. " So, have you had any success with your love adventures?"

"More than you can imagine," Bateman took off his sunglasses and fastened them to his polo shirt. "Why?"

"Sometimes I want to fucking sink into the ground when Evelyn starts whining that we're sitting in one place...that New York has become too stuffy and all that shit."

"Sounds like a casual day from my family life with Evelyn," Patrick started to say something else, but then he looked at his Rolex to check the time. "Is Allen really coming?"

"Oh shit, I forgot!" Tim cursed and quickly began to remove his leather gloves. "Honestly, I don't even know why he decided to come."

"I have an idea why," Bateman frowned as he heard approaching footsteps and as soon as the man turned to the side, you and Evelyn appeared on the horizon—your face was grim and tense, which spoke volumes about the complexity of the current situation and Patrick's need to solve it somehow. "And where are our drinks?"

"Sorry guys, we only have non-alcoholic drinks here," Evelyn blushed a little as the two men looked at her. "Patrick, can I use your phone? I am going to call the staff since Tim left his phone in the limo!"

Bryce finished his cigarette but didn't throw it away because he knew that Evelyn would bitch about him making a mess, blah blah blah, end of story. "'Screw this," Tim exclaimed spontaneously. "We can take a golf cart and get our drinks in the main building...and meet Allen there."

At the mention of Paul, you literally trembled, but Patrick almost immediately placed his hand on the small of your back. Slightly surprised by his affection, you didn't even say a word as Timothy and Evelyn exchanged goodbyes and walked toward the golf cart.

"Did you get sunstroke?" Bateman crooned as he stroked your cheek to get you to look up at him. "I told you to stay under the tent, not with us."

"I'm fine," you tried to reassure him. "It's just that I don't really want to see Paul right now," your voice trembled treacherously. "Not in the best mood for... social activities."

Without saying anything, Patrick grabbed your hand and led you back to the tent, where the two of you had some healthy smoothies that you never really liked, but since Bateman told you that they were pretty good for your health, you pretended to enjoy them. Afterwards, the two of you sat on the small but comfortable couch with the amazing view. The man rested his hand on your shoulders and occasionally massaged the back of your neck, causing you to close your eyes in pleasure.

"You and Allen," Patrick muttered abruptly. "What kind of relationship do you have?"

This is it—no way to run.

"Just business," you explained without a hint of doubt. "Listen...I don't want to see him, not because we had some drama...it wasn't Allen's fault that the party was messed up. Someone brought up the prostitutes...or maybe they were models. I don't know!" You paused to catch your breath. "All the memories are so cloudy...but the one thing I remember clearly is that I started to feel weird after I drank some wine...then everything came in torn frames. Some guy tried to get his hands on me and I didn't know where Allen was and some other guys from P&P but not Tim or Craig or David...I'm sorry I called you...my poisoned mind decided it was the best idea to call you."

The whole time you were talking, Bateman was stroking your back, but when you mentioned the call, he froze in place, and it looked so creepy. "You mean...you called me...that night?"

Tensing up, you gave Patrick a confused look, but instead of saying anything, you just nodded. The lingering silence between the two of you felt so heavy and suffocating that at one point you thought it was a bad idea to tell him what had happened that night at Paul Allen's apartment, but now it was too late.

"What happened next? Do you remember the person who tried to touch you?"

"Not really," you replied in a dull voice. "I think after I called you... Paul told me we had to leave and we left and... fuck!" You cursed and grabbed your head as if it could help you remember more details. "It all happened so fast...I'm sorry I bothered you with that call, that was really stupid of me."

"You really did call me," he repeated over and over, repeating the phrase like a broken record. "You really..."

Confused, you turned to face him, only to see his pupils dilated and his face covered in a thin layer of sweat. "I did," you said curtly. "But...what's so special about that?"

But your question seemed to fall on deaf ears, Bateman blinked several times, his hands trembling a bit as he removed them from your back, and then you finally realized why he was asking you these particular questions, but the way he smiled in relief, delusionally thinking he had found all the answers he was looking for, who knew for how long, it hurt so much.  But what could you do now? You both had already come to the conclusion that Patrick needed help, that he would soon start seeing a psychiatrist recommended by Timothy, and that he would also resume taking pills to help control his impulsive temper. So the choice was yours.

After taking a deep breath, you glanced at him again—the man was looking back so expectantly, there was a spark of happiness in his eyes—a long forgotten spark, but there it was, and you didn't want to ruin it, even though you knew that the bitter truth was always better than the sweetest lie.

I hope one day you will forgive me for this, my love.

"Everything will be fine," your reassuring words were not for him, but for you. "You will be fine," you took his large palm in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But... there is one more thing I have to tell you."

"What is it?" Patrick asked almost immediately.

"I..." you stammered as his grin widened, making him look so boyish and... cute? Fucking hell, why do you always choose the worst timing? "I fucked Bryce...several times...after you married Evelyn...but that was just sex...I mean..."

Even though he was still smiling, something changed in the way he looked at you now. The man took a moment to process the information you had just given him.

"That didn't mean anything! I swear," you were the first to speak again. "We... we both just found ourselves in one of the most fucked up moments of our lives..."

"Listen-"

"Wait! Let me finish!"

With one smooth move, Patrick brought you closer, so that you were sitting on his lap, and the suddenness of it left you speechless, which Bateman used to his advantage.

"See," he began, hugging you tightly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know."

What? WHAT?

He was bluffing, no way Bryce told him everything, he would never do that to you, but on the other hand—why were you so confident that Bryce wouldn't tell his best friend to save their friendship? Even though you and Tim were close, Patrick and Timothy had a much closer bond.

"Tim told you everything?" You asked, feeling defeated and devastated.

"Not directly, but enough for me to understand the hidden meaning of the references he used whenever we talked about you."

You talked about me?

"I'm sorry," you laid your head on his shoulder before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and wrapping both of your hands around it. "I should have told you sooner."

"You told me when you were ready," he murmured softly, rubbing invisible circles on your back to soothe you. "I suppose you and I are finally even now."

"I guess you're right."

You cupped his face, pecking his temple, then the bridge of his perfectly framed nose, bathing his jawline with small kisses until you reached his lips to kiss him as lovingly as you could, wanting to convey all the emotions you felt for him through that kiss. 

This moment seemed too perfect, so when you heard a loud laugh that belonged to someone you knew quite well, you weren't surprised at all, because things couldn't be that good—not in real life.

"Oh, there they are, look at these lovebirds," Craig chuckled and then added. "Long time no see."

And of course McDermott was not alone, soon you noticed Van Patten and Bryce. "Where's Evelyn?" You asked, dismounting from Patrick and taking the seat next to him instead. "And Paul?"

Bryce smiled mischievously and pulled two bottles of alcohol out from behind his back. "I told Allen there was no alcohol in here, so he changed his mind," Tim said, placing the bottles on the small table next to the couch. "And Evelyn...she told me that she actually hates golf and that she'd rather go to the spa with Courtney—I didn't interfere. So are you just going to sit here or will you give me glasses?"

"You know, I was starting to like this new version of Bryce," David joked, rolling a cigar between his fingers. "Still a bitchy asshole, but with new functionality in his arsenal."

Everyone except Timothy began to laugh, Patrick being the volunteer who had decided to bring the glasses from the table on the other side of the tent terrace. 

"Have you lost the last of your brains or something?" Tim growled, smoothing back his hair, which was blacker than charcoal. "That chick you're with now will be the death of you, remember my words."

Bateman returned with glasses in the middle of the most intense part of the conversation about David's new girlfriend, who turned out to be the daughter of a very influential politician, and who had just returned from Cuba with a limited collection of cigars that Van Patten was so arrogantly bragging about. And somehow, you could finally admit to yourself that you missed the old days when you were a part of Wall Street life, even though sometimes you really hated it. But now, sitting among your ex-colleagues and your lover, you felt like you were in the right place, and that feeling was the most tranquilizing thing you had ever experienced.

Almost six months later, you and Patrick went back to Germany to attend Vincent and Andrea's wedding. This time, you didn't stop Bateman from taking a private jet for the trip, and it was your first flight on such a luxury aircraft—its interior looked even more lavish than in glamour magazines about the rich and famous. 

Sitting in the comfortable beige leather seat, you looked out the porthole where the clouds looked like a creamy dessert—the sight was mesmerizing and breathtaking, even though you weren't a fan of flying, but at the same time you couldn't say that you were aerophobic—you were definitely somewhere in between. While Patrick was away talking to the crew about something you didn't know, you had already finished counting the number of diamonds or other jewels that were used like a fancy decoration—there were about a hundred small gems all over the interior and it was insane because why would you need all of them in a damn plane? It wouldn't get off the ground without them, or what?

"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Bateman's soft baritone echoed off the walls of the plane's interior. "You sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Yes," you replied and quickly adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. "I'm just wondering if Vincent and Andrea will like our gift."

"Who wouldn't? Everybody loves money," the man chuckled and sat down across from you. "I still don't understand how they decided to get married so quickly after dating for a few months?"

Frowning, you grunted. "They've been dating for more than six months now and they knew each other since childhood....Did you forget?"

The man just rolled his eyes and yawned tiredly. "Honey, I don't even remember Sean's birthday and he's my brother. What did you expect?"

Yeah, right, what did I expect?

"Uh, just don't say anything that will embarrass me at the wedding, okay?"

"I can keep quiet the whole wedding, it's no problem for me," Bateman winked at you and swirled his glass of scotch. " As long as someone decides to ask me some stupid questions."

"Like what?"

"Mmm...something Wall Street related," he purred in a sweet tone that was such a stark contrast to what he was actually saying. "’Oh, sir, are you really from New York City? I've heard a lot of stories about the bankers from Wall Street.’"

The way he tried to imitate a German accent made you slap his hand and shake your head in disapproval. "All the guests are educated people, stop acting like Europeans are less educated than Americans."

"I'm not gonna start this polemic," he chirped, suddenly standing up. "Sit here, I'll be right back."

And then he disappeared behind the elegant door, made of red wood, its surface shimmering from how polished it was, you could even see your own reflection, but you didn't see any reasons why Bateman was leaving somewhere again. Was there something wrong with the plane? Were we going to crash? A cold shiver ran down your spine at the mere thought of it.

Shake it off…just shake it off.

While you desperately tried to calm down, the door opened again, but you couldn't see anyone behind it. "Close your eyes."

Patrick's sudden order made you blink nervously in shock.

"Why?"

You heard him sigh in irritation. "Just do what I say. Is it so difficult?"

"Fine, fine! Just don't do anything crazy!"

"You'll like it, trust me," the man replied, closing the door behind him before coming closer. "Put your hands out in front of you."

Shit, shit, shit, why am I so nervous? What else can he do? He could just kick me off the plane... Jesus, what am I thinking?

Closing your eyes tightly, you obeyed and reached out to feel something soft, fluffy and warm. "Oh my God...WHAT IS THAT?" And then you heard a distinctive sound that you would never mistake for anything else—a meow. "Can I open my eyes? PLEASE?"

"Now you can."

As soon as you opened your eyes, you saw a little fluffy pile of black fur looking back at you with a pair of tiny blue eyes—you could barely keep yourself from bursting into tears. The black kitten meows louder as you bring it closer to peck its head and hold it gently.

"Patrick, I..." you could barely speak. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything—your reaction is enough," the man commented, sitting back in his seat. "I know we talked about you wanting a kitten...about you wanting to adopt a child," he paused, taking a moment to just admire your happiness at having one of your dreams come true. "I thought we should start with something."

This kitten was the most adorable creature you'd ever seen, so small, so vulnerable, that you would do anything to protect and care for it. "That's...you can't even imagine how much it means to me," you pecked the kitten again when you noticed something on its collar—something round and shiny—a ring...with a large diamond. "What an interesting collar decoration."

"Told you you'd like it."

"Wait," you stopped him. "Wait...is this...for me?"

"What exactly?" Patrick sneered teasingly and opened his arms. "This jet is for you...everything around you...is for you," he slowly got up and walked to your seat. "Including the ring. Will you marry me?"

Another meow pierced the room around you, and while you were still in a state of shock, Bateman didn't miss the chance to pet the kitten, whose little paws curled up to catch his finger.

Will you marry me?

This question suddenly reminded you of the countless times you had imagined him asking you this, and even though in your dreams you knew exactly how to act to make everything look perfect, when it finally happened in real life you were caught off guard, shocked, paralyzed.  With every second of your hesitation, Bateman grew more and more nervous. 

"Honey?" He called to you, tilting your head with his gentle touch to make you look at him. "Is something wrong? Don't you like the ring?"

"No..." you nuzzled against his palm, holding the kitten carefully in your hands. "It's perfect...everything is so perfect," and then you collapsed, letting the sparkling tears run down your cheeks. "Are you...really...sure you want this?"

To be fair, he was ready for anything, even rejection, but this—such a reaction was something beyond his understanding of human emotion—scared him to the point where he thought he might be doing something bad, something that would turn you away from him.

Still holding your chin, the man knelt down beside your seat. "How can you question my decisions after everything we've been through?"

"Patrick," you ran your hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "I just want to know that you're not doing this for me, but because you really want to."

The man paused and sighed. "Of all the decisions I have made, this is the most conscious," he murmured in a raspy voice. "Allow me to prove it."

Speechless, you could barely breathe, and when you nodded, Patrick carefully removed the ring from the kitten's collar and gently took your hand in his to place a ring on your index finger, then the man pressed a soft kiss on the top of your palm as if to seal the vow. 

"I love you, Patrick Bateman," you said as he stood and towered over you to press his forehead against yours, your noses rubbing against each other. "You are my greatest tragedy and blessing." 

With a soft chuckle, Patrick pressed you against his chest, hugging your shoulders with one hand and stroking the kitten with the other. "I'll take that as a compliment," he smiled, burying his nose in your carefully combed hair. "What are you going to name your new little friend?"

You hummed and looked down. "It's a boy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mhmm...what if we name him Memento?" You asked, looking up at your fiancé. "Memento means memory-"

"Memento mori—remember you must die, I've heard it many times."

"Uh, yes, that remark about the inevitability of death. But before we die, we will make a lot of different memories...memories you will never want to forget....memories you and I will remember when we grow old."

You sobbed at your own words and Patrick had to shush you, pulling you closer into his warm embrace. "Shhh," he kissed the top of your head. "You're so full of sentiment, darling. That would be enough for both of us."

"We're going to live together for a long time, aren't we?"

"Of course," Bateman reassured you, stroking your hair. "And we will die on the same day. But before that, as you said, we would have a life to remember."

"And... if there is an afterlife?"

"Then I'll find you there," Patrick's voice was as calming as a mantra, enveloping you like a soothing mist. "But you don't have to think about it today. Or tomorrow, or fifty years from now. Right now, you better think about our speech at the wedding, because I hate the very idea of it."

Human memory is a very complicated thing—sometimes you want nothing more than to reboot your memory and erase all the bad memories from your head, but then you have amnesia, and people who suffer from it will do anything to get their memories back. Because memory is what makes us who we are, every little thing that happened to you in your life forms your personality, and sometimes a missing memory can feel like a black void inside your soul when you have a feeling that you forgot something, but you couldn't remember what exactly. After all, life is a kaleidoscope of ups and downs, a complex mixture of dark and bright colors, where every little detail matters. When you feel depressed, when you think there's nothing left for you to keep going—never give up fighting for your love and following your dreams, because we have only one life, and death is inevitable, but while you're alive, you're capable of doing anything. 

Memento mori, but never stop believing and living your best life.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[marksbear2]

AARON HOTCHNER X VICTIM MALE READER

My man, and I’m redoing and re posting some of my old fics since I don’t like how I wrote them.

⚠️THE UNSUB IS THE READERS EX.⚠️

He didn’t want to believe it was you. His world had came to a stop once he saw you were all bloody and injured on the floor inside the unsubs basement. His heart ached with anger and sorrow even guilt filled his heart.

His stomach felt sick and low as he stared at your ex then you. You were on the floor in your old blood. Aaron felt paralyzed like he couldn’t even breathe.

He felt like he should have known the unsub was targeting you. The unsub was your ex. 

They were targeting people who looked something like you. He knew how possessive and desperate he was for you. You told him and showed him pictures of them. One of the pictures you showed him was your ex’s body and face all tattooed everywhere and the tattoos were “Y/n L/n” all over his body. 

He watch paramedics pick up your limp body taking it into the ambulance. Hotch didn’t know whether to scream and shout or beat himself up for your kidnapping. Aaron stares at the unsub who’s on the floor handcuffed staring up at Aaron with hatred in his eyes. 

“So…You're my replacement. Y/n could have gotten someone better like me…” the unsub breathes out with a chuckle. 

Aaron balled his hands into fist with his knuckles turning white. Aaron stares down at the man feeling the rest of the team's eyes burning into his back. 

Aaron's jaw was clenched as the rest of his body felt like he was about to go animalistic on the guy. He didn't care if he lost his job or something he couldn't think about anything other than fighting him. 

"Agent Hotchner, we have to go. Cmon boys get em up." An agent finally says breaking the silence. Quickly the team begins to comfort the boss with all sorts of words.  

HEADCANONS!

— After that incident Hotch never left you out of his sight for a LONG time. He’d be at your sides at all times never leaving you alone for the smallest thing.

— He began to call sick for work and go on break to spend time with you and just overall wanting to make sure you're safe.

— Begins to carry you everywhere. He doesn’t want your wounds and injuries to hurt or re-open. He tries not to make it obvious that he’s treating you like glass.

— He knows you can take care of yourself, but he couldn’t shake the thought of him having to protect you. 

— Once he gets to see you in the hospital he begins to apologize profusely. He was on his knees by your hospital bed holding your hands tightly as he cried out a series of “I’m sorry.”

— He’ll cradle you in his arms if you have a nightmare since the incident letting you cry softly into his chest as he whispers against your head. “You're safe, I'm here.” 

— Jack will asks about your scars and if you’d let him he’ll trance your scars with his tiny little hands.

— He'll wait weeks, months, years even for you to be comfortable with him touching you in some places.

—The memory of you lying limp on your own blood haunts him every night. It will make him bolt up awake mumbling your name under his breath making sure you're still with him. 

—He probably pushes away the team and keeps to himself as he tries to cope until he can't hold it inside no more.

—Hugs are even tighter and longer between you two. 

-Lasting long kisses assuring the other that they're safe. 

—Aaron and you are trying to build back the foundation of being a happy family for both of you and especially for Jack.

—Aaron tries his damn hardest not to just shoot the unsub dead on the spot as soon as he sees the unsub hurting you.

— The team setting up you, Aaron and Jack to a secret vacation so y'all can finally feel at peace. 

— Aaron becomes more secretive of you and Jack, only speaking up about the two of you unless it's the team or absolutely necessary. He wants to keep you both safe.

—He becomes such a protective husband. Like he couldn't stop himself.

[yuukiiqwq]

An Eternity Without You: Gojo Satoru x Reader

What are the words you would use to describe a God? Beautiful, powerful, strong? The answer is lonely. To be burdened with everyone's dreams and wishes. To be the strongest without anyone to lean on.

Tags/Warnings: God!Gojo, Human!Reader, Angst, Hurt/little comfort, Death (non-detailed), Short One-Shot ˚✧˚. 1.2k words˚✧˚.

Author's note: This is my first time ever writing a fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it! The idea was there, but my execution could have been so much better– I'll do my best to get better at writing! 🩵 (≧ヘ≦　)

Never make promises you can't keep. Especially with a God because if you break it....

"Aren't you lonely?" Was the first thing you ever said to him.

He remembers it like it was yesterday. You, a human, worried about a God? Who did you think you were to worried about a God? He should have cut you down where you stood but instead he decided to indulge you.

"Lonely?" He tilts his head slightly to the side. "What makes you think I'm lonely?"

You look him straight in the eye and answered, "Because you are a God."

He stares at you in silence, confused on what you meant.

"Because you are the strongest," you continued. "You are the strongest...so everyone burdens you with their hopes and dream. You have no one to turn to because you are the strongest. You're always alone with no one by your side, so aren't you lonely?"

He shut down your response by saying– "I am the strongest so it's my duty. I think this conversation is done. Now tell me your wish."

You replied with only a smile on your face.

He didn't deny what you said.

"You know, I've never seen you smile before Satoru. I want to see you smile."

You and him are sitting next to each other, laying against a tree in a flower field. He stares at you like you said something crazy.

"Is that your wish?"

"I told you I'm not going to wish for anything." You reach your hand up to his fluffy white hair and played with it. "I just want to spend time with you and see you happy. I did promise to make you happy didn't I?"

"Ridiculous," he scoffed but didn't stop you from playing with his hair. Instead, he leans into your touch. "You are the strangest human I've ever met."

You only laughed at his comment.

"I promise to stay with you and make you happy," was your promise to him. So why did you break it?

You in his arms, your life slowly fading away. Too soon. Way too soon. Why? Accused of a crime you've never committed. Cursed out by your own kind. Blinded by greed and envy.

"They're always with the God! They're trying to keep all the benefits!"

"They're hogging the God's favor all to themselves!"

"They're trying to seduce the God! They're the devil!"

"We need to get rid of them!"

"Kill them! The God will favor us if they're gone!"

"I will kill them all. Every last one of them."

"Satoru... please don't hurt them," you say as your bring your bloody hand to caress his cheek.

"Why?" He looks at you with a pained expression. "They've hurt you. You're dying. If that's your wish, I refuse. I refuse to grant it."

You tried to laugh but only ended up coughing out blood.

"I don't want you to be cursed out. I don't want you to spend eternity being cursed because of someone like me."

"I don't care. I don't care about them."

"Satoru," You smiled at him. "Do it for me? Promise you won't hurt them please?"

The last smile he will ever see from you. Something that will haunt him for all of eternity.

He stares at you because even at your dying breath, you were selfish. He could just ignore you. Pretend you didn't ask him to leave those humans alone. But he couldn’t because it was you. So he promised. He promised not to hurt them.

"It seems like I will be burdening you with a wish even after saying I won't make a wish. Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

You started to feel tired. Really tired. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep.

"I'm sorry," you said before your eyes closed. Your hand falls down onto the floor and he is left there with you in his arms.

"Selfish until the very end," he brings your cold body into his embrace. "Didn't you promise me to stay by my side?"

Even a God like him, the strongest, was unable to bring you back to life.

"We wish for peace."

"Please bless us with a healthy child."

"I hope he can be cured."

"I hope to be loved."

"Bless my family with prosperity."

"I wish she becomes mine."

"I hope that place burns down in flames."

"I wish she dies."

"I hope they suffer in agony."

"I want him to need me."

"I wish to be rich."

"I want to be happy."

Eons have passed since then. All he does now is listen to the wishes made from humans. Hidden away from their view. He doesn't curse them, after all, he made a promise. However, he doesn't bless them either. After all, how can he grant their wishes when yours was still on the table unfulfilled?

"Grant me this wish Satoru. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to find happiness. Be happy."

What exactly is happiness? He's back to being alone. But why does it feel so different now? It's dark. It's cold. It's....lonely? Oh. Lonely. He finally acknowledged it. He's lonely.

So... lonely.

"What have you done to me?"

"Please God. Please give him back to me!! I can't continue life without him. Bring him back!"

Can't live without him? What does she mean? Humans can live on their own.

"I wished we could have been together. But we are too different. I don't want to give up on her.. but we are not in the same position."

Same position? Do humans have to be the same to be together?

"I wish someone could love me so I can be happy."

What is love? Why do you need love to be happy?

"I got great misfortune! I might die tomorrow or something!!"

"Don't say that love. Saying that is a bad omen. If anything happens, I will stay by your side. After all, I can't imagine my life without you anymore. I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy as long as you're here with me dummy!"

It's as he came to a sudden realization of what happiness meant. After eons, he finally came to understand what happiness meant for him.

"...oh. I get it now. Happiness..." A single tear dropped down his face. "Happiness...there is simply no such thing as happiness in a world without you."

"Please return to my side."

He waited more eons without you by his side. He waited for your soul. For the chance that you may get reincarnated and return to him once again. Was it a foolish thing to do? Yes. Because there was a chance you may never reincarnate but he held onto that hope. The hope that you'll return and keep your promise so he can fulfill your wish.

Despite being the strongest, neither God nor Humans could live by themselves.

"So hurry up and return to me."

And you did. Here you are, standing in front of him. The same as ever. As if eons have never passed. You remained the same.

"Why are you crying?"

"I finally found you."

Because if you break it, the God will be sad too.

[soldearestsoulmate]

⚠️ Spoilers for the bad end. ⚠️

A little thing, inspired by the bad end of the game.

This is just one idea of a few of what could of happened after that event.

How much time has passed since that dreadful day?

Sol lost count as he felt himself rot in the room he was locked in, courtesy of his friend...and protector...Hyugo.

Too many times Hyugo came over to check on Sol, but every time it was the same.

Cursing.

Yelling.

Attempts to lunge at him and attack...kill...him.

But that last one was always pointless, since Sol was chained up. They say for Hyugo's and others protection, but more for himself.

"Let me go, Hyugo. I promise I won't do or say anything." Sol muttered out, as he sat on the ground, than rather sit on the bed he was given to sleep and rest on.

"...I wish I could believe that, Sunny...I do. But I know after what happened. How you reacted...It's too risky to let you go now...for now. But we'll let you go, after enough treatment." Hyugo forced a smile, but it never reached his eyes. Which Sol didn't have to even look up to see...Just hearing him was enough.

"I'll never take your damn pills." Sol clenched his fist. The idea of being drugged, kept in control for their benefit, it pissed him off. "You'd have to force me to take them if you really want me to now."

"...Really? Like how you would of forced Y/n to love you?" Sol's eyes widened at the sound of their name from them.

All reminder he was chained up was gone as he once again tried to go after Hyugo like some beast. Though like the many times before, his attempts to break free and finally get his hands on him, failed. "NEVER SAY THEIR NAME AGAIN! YOU LOST ALL RIGHTS TO DO THAT!"

"And you think you have all rights to say their name instead? Sunny...You lost it. Killed someone over them, because you were too delusional over the idea they were yours and were getting taken away from you. When in reality you just--"

"SHUT UP! FUCKING SHUT UP AND GO DIE! God...It should of been you...IT SHOULD OF BEEN YOU WHO WAS KILLED IN THAT SHED WITH THAT PEST! NOT THEM!"

Hyugo would be lying if he said those words didn't hurt a bit to hear, but he tried to keep his expression emotionless. Though couldn't keep it up anymore as he finally turned away to leave the room.

"Not them...It shouldn't have been them..." Sol kept speaking as he felt his body grow weak over the memory of losing his soulmate, his pumpkin, his one true love...The sight of their face as they were stabbed, the sight of them bleeding out, slowly suffering and dying within his arms...The way the warmth of their skin, their body, was quickly fading from him. Until finally...They were gone...It haunted him, and played often on repeated in his head like some fucked up movie you couldn't shut off. "Y/n..."

Sol couldn't take it anymore as he let his tears fall, he lost count of how many times he cried over them. Begged to wake up from this nightmare to see them alive and well again. To be able to hold them in his arms again and be told it's all alright now, that it's all over now.

But this will be a nightmare he'll never wake up from now...

Before Hyugo reached over to open the door, to leave his friend alone once again. He paused, but didn't have the strength to turn his head around to look at Sol. "...I don't know how many times I have to say this until you believe it, Sunny...And you know I did it for you...for us...But..." He paused, taking a small breath, as he tried to keep himself strong. "I am truly sorry for what I done...even though...it was the right thing to do..."

"Go to hell, Hyugo." Sol's words game out like venom, as he glared at him one last time for today.

Hyugo couldn't help but weakly laugh a little at that. "...Already am there, Sunny...You know that...We both know that..."

[thisismeracing]

Haunted | LH44

― Pairing: Ghost!Lewis x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.8k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (fingering and dirty talk); mentions of cheating; description of horror situations and stabbing (but not too graphic). ― Summary: Lost in the years, lost in the days, Lewis Hamilton haunts the house that once was his. The house where he was killed. And the house that now has new inhabitants. He was used to blowing candles, breaking chinas, and it being enough for the curious newbies to leave. However, it was the first time he met someone who wouldn’t act terrified by his presence. Yn was curious, and that curiosity had a price. Lewis was the one who would collect the debt.

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It was a cursed house.

The tale was that a rich man used to live there. He was beautiful. So beautiful the whole town knew who he was. He was also warm and compassionate, he would help old ladies with bags, walk the neighbor’s dog, share his famous coffee whenever he had the time, and help the young boys with driving classes. But his beauty was also his curse because someone’s wife fell in love with him, and as the saying goes, there are two things you cannot hide properly: a cough and a burning love. It wasn’t even a week after the man noticed how his lady would eye the town’s treasure. It was possible the young gentleman didn’t know about this infatuation, but the woman’s husband knew and it was enough for him to stab the man to death in the most brutal way. Rumor had it he tried to get up and walk, but he could only make it to the door of his room, his body collapsing and succumbing to death minutes after agonizing with his own blood. The houses were far one from the other, but his screams were so loud some of the neighbors heard them even after he passed away, haunted by his pleas they moved.

The house went for sale, and someone even bought it a year after the crime, but they did not last for a week, the ghost of the dead man haunted the place day and night moving things, opening and closing doors, as if inviting whoever was there to leave, and when his requests were not obeyed, he would riot. In the night, his screams would get louder, he would grab their feet, play with the TV’s remote, boil water, and let the windows open.

They say he’s an angry ghost, a miserable one because he never got to experience true love. He was killed before he could, and so he closed himself on the house he took so much care while in life. His garden was the most beautiful one. Full of dark roses, and big trees, but once he died so did the flowers. It was like everything rotted.

Yn sighed thinking about the story an old lady told her when she went to get groceries. The woman went as far as advising her to leave the house, the money be damned. But of course, Yn wouldn’t do it. The house cost money for her and her husband, Eric. And besides, she had always been curious about ghost stories. Never truly believed how dangerous it could get.

“And she told me some people still hear his screams when passing by the house,” Yn repeated the tale to Eric while they shared take-out on the living room floor. The fire was lit casting a warm glow around then, but she felt a brief shiver pass through her body as soon as she finished speaking.

The ginger laughed, “Did she tell you when it happened?”

“A long time ago, she didn’t- she didn’t mention the year,” Yn explained. “Why? Don’t you believe it?”

He shook his head, “Nah, you know I’m extremely skeptical about those fairy things.”

“Not fairies, Eric, but ghosts,” she tried.

He shrugged, “I think when we die, we die, period. There’s no second or third dimension, much less one in between to get stuck on.”

Yn nodded, knowing it wouldn’t be a productive conversation. Her husband was usually set on his beliefs, never straying away from them, and sometimes this would cost a peaceful night whenever they couldn’t agree on something. He would have a hard time comprehending her point of view.

“So what, you wanna move now? You’re afraid a bloody man is gonna show up and imprison you here?” Eric joshed.

Yn rolled her eyes tired of how pushy he could get. She loved him, but sometimes it was hell to deal with his mannerisms. When they were younger she thought it would change with time. Turns out it didn’t.

“It’s your turn to clean up, I’m heading to bed,” and pecking his lips she climbed the stairs leading to the long and dark corridor of the rooms. Yn stopped right at the door, watching the threshold and imagining how, even if years ago, someone died there. Right in between. Reaching for the outside. Screaming for help.

She sighed, starting her night routine. It was only their second week at the house, and she was used to how the bathroom lights would flash, or the water would lessen. Except, now she knew about the guy that died there, and everything that happened reminded her of him.

It’s curious how your mindset changes once you’re presented with a different explanation. Once you believe it to be true. And she believed so much to the point of googling it while lying in bed. Eric hadn’t been back just yet, and Yn was scrolling through the results which weren’t that many. It was a small town. Apparently a simple crime. It was probably life-altering and shocking for those who lived there at the time and knew both parties, but if she were a journalist that wouldn’t be the most exciting case to cover.

Yn heard the footsteps on the corridor, but she was so engrossed in the page that she finally found out about the murder of a young man, and just when she was about to reach his name the door opened. She bit her lips, trying to find which line she was reading, “Eric?” Yn asked, and the same door that opened all the way seconds ago closed abruptly making her jump.

The light on the nightstand flashed, and Yn tried to be rational. She told herself it was probably Eric trying to prank her. Or the wind, even though the windows were closed. Who knew? The house had a good ventilating system.

She called for her husband again, and she heard more footsteps, but he didn’t answer back. She huffed stressed, blocking her phone and turning on the bed to try and get some sleep. She had tons of cleaning to do the next day, the house was huge and some of her things were still packed in cardboxes.

Later, when Eric finally got to the bedroom, he walked by the bed squeezing her foot, a habit he had whenever he passed close enough to touch, and seconds before, when he crawled into bed Yn was too drowsy to complain about his stupid pranks. She just curled her body on his and dozed off.

She was humming to a tune she couldn’t quite grasp yet while folding her clothes on her bed when she heard the steps. She tried turning to look, but it all happened too fast. In the blink of an eye, she felt the sting on her back, so close to her neck it felt almost like when sunlight hit that particular spot. She held back a groan but screamed the second that same sting hit full force, this time on the left side of her shoulders. When Yn turned, feeling the tickles of hot blood run down her back, she saw a man with so much rage in his eyes that it was like he was hitting her over and over again on the same spot. But in reality, his hands went up holding a bloody knife, and he stabbed her in a series of different places. She screamed, cried, and asked between coughs why her, why he was doing it, why a knife, why so many hits, why why why? And when no answer came from his mouth except grunts she knew there was nothing to do but to run for her life. She stumbled in the direction of the bedroom door, feeling yet another series of stings on her back. She tried to run, but her own blood betrayed her and she slipped on it. The feeling of the hot liquid against her hands and cheeks made her scream harder for help. But no one came, and the stab continued. She tried crawling. Tried praying. Tried begging for her life or at least to stop and let her die in pieces, but it went on until darkness surrounded her. She weakly turned her arm in the direction of her killer, digging her nails into the skin of his forearm and dragging as if telling him something. And when darkness surrounded her she kept screaming and twisting her body.

“Yn, wake up! It’s me! Wake up, dammit!” Erik tried while Yn relentlessly twisted on the bed. “Wake up, Yn,” he tried louder and she jumped out of bed taking part of the covers with her and almost falling to the ground.

“Omg, omg,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, looking around her room and noticing there were no clothes to be folded or blood spots on the ground. Only her scared husband staring at her from his spot on the bed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” she holds the covers closer to her body, trying to make herself smaller. “I had a nightmare, but it was so real, so real I-”

Erik sighed, “You shouldn’t have entertained that crazy lady at the supermarket, now you’re convinced and thinking there’s a ghost in the house, as if there are ghosts at all!”

Yn shook her head, but kept her mouth shut, standing glued on her spot and assessing the whole room all over again. It was this room. This exact same room was the one she was standing in in her nightmare, and possibly the room where the guy was killed. Her phone lit up on the nightstand, there were no new notifications, and when she unlocked it her browser was still open on the article about the case. She locked it again and took a step back.

“What was it now, babe?” Erik was clearly frustrated, he hated being woken up especially in the middle of the night, and especially in a scary situation like the one he just watched happen.

“Nothing, I- uhm- I should try sleeping again,” she stated, getting under the covers and lying beside him, when her back hit the mattress she swore she felt a small sting, but she kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, trying to sleep it off.

When the morning came and the sun peeked through the blinds, Yn descended the stairs to the kitchen, stopping at the door and staring at the mess her husband, who was supposed to clean the dishes and discard the takeout containers, left.

Sighing, started the coffee machine, and a few minutes later Eric showed up in the kitchen, rubbing the sleep of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, good morning, you probably had a blast last night watching TV instead of cleaning the kitchen,” she spat, and he arched his brows.

“I did clean the kitchen!”

“Then who messed it up? A ghost?!” she bit back, pointing to the takeout containers on the counter and the dirty dishes pilling on the sink.

Eric rubbed his temple, before walking to the coffee machine. He hated coffee, and the second he poured a cup Yn knew he was stressed, “I cleaned everything, I remember doing it before also cleaning the living room, that’s why I got to the bedroom so long after you.”

Yn saw a hint of truth behind his statement, but shook her head, starting to discard the cans and plastic wrappers in the trash. She watched from her peripheral vision her husband grab an apple and drown his coffee in one go before leaving the room.

Protected from the cold air by a thin robe, Yn ate breakfast peacefully watching the destroyed backyard of her new house. She could see the spots where plants once were, now involved by tall weeds and dark unkept grass. A three with a swing attached to it was hanging on by a thread.

She took notes of things she wanted to renovate and what she wanted to plant where, before getting inside to a virtual work meeting.

The day went on without events. At night she shared dinner with Eric again, and it was her turn to clean the kitchen. She did it alone on the ground floor, Eric in their room doing some readings or whatever. She finished in less than an hour and then went to bed. Her mind and body were tired after not sleeping properly the other night, so when Yn hit the mattress she was out cold faster than you could say “good night”.

His eyes were covered by the shadows, but she could tell he had a thoughtful expression by looking at his eyebrows. He was taller than her, she could tell, and he was broad. Lean and strong arms, chiseled jaw, and pretty dark skin.

Yn tried opening her mouth to ask who he was. What he was doing standing at her bedroom door, but his stare was so intense she couldn’t do anything but look back at him, and as the saying goes once you look something in the face, once you stare too long into the abyss, it looks back. It starts to truly exist.

Her week goes by with lonely days and strange nights. She keeps dreaming about the guy standing on her bedroom door and keeps hearing steps, and hushed voices. Sometimes she’ll live that stabbing nightmare all over again. Some hours, she’ll work on her computer, and though there’s a sense of loneliness, there’s also a sense of company, as if she was being watched.

It would scare anyone in their right mind, but Yn tried to rationalize things. And the things she couldn’t, she just let them be. Sometimes, you have to accept that you’re not supposed to understand everything. Life has its mysteries, and so did her new house.

Things with Eric were going downhill, and they were spending less and less time together. But it wasn’t anything new, and he was busy with work. They were both busy. Yn tried to tell herself. Feeling lonely would explain how her brain threw her into a heated dream.

It was the first time she was able to produce a sound in her dream. It was a simple “a” that passed between her open lips. And so as it happens, it was also the first time the man by the door moved. His eyes never left hers while he walked to the foot of the bed. He wandered as if he knew the place and setting of everything. Like he lived there for centuries. And when he stopped in front of her, his eyes trailed on the covers, moving them to her feet, without moving his body. Yn grunted, surprised with how easily the covers fell, and how her body was exposed to him. The cold air made her nipples harden against the silk nightgown.

When she looked at him again, she saw his eyes for the first time. A deep honey brown, carrying so much and whispering so much on her mind, she had the urge to touch him. But her body would only do so much. Yn watched, as he studied her contours with something she was not able to pin just yet. She watched as his tongue came out of his plush and pink lips to moisten them. And she moaned, she actually moaned when his fingers touched her leg. His skin was cold, his touch so feathery almost like a ghost. He trailed the tip of his short nails on her thighs and with just one look he spread them.

“Yes,” she was able to whisper when his eyes found hers again.

The man smirked devilishly. One of his fingers trailed the path to her unclothed pussy and Yn whined when he spread her sex and caressed her soaked lips. She couldn’t think about anything but his deep brown eyes. Her husband was long forgotten. The house was long forgotten.

“Yes,” she chanted again. It sounded like a prayer. It made the mysterious man’s grin widen. He inserted one finger inside her and dipped his face to her ear. There wasn’t a sound, but she felt a light gush of air against her skin. And she tried to move her hips in the direction of his fingers.

He played with her already puffy clit, and this time the gush of air she felt against her skin was accompanied by a quiet chuckle sound.

Her hips ground against his big hands, and Yn choked when his long fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. She shuddered and her body went limp when her orgasm hit her like a trainwreck, fogging her mind from any coherent thought.

Yn jolted from the bed feeling sweat slide down her forehead and between her breasts. She took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes trying to adjust them to the darkness of her room, her comforter was lying by her feet and the skirt of her nightgown was hiked up on her hips. She furrowed her brows and tentatively moved her fingers to her core, feeling the dampness of her core.

Cum.

She turned to her husband, but Eric was lying beside her, in a deep slumber.

She turned to the doorway and the once-closed door now rested ajar.

Once again Yn tried to rationalize everything. Was it possible to cheat on someone in your dreams? Was it really a dream?

She tried talking with Eric, but he was in so deep with work he wouldn’t be home until dinner almost every day. And when she tried to tell him about the weird noises and the sensation of being watched, he told her “It just feels weird because it's not decorated with your flowers and things yet, we got it mobiliated, not decorated, so maybe that’s why you’re feeling dislocated or whatever, just relax, will ya?”.

Up until starting to get the house in order, Yn would tell herself that every weird thing happening to her was just a product of her imagination. But while going through things in the living room, she found an album. Inside, a bunch of pictures caught her attention. The first few pages portrayed the house in a much better state. The gardens and a beautiful kitchen. A fireplace lit in the living room, and a corridor full of photos. At some point, she found a picture of a man. A stunning man. He had a big white smile while staring at the camera. His hair was ornated with braids, and two small ones shaped his face to perfection.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She flipped the album frantically being met with pictures of the same man side by side with different people. None of them were familiar to her. He was the only known face. By the foot of one picture, it read “Lewis and friends” signed with a date and a scribbled message she didn’t care to read because that man was Lewis.

That man was the one who would stand by her bedroom door every night.

It was the same man that fingered her until she came.

The same man who haunted her.

And precisely, the same man that haunted the whole house since the day he was killed, she confirmed after tipping on her phone, searching for the news about the case again, and finding his blurry picture there. No mention of his name. But a picture of him. And the mention of the neighborhood.

Her stabbing nightmares were his memories.

He was trying to spook her off the house.

But something changed along the way, Yn thought.

The cup of tea she was sipping tipped on the coffee table. She squeaked in surprise, and she would tell herself it was just her mind again if one of her books weren’t thrown across the living room.

And she swore it happened so fast, she couldn’t really process, couldn’t think of what she was doing when she opened her mouth and questioned, “Lewis?” She gulped. “Is that you?” her last sentence was a breathy whisper. So small only a ghost could hear.

And he did.

In fact, he waited forever to hear someone calling him by the name. He waited for the person who would see him and not run, who would stare, just like she did.

They say that calling someone by their name gives them power and gives them life.

Yn had just given Lewis what he needed.

And without even knowing, she had given herself too.

Lost in the years, lost in the days, he had finally found her.

He smiled, and when Yn turned to the corridor she saw him. She saw him for the first time being awake. Truly saw him. Lewis was handsome. Even more in person. But he was a ghost. He had touched and haunted her.

Yn couldn’t help but scream and try to run, but he was faster, appearing in front of her in the blink of an eye with a smirk on his face.

“Please, don’t kill me,” she whimpered and he chuckled.

“I’m not killing you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite, I’m keeping you here with me,” he states before adding, “Forever”.

Her eyes go round, and she shakes her head scaredly. “I-I have a husband, I’m married, I’m-”

Lewis chuckled, “He doesn’t love you, and neither you love him. Would you let me do this to you if you loved him?” he pins her against the wall and her breath hitches. He found her sweet spot and nipped it while tightening his grip on her waist. “I can practically smell your arousal. You’re such a filthy girl. So bad you get turned on by ghosts,” Lewis mocked.

She purses her lips, darting her eyes to the ground and he dips his head to her lips, tracing her jaw and cheeks.

“You’re cold,” Yn states.

“I’m dead, of course I’m cold, honey.”

“What are you going to do with Eric?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Lewis bites his lips and shrugs.

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” he widens her legs and fits his lean waist between them. “Now you should be worried about what I’m gonna do with you, or rather, what we’re gonna do together.”

And despite the fear and surprise mixed with confusion, Yn couldn’t help but shamefully feel aroused when he ground against her pussy, trapping her body between his and the wall.

“We’re gonna spend the eternity together,” he grinned.

Yn arched her brows, “But I won’t live forever, I’m a human, I-,” but the dark look in his eyes shut her mouth, all the answers she needed right there.

She would spend eternity with Lewis.

Maybe not as a human.

But she would, and he would make sure of that.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for beta and proofreading this piece!🤍

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.  

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 8

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours  @sukunasstomachtongue @cosmic-lovr @imm0rtalbutterfly @kyo-kyo1

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CHPATER 8 - AFTERSHOCKS

Yn pov

The cold night air felt like a slap to my face as I left Kenjaku’s place, my footsteps echoing hollowly down the quiet street. I tried to keep my mind blank, to drown out the lingering, haunting image of Sukuna—his dark, haunted eyes and the barely lit cigarette slipping from his fingers as he whispered for me to leave.

My chest felt tight, my heart pounding as I tried to make sense of the broken pieces he’d left scattered inside me. Every time I thought he’d reached his lowest point, he seemed to spiral deeper, as if he was determined to burn everything down to ashes.

I couldn’t ignore that I still cared. Seeing him like that—seeing him looking at me with that raw, bitter pain—I wanted to help him, to reach out, but I knew better now. I had spent months clinging to hope that maybe, just maybe, he would change for us, for himself, for the family that he still had.

But tonight, his words left no doubt. He wasn’t ready, not for me, not for anyone. And I had to face the reality that he might never be.

A few blocks down, I caught my reflection in the darkened glass of a closed café. I looked like someone I barely recognized—worn, tired, weighed down by a love that kept clawing back even when I tried to sever it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Utahime: “Hey, just checking in. Are you okay?”

The concern in her message softened the ache, even if just a little. I didn’t have to handle this alone; I didn’t have to keep it all bottled up inside. I knew she’d come over, let me talk or sit in silence—whatever I needed. And right now, maybe I needed someone to remind me I still mattered, even if Sukuna had all but forgotten that.

I texted her back, “Not really, but I’m heading home. Could use some company if you’re free.”

Within seconds, she responded, “On my way.”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took a deep breath, looking up at the night sky. I whispered, maybe to the stars or just to myself, “I’ll survive this. I’ll get over him.”

But as much as I wanted to believe it, the ache in my chest told me it wasn’t going to be that easy.

I knocked lightly on Utahime’s door, the sound muffled by the weight of my thoughts. As the door swung open, I was greeted by her warm smile, though I could see the concern in her eyes. Behind her, Shoko sat on the couch, a soft glass of wine in her hand, and Geto was casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed. My heart did a little flip in my chest as I processed the sight of them together—together, like a real couple.

I hadn't been prepared for that.

Shoko saw my hesitation, and before I could ask, she smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re dating. Long story.”

I nodded quietly, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I wasn't sure why the news hit me so hard, maybe because it was a reminder that things were changing—life was moving on for everyone, even if I felt stuck in place, trying to untangle the mess that was Sukuna.

Utahime saw my expression shift and gently ushered me inside. “Come on, sit. You look like you need to get out of your head for a while.”

I sank into the couch, a little too aware of the awkward silence hanging between us. Geto noticed and softened his posture, giving me a small, understanding nod.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.

I forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might shatter at any moment. “Yeah, just been a long couple of days.”

I glanced at Shoko, who didn’t speak immediately but gave me that steady, unspoken support only she could. She, too, knew the weight of what I’d been going through. We’d all lived it in some way or another, the pain of love and loss.

Utahime sat beside me and handed me a glass of water. “You know you can talk about whatever’s going on, right? You’re not alone.”

But the weight of the night—the weight of Sukuna’s words—was still too much to carry. I didn’t want to bring up my problems, especially not with how well everything seemed to be falling into place for them. I didn’t want to ruin the rare moment of peace I had here with my friends by pouring out the chaos of my emotions. Not when I knew they already had enough of their own burdens.

“I just...” I trailed off, unsure of how to say what I was feeling. “It’s a lot to process. And I’m not sure where to go from here, you know?”

Shoko’s gaze softened as she placed her drink down, giving me her full attention. “You don’t have to have it figured out right now,” she said gently. “You just have to take it one step at a time.”

I let out a shaky breath, nodding as the tension in my chest eased a fraction. They were here. I wasn’t alone.

But even with their support, my mind kept drifting back to Sukuna, to his cold dismissal, to the rawness of his words.

“You made the right choice… don’t let guilt eat at you.”

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to push the thought away. That guilt... it would always be there, wouldn’t it? No matter how many times I told myself to let go.

But for tonight, at least, I could let the presence of my friends drown out the echoes of his voice, if only for a little while.

I watched as Geto leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Shoko’s lips, his actions almost casual but carrying the weight of a goodbye. Shoko held his arm, reluctant to let go, her fingers tightening around him, before she looked up at him, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.

Geto’s eyes briefly flicked over to me, and my stomach churned at the look he gave. It wasn’t pity, but it felt like something else—something more complicated. He gave her a small, almost apologetic smile, brushing a hand over her arm. “I’ll text you, Sho. Gotta check up on some people, you know how it is.”

Shoko didn’t respond immediately, but I could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted to argue, to keep him here, but she didn’t. Instead, she let out a small sigh and nodded, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve one last time before he stood up and turned toward the door.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said to him, her voice small, almost fragile.

“I will,” Geto answered, offering her one last soft smile before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Their relationship wasn’t something I was used to yet—seeing them together, watching the small acts of affection that seemed so natural, yet felt so foreign to me.

Shoko exhaled slowly, her gaze turning to the space Geto had just vacated. It was clear she was processing something, her usual calm mask slipping just slightly. After a moment, she looked back at me, her eyes sharp with a quiet intensity.

“You doing alright?” she asked, her voice softer nowr as if the moment had made her more aware of the space between us.

I nodded, forcing a smile even though the ache in my chest was still there, gnawing at me, a reminder of everything I wasn’t ready to face. “Yeah. Just... a lot.”

Shoko studied me for a moment before leaning back against the couch, folding her arms across her chest. “You don’t have to talk about it now. But you know, you’re not alone in this, right?”

I met her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. Maybe this pain wasn’t mine to carry alone.

Maybe, for tonight, I didn’t have to keep pretending that I had it all figured out.

“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little as I let myself believe in her words.

I took a deep breath, the tension in my shoulders still heavy as I recounted everything to Shoko and Utahime. The weight of the situation felt heavier now that I was speaking it out loud, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. They needed to know—especially after everything I’d just witnessed.

“Yuuji came by earlier today,” I started, my voice quieter than I intended, but steady enough to keep going. "He showed up at my apartment, completely out of the blue, looking... well, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I could tell something was wrong the minute he walked in."

Shoko raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly in her seat, her expression curious but concerned. Utahime looked at me, her usual stern demeanor softened for a moment as she awaited the rest.

“What happened?” Shoko asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

I hesitated for a moment, my mind replaying the earlier events like a loop. "He was asking me if I’d seen Sukuna. He told me that Sukuna had been holed up in his apartment for days and that he was... acting strange, even for him. Yuuji didn’t want to deal with it alone, so he came to me. I knew something had to be off. Sukuna hasn’t been answering calls or texts, and when Yuuji said he couldn’t even get in contact with him, I just had this gut feeling. I knew exactly where he was."

I paused, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat. "Yuuji said Sukuna’s been shutting everyone out, and I don’t think anyone really knows the extent of it. I don’t know how Yuuji does it, but I could see the worry on his face. He’s scared, Shoko."

Utahime’s eyes narrowed slightly as she processed my words. "And then what? What did you do?"

“I told Yuuji to go back home. I gave him my spare key to my place, just in case Sukuna showed up again, but... something didn’t feel right. I didn’t want Yuuji to be on his own with this, but I couldn’t exactly go to Sukuna’s apartment. I didn’t know how to handle that. So, I called Kenjaku, asked if he knew where Sukuna was. He was quiet at first, but then he told me Sukuna was with him—said he wasn’t doing well.” I looked down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting nervously. “He said... Sukuna was completely off the rails, Yuuji’s not the only one trying to keep him together. He’s falling apart, guys. I’m not sure he even wants help anymore.”

Shoko’s gaze softened, a quiet understanding passing between us. Utahime leaned forward, her arms crossed as she listened closely. “He’s drowning, isn’t he?”

I nodded. "Yeah. I think he’s been drowning for a long time. I don’t think anyone’s been able to reach him, not really. And after everything with Jin... I don’t know if he’s even capable of letting anyone in anymore. It’s like he’s pushing everyone away, even the people who want to help."

Utahime let out a slow exhale, her brow furrowing as she processed the situation. "And you? How do you feel about all of this?"

The question hit me harder than I expected, the weight of it pressing against my chest. I paused, uncertain of how to answer. "I don’t know. I love him, I do. But I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep waiting for him to pull himself out of this mess he’s made. He has to want it, right? He has to fight for it."

I swallowed hard, blinking back the burning in my eyes. "But I can’t help him if he won’t let me. I don’t even know where to start anymore."

Shoko shifted in her seat, a small, knowing smile pulling at her lips. "Sometimes the hardest thing is realizing that you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. But that doesn’t mean you don’t care. It just means you have to put yourself first now. He’s got to figure this out on his own, Y/N."

Utahime nodded, her voice quieter now but no less firm. "And you’re not the one who has to carry the weight of his choices anymore. You’ve already done enough."

I let her words sink in, the truth of them slowly loosening the grip of guilt that had been squeezing my chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe Sukuna needed to want help before anyone could reach him. But part of me couldn’t shake the thought—was I giving up too soon? Could I have done more?

"I just want him to be okay," I murmured, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "I just want him to find a way out of all this... for himself."

Shoko leaned forward, resting a hand gently on mine. “I know you do. But sometimes, the best way to help someone is by letting them figure things out on their own. He has to want to get better for himself, not for you, not for anyone else."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into my bones. I wasn’t sure what the future held for me and Sukuna, but for now, I had to accept that I couldn’t save him. Not unless he was ready to save himself.

The conversation lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken words. Shoko’s hand remained on mine, grounding me as I processed everything. Utahime leaned back in her seat, her arms still crossed as she studied me.

“You did what you could,” Utahime said firmly. “Now it’s up to him. But don’t think for a second that it’s your responsibility to fix him, Y/N. You’ve been through enough.”

I nodded, though the ache in my chest didn’t lessen. “I know. It’s just… it’s hard to see him like that. To see someone you care about destroy themselves.”

Shoko gave me a small, reassuring smile. “It always is. But you have to remind yourself that you can’t set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. You’re allowed to move on, Y/N. You’re allowed to heal.”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of their words both comforting and suffocating. I wanted to believe them, to let go of the guilt and pain that had been eating away at me since I walked out of Sukuna’s apartment. But it wasn’t that simple. It never was.

Geto’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You know,” he started, his tone careful, “Sukuna’s not someone who’s easy to reach, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t leave a mark on him. Sometimes people need to hit rock bottom before they realize they need to climb back up. You might have been the first step for him, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the insight in his words. Geto had always been quiet, observing from the sidelines, but when he spoke, his words carried weight.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right, but it still feels like I failed him. Like I should’ve done more.”

“You didn’t fail him,” Shoko said firmly. “You loved him. That’s not failure. But love isn’t always enough to fix someone. And that’s not on you.”

Her words stung, but they were true. I nodded again, more to myself this time, and took a deep breath. “I just hope he finds his way out of this. For Yuuji, for Choso... for himself.”

Geto stood then, brushing his hands against his jeans. “You’ve done more for him than most people would’ve, Y/N. Now it’s his turn to step up. You’ve got your own life to live, and you deserve to live it without carrying the weight of his choices.”

He glanced at Shoko, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Shoko frowned but nodded, clearly still unhappy about him leaving. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll try my best.”

I watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and felt a pang of envy at the ease between them. The love and understanding they shared were palpable, and it made the emptiness Sukuna left behind feel all the more stark.

Shoko turned back to me, her gaze soft but firm. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. And you don’t have to carry this alone.”

Utahime nodded in agreement. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

I offered them a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, I tried to focus on the present, but Sukuna’s broken expression lingered in the back of my mind. I didn’t know what the future held for him—or for me—but for now, I had to let go. For my own sake. For my own healing.

—Sukuna’s POV—

I stared at the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ash build and fall like tiny, useless fragments of my life. The apartment was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater struggling against the cold. Uraume was gone—finally giving up after one too many of my dismissive grunts. And Y/N… she was gone too.

That thought gnawed at me.

I flicked the cigarette into the ashtray and leaned back, letting the smoke curl lazily around me. My body ached in ways I couldn’t explain. Not just the aftermath of the hospital or the lingering burn of Kenjaku’s words. It was deeper than that, heavier. A dull, throbbing weight that seemed permanently lodged in my chest.

Her voice echoed in my head. The way she said my name—firm, concerned, and just a little broken. Like she still cared, even when I begged her to leave. Maybe especially because I begged her to leave.

I hated it. Hated how much I wanted her to stay. Hated how much I needed her and hated myself for needing her. She didn’t deserve this mess. Didn’t deserve me. I’d proven that a hundred times over.

The door creaked open, and I flinched, expecting Kenjaku to barge back in with another lecture. But it was Uraume, holding two bags of groceries. She glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and started unpacking like I wasn’t there.

“What now?” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

“Relax, I’m not here to lecture you,” Uraume said, their tone clipped. “I just thought you might want to eat something that isn’t stale chips or whatever’s left in that takeout box.”

I didn’t respond, turning my head to look at the ceiling instead. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. I could feel Uraume’s eyes on me, but I refused to meet their gaze.

Finally, they sighed, setting down a container of food on the coffee table. “Look, I don’t know what happened with Y/N, but if she came all the way here for you, maybe think about why that is.”

I barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “She came because she felt guilty. That’s it. She thinks she owes me something. Like she can fix me.”

“And what if she does care?” Uraume shot back, crossing their arms. “What if she actually gives a damn about what happens to you? Ever think about that?”

I sat up abruptly, the movement making my head spin. “It doesn’t matter, Uraume. Caring doesn’t change anything. Caring doesn’t bring Jin back. It doesn’t undo the shit I’ve done. And it sure as hell doesn’t make me any less of a screw-up.”

They didn’t say anything, just stood there with that same unreadable expression they always had. After a moment, they shrugged and turned away, heading to the kitchen. “Whatever you say, Sukuna. But maybe you should figure out what you actually want before you push everyone away for good.”

I dropped back onto the couch, my head pounding. What I wanted? That was easy.

I wanted Jin back. I wanted Grandpa back. I wanted my old life—the one where everything wasn’t broken and I wasn’t dragging the people I cared about down with me. But that life was gone, and wanting it back was as useless as the cigarette butts piling up in the ashtray.

Still, Uraume’s words stuck. Y/N’s face flashed in my mind—those tired eyes, the way her lips trembled when she spoke my name. The way she didn’t flinch, didn’t run when I lashed out.

What the hell did she see in me? Why did she even bother?

I reached for my phone on the table, hesitating for a moment before unlocking it. The screen lit up, the messages from Kenjaku and Toji staring back at me like a slap in the face. No missed calls. No texts from her.

Of course not. Why would there be?

I tossed the phone aside and leaned forward, burying my face in my hands. My mind replayed the conversation from earlier, every word, every look. The regret in her voice when she said my name. The way she fought back tears, trying to stay strong even when I broke her down.

I didn’t deserve her. I knew that. But damn it, I wanted her. I wanted her to pull me out of this pit, even if it was selfish. Even if I dragged her down with me.

But she was right to leave. She was right to walk away.

Because no matter how much I wanted to believe I could change, deep down, I wasn’t sure I even knew how.

I hear the door knock and Toji strolls in. im pissed off thinking how the fuck does he know where I am. He stared at me, then talked to Kenjaku. I saw them walking in my direction. Ken said again "I think you should go to rehab" I closed my eyes trying to drown him out again....I told him. I already told you no, now just stop

Toji leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk nowhere in sight. That alone told me he wasn’t here to bullshit around. I glared at him, the weight of their stares burning a hole through me.

Kenjaku crouched in front of me, his face level with mine. "Sukuna," he said calmly, almost like he was trying not to lose his temper. "This isn’t about what you want anymore. This is about what you need."

I scoffed, looking away. "What I need is for you all to get the fuck out of my face. You think rehab’s going to fix anything? You think a few weeks locked away is gonna magically make me less of a fuck-up?"

Toji pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Maybe not," he said, his voice low but firm. "But sitting here wallowing in your own self-pity sure as hell isn’t doing you any favors either."

I felt my jaw tighten, my fists clenching at my sides. "You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."

"Oh, don’t I?" Toji shot back, his voice rising. "You think you’re the only one who’s been through shit, Sukuna? The only one who’s lost people? Guess what, man, the world doesn’t stop spinning just because you’re hurting."

"Toji," Kenjaku said sharply, holding up a hand.

"No, let me finish," Toji snapped, his eyes locked on mine. "You wanna drown yourself in booze and pills? Fine. But don’t pretend you’re the only one who’s suffering. Yuuji’s a kid, for fuck’s sake, and he’s holding it together better than you are. What do you think he’s gonna do if you don’t make it out of this? You think he’ll just move on?"

The mention of Yuuji hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t let it show. I wouldn’t give Toji the satisfaction.

Kenjaku leaned closer, his voice softer now but no less insistent. "Sukuna, you’ve got people who care about you. People who want to see you get better. But we can’t do it for you. You have to make the choice."

I closed my eyes, the weight of their words pressing down on me like a goddamn boulder. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about Yuuji, or Choso, or Y/N. It was easier to stay numb, to shut it all out.

"I already told you no," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Now just stop."

There was a heavy silence, the kind that made the air feel thick and suffocating. Then, Toji let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You’re a real piece of work, you know that?" he said, shaking his head. "Fine. Stay here. Rot in your own misery if that’s what you want. But don’t expect anyone to keep picking up the pieces when you finally break for good."

He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Kenjaku stayed for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine like he was looking for some shred of hope, some sign that I wasn’t completely lost.

"I’ll give you some time," he said quietly. "But not forever, Sukuna. Think about what you’re throwing away."

And then he was gone too, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence of my own damn thoughts

Toji paused on his way out, turning back to face me. His expression shifted, an edge of disgust crossing his features. “Didn’t you take Yuuji to live with you and Megumi?” I snapped, trying to push him away with my words. “He’s fine. And Choso’s a grown-ass man. Why don’t you save the lecture for someone who gives a damn?”

Toji stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You really think that’s all there is to it?” he said slowly, his voice dangerously calm. “What about Y/N?”

I tensed, glaring at him. “What about her?”

He smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t you fuck her? What if she’s pregnant?”

The words hit me like a truck, but I shoved the thought aside. 

She’s not pregnant. She can’t be. And even if she was, what does it matter? It’s not my problem.

“Who cares if she is?” I shot back, my voice venomous. “I don’t. She means nothing to me. I don’t know why you guys keep acting like she was ever anything more than a good time.”

Toji’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stared me down. “You’re a goddamn liar,” he said finally, his voice cold and cutting.

I didn’t say anything, just clenched my fists tighter, nails digging into my palms. 

What the hell did he know? What the hell did any of them know?

Toji shook his head, the disappointment in his eyes cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. “You wanna pretend like she didn’t mean something to you, fine. But don’t expect anyone else to buy into your bullshit. Especially not yourself.”

And with that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I slumped back onto the couch, my head spinning. 

Who the fuck does he think he is, coming in here and saying that shit to me? Like he knows what I’m dealing with. Like he knows what I feel.

But the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories of Y/N. Her smile, her laugh, the way she used to look at me like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t the broken mess I am.

Stop it. She’s gone. She left. And good for her. She doesn’t need this shit.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the gnawing ache in my chest. The one that whispered she meant more than I wanted to admit. That she still did.

I wanted more drugs, maybe sleep. I wasn’t even sure anymore. My head was a mess, a tangled web of thoughts I couldn’t unravel.

Y/N… pregnant? No. Hell no. I shook the thought out of my head, like swatting away a fly.

There’s no way. And even if she was, it doesn’t matter.

I pushed myself off the couch, the weight of my own body feeling heavier than it should. My legs felt like jelly, the room spinning slightly as I stood up. I barely took a step before my knees buckled, and I hit the floor hard.

“Fuck,” I hissed, clutching my head as a sharp pain shot through it. My palms pressed against the cold floor as I tried to steady my breathing.

I need to chill. I just need to breathe.

But it wasn’t just the withdrawal or the physical exhaustion. It was everything else swirling in my head. Y/N’s face flashing in my mind, Toji’s words digging into my chest, Kenjaku’s voice still ringing in my ears about rehab.

I leaned my forehead against the floor, my fists clenching. 

Why can’t I just shut it all off? Just for a little while?

The idea of her being pregnant—it was absurd. It had to be. But the thought wouldn’t stop gnawing at me. What if? What if she was? What if she wasn’t?

And what if I wasn’t even around to find out?

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the empty room. “She’s better off without me,” I muttered under my breath.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave. It lingered, festering like an open wound, making my chest tighten.

I forced myself to sit up, leaning against the couch as I rubbed my hands over my face. I could feel my body screaming for another hit, another drink, anything to numb the storm in my head.

But deep down, I knew nothing would make it stop. Not really.

Kenjaku strolled over and pulled me up off the floor, his grip firm, almost too tight. I hadn't even realized I was still on the ground until he yanked me upright.

"You need help," he said, his voice low and steady, but his eyes burned with something harsher—disappointment, maybe, or frustration.

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "No," I muttered, my voice cracking slightly. "I don’t need help. I need it to stop."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was waiting for more.

“The noise, the thoughts... I just need it all to stop,” I continued, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself against the couch. "Maybe a Xanax... something to take the edge off."

Kenjaku’s lips curled into a bitter scoff, and before I could react, he shoved me back down onto the floor. The impact jarred me, knocking the air out of my lungs for a second.

“You’re unbelievable,” he snapped, standing over me like I was some kind of pathetic, broken thing. “You think another pill is going to fix this? That it’ll fix you?”

I glared up at him, my hands braced against the floor. “Why the fuck do you care, huh? You’re not my family. You’re not my fucking anything!”

Kenjaku crossed his arms, his expression cold, almost calculating. "Maybe not, but someone has to give a damn about you since you clearly don’t."

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I turned my face away, staring at the cigarette butt smoldering in the ashtray on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning down slightly.

“To live with this... this constant noise,” I said, tapping my temple. "The memories, the guilt, the fucking pressure. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning every single second of the day and to know no one can pull you out."

Kenjaku crouched down, his face level with mine. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever dealt with shit? You think you're special because you're in pain? Grow up, Sukuna.”

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. “Fuck you.”

“No,” he said, standing back up. “Fuck you for thinking this is how it has to be. You’re better than this, but you’re too much of a coward to try.”

I looked away, swallowing hard. His words cut deep, but I didn’t want to show it. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kenjaku continued, his tone softening just slightly. “You want the noise to stop? You want to get out of this pit you’ve thrown yourself into? Fine. But it’s going to take more than a fucking Xanax.”

I didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him. But somewhere, deep down, a small, flickering thought took root.

What if he was right?

Kenjaku’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dripped with disdain as he went in on me.

“When was the last time you even looked at yourself, man? You’re withering away. Skin and bones. Walking around like a ghost of who you used to be,” he said, pacing in front of me like he was building up momentum. “Is this what you want? To fade into nothing?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to meet his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” he shot back, stopping abruptly to stare me down. “When was the last time you did anything that wasn’t about numbing yourself? Did you even sign up for the new school year? Or is that just another thing you’ve let rot?”

I bristled at his tone, my fists tightening at my sides. “I took time off. You know that.”

“Yeah, when Jin died,” he replied, his voice softening for a split second before hardening again. “And I understood. Everyone did. But you said one year, Sukuna. One year. Now look at you. What the hell are you even doing?”

“I’m dropping out,” I said flatly, my voice low but steady.

Kenjaku stopped pacing, blinking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Then he laughed.

A sharp, bitter laugh that cut through the room like a knife.

“Dropping out?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “That’s your big plan? Just throw it all away? Jesus Christ, Sukuna. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t care about school, Ken,” I snapped, finally looking up at him. “It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course, it doesn’t matter to you. Nothing does anymore, does it? Not school, not your family, not even yourself.”

“Don’t bring my family into this,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, I’m bringing them into this,” Kenjaku fired back. “Because while you’re busy spiraling, they’re the ones who have to deal with the fallout. Yuuji. Choso. Hell, even Toji. They’re all trying to hold it together while you—”

“SHUT UP!” I shouted, cutting him off. My voice echoed in the room, and for a moment, everything went silent.

I could feel my chest heaving, my fists trembling. Kenjaku didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re better than this, Sukuna,” he said quietly, his tone lacking the usual sharpness. “Or at least, you used to be. But if you want to throw it all away, fine. Just don’t pretend like it’s anyone’s fault but yours.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The weight of his words pressed down on me, suffocating, but undeniable.

I glanced around the room, my gaze flickering over the scattered bottles, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, and the faces staring at me—Kenjaku’s, Uraume’s. It felt like they were all closing in, suffocating me.

They don’t get it. None of them do.

The words echoed in my head, growing louder and louder until they slipped past my lips before I even realized it.

“I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

The room froze. The air felt heavy, and for a moment, I thought maybe I hadn’t said it out loud. But then Uraume’s voice broke the silence, soft but trembling.

“You don’t mean that,” they said, stepping closer. Their eyes searched mine, desperate for something—anything—that would prove I wasn’t serious.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Kenjaku’s jaw tightened, his sharp gaze cutting through me like a blade. “Sukuna,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Don’t say shit like that unless you’re ready to have a real conversation about it.”

“I’m not having a fucking conversation,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended. “It’s not a cry for help, okay? It’s just the truth.”

“You’re lying to yourself,” Uraume said, their voice stronger now, almost angry. “You’re drowning, Sukuna, and instead of reaching for help, you’re just letting yourself sink. But don’t drag us down with you.”

I flinched at their words, my body tensing.

“Sink or swim, huh?” I muttered bitterly, shaking my head. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. Like it’s that fucking simple.”

“It’s not simple,” Kenjaku cut in, his tone sharper now. “But you don’t get to just give up and act like you’ve got no choices. You’re still here, Sukuna. That means something.”

I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that made Uraume flinch. “You’re all so sure it does. But if I’m just gonna keep fucking everything up, what’s the point? Jin’s gone because of me. Grandpa’s gone. Everyone would’ve been better off if I wasn’t—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Uraume snapped, their voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t you dare.”

I looked up at them, my vision blurring. Their face was a mix of anger and pain, their fists clenched tightly at their sides.

“Do you really believe that?” Kenjaku asked, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “That the people who love you would be better off without you? Think about Yuuji. Choso. Hell, even Y/N. You really think they’d be better without you?”

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, the lump refusing to go away.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. The words felt like glass, sharp and jagged as they left my mouth. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Uraume stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Then let us help you figure it out,” they said softly. “But you have to let us in, Sukuna. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The weight of their words pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Part of me wanted to believe them.

But the other part—the louder part—kept screaming that it didn’t matter. That nothing mattered.

I looked away, unable to meet their eyes.

I was tired. Tired of the fighting, the guilt, the endless cycle of fucking up and trying to fix it.

“I’ll think about it,” I muttered finally, the words feeling empty even as I said them.

Kenjaku didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “That’s a start,” he said. “But thinking isn’t enough, Sukuna. Eventually, you’re gonna have to do something.”

Eventually.

I needed to go back home. back to work. I need to stifle myself a bit. I got up to leave. then I hit the floor.

FUCK!

[thatfreshi]

"He Can't Have You" (Astarion x Reader)

Seems as though Auntie Ethel doesn't go down without a fight, and that fight involves bringing out the worst in people's minds. (Also we get to see where the nickname Aster came from)

tw - mentions of abuse, panic attack

The Sunny Wetlands, later revealed to be a putrid swamp, have proven particularly difficult for Astarion. The last thing any of you expected was to find a Gur hunting him, especially this far from the city. It made your heart skip a beat, hearing the monster hunter utter his name, and you could feel the tension in the vampire. Thankfully, you did away with him quickly. By now, he's told you plenty about his past, at least as much as he could bear to tell. That haunting feeling though, knowing that Cazador was hunting him, it was paralyzing. As you searched for Mayrina, you and Astarion fell behind the rest of the group.

"Are you alright my love? I could tell them we should just set up camp for the night, rest up for dealing with the hag."

"Nonsense. What would I look like, asking everyone to stop for me? The Gur has been dealt with, let's just leave it at that darling."

"I cannot imagine dealing with the hag will be easy though."

"I'll simply run my blade through her like I do everything else. I'll be fine."

It hasn't been long enough with him to truly know if he's lying, but you certainly have a hunch. On the way back to the hag's house, Gale casts detect magic.

"She's definitely in here. We should be prepared."

Sure, she looked like a sad old woman, but those adventurers told you the truth, how she took their sister. When Karlach leads the charge, opening the door, she tries to look shocked.

"Oh dear! It's quite rude to storm into someone's house like that. Where are your manners?"

Without responding, Karlach throws her axe into the hag's shoulder, breaking the illusion, showing the monster for who she is. Covered in grime, like a witch born straight from the mud.

"It looks like I'll just have to teach you all how to be polite!"

Karlach tries to go for a second hit, but the hag teleports. Gale soon tracks her down, casting a ray of frost. Astarion follows her up the stairs while she tries to counterspell Gale. You and Lae'zel try to attack from a distance, missing because of just how quick she can move from place to place. Wyll has focused on assisting Gale, and Shadowheart is keeping track of all your party members, making sure to be there as soon as one of you takes a hit. In the meantime, she casts guidance on Astarion, who is fighting much more intensely than usual. Perhaps killing the Gur wasn't enough, and the anger was still boiling inside.

"Alright little mosquito, you want to be a thorn in my side? Poor decision."

The hag disappears from sight, and Astarion stops in his tracks. At first you think nothing of it. It almost looks like he's searching the room for where your enemy landed. For him though, the hag has cast a strong illusion, preying on his worst fear: being back in Cazador's grasp. The teahouse has transformed into the kennels, cold stone on bare feet, blood spattered across the walls.

Well, well, well. Seems as though the boy never learns! Perhaps, this time, will set you straight.

He hears the voice of Godey taunting him, threatening to pull him apart again.

"No! No, I left- I left, I was free!"

It's at this moment you realize he's not here, not in the mental sense.

"Focus on the hag, I'll try to snap him out of it."

You order the rest of the group, and they nod without a word, searching the teahouse for where she's gone now. You run up the stairs, finding a trembling pale man who has dropped his daggers.

Deep down, you like bein' leashed, don't ya?

The words bounce around in his head, a vision of Cazador appearing. You try to shake him, to mentally connect him back to his body, but it only plays into the illusion more, your actions becoming Cazador's.

"Astarion! Astarion it's just a spell, it's not real. It's not real my love, please."

Soon enough, your group finds the hag again, disrupting her concentration, releasing her grip on the elf. His breathing is terrifyingly fast, and he takes a moment to come out of the vision, grabbing a dagger from the floor and very quickly brandishing it towards you.

"DON'T."

You're trying desperately not to cry, because you know he doesn't need your shared sadness right now.

"Hey, it's okay. It's just me, Tav."

You lightly touch the hand holding the dagger, and he loosens his grip. Your hands move to take the blade from his grasp, setting his weapons to the side.

"I... I was there. I was back there."

"I know. Seems as though Ethel knows more than she should."

Astarion is still trying to root himself back in reality, you blood still racing in his dead veins.

"I can't go back Tav. Please, I can't go back."

"I know. I won't let you end up back there, ever."

He's still weary of physical touch, so you simply rub across his knuckles, trying to ground him in the moment. Your deepest urge is to wrap yourself around him and never let go, keep him in a protective case where no one can ever hurt him again, but that's not real. Being entirely safe isn't real. But damn, do you wish it was, for his sake.

As you're sitting there with him, the group makes their way back.

"We lost her. Have a feeling she went deeper into a cave somewhere."

You eye Karlach, and the two of you come to a silent understanding as you hold onto Astarion's shakey hands.

"We'll go set up camp where we entered the swamp. Take your time."

And with that, the tiefling takes the rest of your companions out of the teahouse, leaving the two of you alone.

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, cocking your head slightly.

"Why what?"

"Why would you say you won't let me end up there again? Cazador isn't some being you can simply keep me from, he's... different."

"I don't care."

"What do you mean you don't care?"

"I just, don't care. I don't care how powerful he is or whatever abilities he has, he can't have you. He just can't."

You finally do tear up now, not sure how else to explain it to the vampire.

"He most definitely cou-"

"No."

You try to blink the tears away, feeling the little callouses on his palm from over the decades.

"I want you to know what it's like to belong to someone in a pure way, not for personal gain, but just because they need you. And now that I have you... I just need you. I need you Astarion, so he can't have you. I'd die before he could take you from me."

He's silent for a moment. All forms of ownership he's known have been terrifying. Whatever could you mean by belonging to someone in a pure way? How can you belong to someone innocently? Your tadpole senses his concern, connecting without much effort at all.

"I don't need anything from you. I don't need you to do anything for me, I just need you Aster."

He smiles a little.

"Aster?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I had just been thinking about it. If you don't like it-"

"No I- I love it. Aster. Like the flower?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, the teahouse is peaceful in this moment. You feel young all over again, like you've never been in love before, like Astarion is the only being you've ever known. He interrupts your thoughts.

"Thank you, for saying all that. Maybe I wouldn't mind belonging to someone without expectations. It sounds, nice."

His voice cracks on the last word.

"Well, Aster, then you can belong to me as long as you'd like."

You swipe a piece of hair behind his ear, looking for a reason to get close to his face. As if the fates knew it to be true, you lock lips, despite the horrific smell outside and the creaking wood of the floorboards, you're somewhere else. Some place where the asters bloom in peace.

[bohemianblasphemy]

Back to you

Archangel Gabriel x fem Winchester!reader

Contains: angsty, character ‘death’, fluff and the tichiest bit of suggestiveness at the end <3, very loosely based on season 5, episode 19

(A/N: I love my man Gabriel, there needs to be more fics about him <3 )

“He’s gone Y/N.”

The words rang in your ear, lingering in your brain.

“No he’s not, no- h-he told me he’d always be here, always with me…” you tried to dismiss Dean’s statement, scoffing at him.

The brothers looking at you with pitiful eyes. They knew of the deep bond between Gabriel and yourself- something that had been shared by the two of you since day one. Gabriel wouldn’t have known that he would grown so attached to someone, let alone someone who was human.

Conversations that extended into the early hours of the morning, yearning glances as you both spoke about anything and everything- touches that left trails of fire on each other’s skin…

Nothing could have torn you apart, but after Sam and Deans latest hunt that found them trapped in a hotel with a group of Gods that wanted to use them to stop the apocalypse, Gabriel found himself in the middle of it all to stop them from doing so - only for Lucifer to drive an archangel blade into his chest.

“He’ll be here, just wait- you’ll see.” You couldn’t be more in denial, not wanting to believe them despite the evidential tears that formed in your eyes.

Sam’s heart tightened at the sight of you trying to process the information- seeing how frozen in place you had become.

“Y/n…” he placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him with devastation written all over your face as you took a shaky breath.

You could see the sincerity in his face, his eyebrows furrowing that same way he always did when something bad happened. Dean kept up a strong front, but his eyes gave away the sorrow in his eyes- seeing how you tried to approach the inevitable grief.

“H-he’s really gone?” You choked, looking up at your brother, who bobbed his head in confirmation, soon pulling you in for a bone crushing hug- the action giving rise to your emotions as you began to weep in his arms.

Dean tried to sooth you with rubbing your back, his tough demeanour faltering as he felt your pain pour out of you- desperate to take that ache from your heart away.

The days turned into months, nearly a year- the grief of your loss had lifted slightly but it was still lingering over you like a storm cloud, making some of your days hard than others.

Gabriel haunted you, the mere spectre of him that appeared in your sleeping state- seeing and feeling him, making it seem like what has happened was all a sick joke until you woke up in the real world; your room in the bunker cold and unfamiliar without him there beside you.

Another quiet night fell over the bunker, Sam, Dean and yourself had been researching in the library- trying to find information on a mysterious death that had occurred not too far from the bunker.

“Okay get this, the way that the death occurred is weird, he just- combusted. No one just explodes for no reason.” Sam explained.

“Right, so is there anything that you’ve read that explains any ghouls or whatever that would do something like that?” Dean replied to him, looking at his laptop as he made it look like he was doing research but in reality was scrolling for car parts for Baby.

“Not yet… but I’m thinking that it could be a spell.” Sam sighed, returning to his lore book.

You didn’t say anything, looking at your laptop trying hard to focus on the words before you but your mind was elsewhere.

Sam noticed, giving you a solemn smile. “Hey, you okay?” He asked quietly, noticing your distant gaze onto the screen.

You nodded, your eyes flicking to him and giving him a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, fine I’m just tired…” it was your go to excuse, not that it wasn’t exactly untrue.

Sam patted your forearm and nodded, reciprocating a similar reaction to yours. “Maybe we should take a break hmm? It is close to dinner time and we should have something to eat-“

Sam cut himself off from the sudden sound of fluttering wings, looking over your shoulder toward the sound in the archway, lights flickering around the three of them.

His heart pounded as he observed a physical manifestation appear, walking out from amongst the shadows. The words that came out of his mouth shook you to your core.

“Gabriel?”

Your blood went cold as his name fell out of his mouth, your heart thumping in your chest - not daring to turn around and see for yourself.

Deans eyes widened at the sight. “We thought you were dead-“

“Nope, still here… trickster remember?”

Gabriel spoke finally, the tone in his voice was light and clear- as if he had never had gone. His words echoed through your head, solidifying the fact that he was here.

Taking a deep breath you slowly turned in your seat, seeing the angel you loved before you. The sight of him was overwhelming, locking eyes with him across the room.

“Sweetie…” he whispered, the twinkle in his eye that he got when you were in his vision.

All you could do was stare- he was right there, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than run to him and be in his arms, but you couldn’t.

Where has he been this entire time?

Why didn’t you hear from him?

It made you even more upset.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, silently nodding to each other to leave the two of you alone and walking out of the library.

Gabriel slowly stepped toward you, looking at you as if no time had passed since that fateful day.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“ you put a hand up to stop him from talking as you stood up from your seat.

“N-no, you were dead. They told me you were dead- lucifer KILLED you!” You exclaimed, your eyes welling up again as you thought about these past months, all this time- he had been alive.

“Nothing- not one sign from you, nothing to tell me that you were still alive-“ you choked out, turning away to wipe the incoming tears.

He watched as you turned from him, his heart aching to reach for you.

“I know, I know- I couldn’t, it would’ve been risky to do so. Putting me in danger- putting you in danger. I couldn’t live with that.” Gabriel stepped behind you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and spun you around to face him.

He placed his hands on your cheeks gently, a longing, yearning look in his eyes as he finally grazed the warmth of your skin with his calloused hands.

You let out a quiet sob as he touched you, feeling his touch that you had longed for all this time but still avoided his eyes.

“Every day, I thought of you. Not a minute went by that I didn’t hunger to be with you… not one.” He whispered, wiping your stray teardrops.

You looked up at him finally, unconsciously leaning into his touch as he rubbed his thumbs against your cheeks. You breathed in deeply, exhaling a jagged breath.

“I-I never thought I’d see you again…” you uttered, bringing your own hands to his face and feeling him. Gabriel sighed softly, that same, dilated expression that he always adorned when he looked at you.

“I missed you…”

Gabriel closed his eyes, nodding softly.

“I missed you, so so much.” He whispered before opening his eyes again.

“I’m here now, and I will make it up to you if it’s the last thing I ever do. As long as it’s you, I don’t care… all I want is to make it right, please.” He practically begged, his face only inches away from yours.

You took a moment to think, still processing everything that has just happened to you in the span of… God knows how long.

It didn’t matter.

All that did however was you and him, together again.

“Please…” you muttered, desperation seeping into your singular word that needed his presence, his touch- his everything in that moment.

No hesitation was necessary on Gabriel’s part as he pressed a long awaited kiss to your lips, moving against you needingly- savouring the familiar taste of you that he dreamt about.

The kiss became more hungry, the desire becoming more and more evident between you both as you pulled away, pressing kisses down his neck as he let out a breathy sigh.

You looked at him with lustful eyes and parted, pouted lips.

“C’mon… we have some catching up to do.” You whispered, taking his hand and leading him down the hall of the bunker.

Gabriel just twitches his brow, smirking at your forwardness as he followed close behind you.

“Lead the way sweetness…”

[nunununuy]

Part 6

Part 5 Part 7

Prince x Fem Reader

Title: "Changing the Fate of the Third Prince"

The Day Before Departure

It was a bright afternoon, but my heart felt heavy. Tomorrow, I would be leaving the capital, leaving him—Prince Rafael. As I packed my belongings, I kept pausing, my mind filled with doubt. Should I really leave? What if, in my absence, Rafael turned into the tyrant he was destined to be in the novel? What if the rebellion still happened, and I wasn't there to stop it?

But deep down, I knew that wasn't the only reason I was hesitating. It wasn’t just the fear of what could happen—it was the fear of leaving him, the man I had grown to care about far more than I ever intended. The thought of being far from him, of never seeing him again, sent a wave of sadness through me.

I glanced out the window, the sun beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city. I had made up my mind to leave, but my heart wasn’t ready.

I needed to see him, just one last time. If only to confirm that my place beside him no longer existed. If I could just speak with him, perhaps he would tell me what I needed to hear—that he still needed me, or that I had done my job, and it was time to move on. A part of me, buried deep, wanted him to stop me. To choose me.

With a heavy heart, I left the house and headed toward the castle. As I walked, the memories of our time together flooded my mind—our quiet moments in the library, the way he would listen to my endless chatter, the small smiles he reserved just for me. Could I really leave all that behind?

When I arrived at the castle, I made my way to the library—the place where we had shared so many moments together. But as I walked through the garden, I caught sight of Rafael in the distance. He was standing near the fountain, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of hope.

This was it, I thought. I would go to him, and maybe... just maybe, he would give me a reason to stay.

But just as I took a step forward, I saw her—Princess Seraphina. She approached Rafael with a soft smile, her long gown sweeping the ground as she walked toward him. My heart clenched painfully.

I watched as she stumbled, her foot catching on the edge of the fountain. Rafael moved swiftly, catching her before she could fall. From where I stood, it looked like they were embracing—no, worse, it looked like they were... kissing.

A sharp pain pierced through my chest, and before I knew it, tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't breathe. The sight of them together felt like a confirmation of my deepest fears—Rafael had never needed me. I was nothing compared to someone like Seraphina, a princess from a neighboring kingdom. What had I been thinking, hoping he would choose me?

With my heart breaking, I turned and ran. The tears streamed down my face as I fled, not wanting to witness any more. Why had I allowed myself to fall for him? What had I expected? That a prince—someone as important as Rafael—would ever look at me, the daughter of a mere marquis, with anything other than casual affection?

When I finally reached my carriage, I collapsed inside, sobbing uncontrollably. The image of him holding her, smiling at her, haunted my thoughts. Why had I ever thought I could be enough for him?

As the carriage took me back to my cousin Selina’s house, I tried to calm myself. This was for the best, I told myself. I couldn’t stay here, not when it hurt so much. It wasn’t right to covet something—someone—who was never mine to begin with.

Tomorrow, I would leave. Far from the capital, far from him. That was the only way I could protect my heart from breaking any further.

---

POV Rafael

The moment I saw Princess Seraphina stumble near the fountain, I instinctively reached out to catch her. She gasped in surprise, but I steadied her before she could fall.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, brushing off her gown. “I should really be more careful.”

I gave her a small smile. “No harm done.”

Seraphina laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I almost fell in front of you. How embarrassing.”

I shrugged. “It happens. Besides, you’ve helped me more than enough these past few days. I owe you.”

And I meant it. Seraphina had been a wonderful friend, helping me plan everything from the final touches of the ball to the gift I was preparing for... her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the woman who had become such an important part of my life.

Seraphina smiled warmly. “I’m happy to help. I just want to see you happy, Rafael. And I think you will be—once you give her that gift.”

I chuckled, though my thoughts were already drifting back to her. The necklace I had chosen for her was safely tucked away, and the ball—her birthday—was fast approaching. I could hardly wait to see the look on her face when I finally told her how I felt.

I had been distant lately, but only because I had been preparing something special. I knew she didn’t expect much, but I wanted to give her a moment she would never forget. After all, she had given me more than I could ever repay. Her companionship, her support, her presence in my life—it meant everything to me.

Seraphina glanced at me, a knowing look in her eyes. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away, but I knew I didn’t need to. The truth was obvious—I had fallen for her, completely and utterly. She had wormed her way into my heart, and now I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

“I do,” I said finally, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “She’s... everything.”

Seraphina grinned. “Then don’t wait too long to tell her. She deserves to know.”

I nodded, my heart filled with anticipation. I wouldn’t wait much longer. At the ball, I would tell her everything.

The thought of her face lighting up when she saw the necklace filled me with excitement. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the man the world thought I was—distant, cold, unfeeling. She had seen past all that, and for that, I would forever be grateful.

Now, all I had to do was wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, I would make sure she knew that she had my heart.

___

[mimasroom2]

Accelerating Fury pt 3

Pt 1

Pt 2

Guys I didn’t even realize they don’t use guns in the hunger games until I started writing what weapon Ellie would use….. only the peacekeepers use them. Interesting very interesting. Uh sorry I haven’t been active in a super long time. I take a lot of breaks from writing but I at least wanted to finish this series! Idk how many more parts to this there will be. I’m gonna skip some of the hunger games bc it’s not that important to explain ALL of it and EVERY SINGLE THING that happens. Probably 1 or 2 more parts.

C/w: Death. It’s the HUNGER GAMES LOL. Angst angst angst all the way until the very end. Hmmmm. More death but it’s not super graphic.

W/c: 4.9k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

As you stand on the pedestal, the countdown grows fainter and fainter in your mind. You see Ellie across the way with her eyes locked on something just outside the cornucopia. She hasn’t looked at you even once.

You can’t stop looking around at your surroundings. How bold the gamemakers are for this arena. A whole ass city with numerous nooks and crannies and corners for anyone to hide in. You can see in the distance a bunch of shops with old logos your parents told you about. You’re trying your best to see if the gamemakers made it accurate to the old world at all, squinting to see if maybe there’s a hair dryer from this shop called Ulta that maybe you can choke someone with. You try turning your head the most you can, you don’t want to risk turning with your feet and misstepping. Now is not the time to be blown to smithereens. No matter where you look, none of the shops have anything in them. Then it dawns on you: it’s all abandoned.

Your jaw would drop, but you still can’t believe the madness of the situation. Suddenly, a big, booming alarm goes off that sounds like an air raid drill, and your feet are already hurriedly carrying your body away from where you stood before you even realize it. You swear it hasn’t even been 5 seconds, and you already hear the screams of the weak who fell victim to those at the cornucopia.

As you run away from the bloodbath at the cornucopia, you realize there are no ressources. What the fuck? You keep thinking to yourself as you run: There’s always a plethora of supplies in the cornucopia. That’s why it’s called the cornucopia. And the city and its stores have no supplies in them. What are we going to do? Do they expect us to murder each other with our bare hands?

As if on cue, a mix between a grunt and a scream catches your attention from behind you. You try not to stop running, but you glance back, and you swear what you see will haunt you forever. It’s Ellie - she’s straddling another tribute, hands above her head, knife in hand, blood spattered on her body, and a snarl on her face. She swings the knife back down into the throat of the male tribute she’s on top of. Even more blood squirts disgustingly out of his throat and onto Ellie’s entire face. By the looks of it, he’s dying pretty slowly, however he can’t get up or even move. Ellie quickly stands up and turns around. She’s leaving him a painful death.

She doesn’t even wipe his blood off.

Suddenly, a young girl runs up with a broken piece of glass behind her. Ellie swiftly cuts her throat in one motion. The girl collapses. Then another boy tries his hand at killing Ellie. So much for hands, you swear you see one of his fingers being cut off as Ellie uses her knife to stab and slash at his hand to make him drop whatever weapon he was carrying.

You’re stunned. It’s all too much. Your heart and feet feel planted and you can’t even move. That is, until you see another tribute quickly run by you. There’s no time to think, you run, heading toward the street where the clear view of the cornucopia ends. Before you turn the corner, you can’t help but quickly look back one last time at Ellie. She’s still killing people, but you realize her knife isn’t just any normal knife.

It was the same knife she used when you first met her.

~

A few hours have passed since the incident at the cornucopia. Your heart isn’t racing nearly as much, but the fact that you can’t even find Jesse to tell him what happened makes your head spin with worry.

You’ve realized after walking through multiple shops, all while being careful not to make any noise, that there are a few things scattered around here and there. Small things, never enough in one place. So far you’ve secured yourself a water bottle, a hammer, and some bandages. Definitely not the best you could hope for, but better than nothing. You catch yourself thinking about Ellie again. Do you think she’s got a shit load of more sponsors now that she’s killed half a dozen people? You actually weren’t sure of the count, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is she did it. And why weren’t you getting anything from sponsors? Was it too early in the games? Night had already begun to fall. Tommy assured you multiple times that everyone loved you. Even at your lowest, everyone was intrigued by you.

You scoffed to yourself. Even at my lowest, huh? Fucking Ellie. Why’d she have to go and say that. You felt so strange feeling mad about it. It was like a strange combination of disgust, disappointment, disbelief, and jealousy all in one. You wondered if this is what everyone else calls ‘angry’.

You decided to put yourself to good use and try finding Jesse… and somewhere to sleep. You were lucky enough to grow up in district 8, where at least you had a proper bed. You sighed to yourself. Going from the Capitol beds to probably having to sleep on the actual street was going to kill you.

~

As you wandered the streets, you didn’t see any sign of anyone else. You would think with all these blocks of buildings close together you’d be running into more people, but clearly not. Still, you held you hammer in your hands.

There was no more news of Ellie and even less signs of Jesse. You didn’t really know which worried you more. You also don’t know how long you’ve been wandering around for. Maybe two.. three hours? Judging by the sky. But you couldn’t be sure. The gamemakers could easily speed up or slow down the sky and other tellings of passing of time in here. You hated not knowing anything anymore. At least at home and in the Capitol people would tell you things, or you could just guess. But here, a guess isn’t enough. You have to be absolutely sure, or you may die.

At a certain point you have the bright idea of sleeping on the roof of a building. You’re not the best at climbing, but it can’t really be all that hard. Especially because it’s not a tree or anything. Plus, you have the amazing advantage of being able to see farther from higher up. A random memory from outside the arena lodges itself into your head. Didn’t someone else do that one time? Climb a pole or tree or something?

You find a nice building that’s not too high, but still offers you some nest-like qualities. You take your hoodie off and tie your three tools into it like a sack. You then tie the hoodie to one of the loops of the jeans they gave you. You start to climb, and try your best not to fall, placing your feet and hands onto where the windows and lopsided brick poke out to hoist yourself up. You wonder if Tommy’s watching right now. Watching you specifically. You wonder if he’s keeping an eye on Jesse. If he’s not already dead.

At this thought, one of your feet slide off, but luckily you have a tight grip with your hands, so all it does is scare you a little. You curse to yourself and finally push yourself onto the roof. You untie your hoodie and look at the view. It’s not the best ever, not by a long shot, but it’s dark out and you can still see pretty far away. You sigh and unpack your things from the makeshift sack. Luckily there’s a lot of room on the roof, and even though all the buildings are abandoned, everything is still pretty sturdy. You take the bandages you scavenged and place them down like a pillow, and use your hoodie as a blanket. Not too shabby. You’re pretty proud of yourself. For surviving this far. For not dying. Or killing anyone.

Just as your mind shifts to what you’d have to do in order to kill someone, a loud song starts playing. Startling you, you quickly sit up and see the projection Tommy told you about. It’s all the tributes that have died so far. Tommy told you it was a good idea to keep count. That’s what he did. His voice is in your head, saying: “…Let me know when it was over.”

As the pictures start appearing, you’re shocked to see just how many people have died already. Some thanks to Ellie, no doubt. The cannons start too, with each picture. Your knuckles tighten on your hoodie, you keep repeating in your head, “Not Jesse or Ellie. Not Jesse or Ellie.” You don’t pay attention to anyone else projected. Or any of the canons that seem just a bit too loud.

Suddenly, the whole thing stops, and you think it might’ve glitched, but it never turns back on. Ellie and Jesse and You survived.

~

You don’t even remember falling asleep. You just remember waking up, cold. And scared. You had a nightmare that Ellie was in her interview. She said the exact same things. But this time you couldn’t take it. You walked right past all the other tributes. Past the Avox blocking the way. You went right up on that stage and strangled Ellie. In front of everyone.

The nightmare ended there, but you knew what happened after was the worst part. The Capitol would punish you in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

You sat up to clear your mind. Thankfully, it was sunny out again today. A few clouds, but a nice, cool morning. You decide to get down from your roof, you thought about just waiting it all out, but decided that was an absolute shit plan. You’d probably end up waiting forever only to come down and be face to face with the strongest tributes left standing. Recipe for disaster.

After climbing down from your roof, you decide to go out and look for Jesse and Ellie again. You have no idea where your roof was. If you had to guess, probably a little northeast from the cornucopia? ‘Fuck if I know’, you think to yourself.

You decide to walk a little more east. Your guess is most of the tributes went super far north, to explore what was over there and to get away from the cornucopia. You break some windows to let yourself into different stores, if the doors are boarded up. You’ve found nothing really useful, a few screws in an old matchbox and some random cords you have no idea what to do with. You stow them away in a corner in case you need them later, but leave them behind.

Suddenly, your stomach growls. You’ve been hungry for the few hours you’ve been scavenging, but chose to ignore it. Most of the stores and buildings you’ve been to didn’t seem like they’d have food in them. But now, it was getting to the point where it hurt, and you were starting to feel lightheaded. When was the last time you ate? You think probably in the Capitol. But you didn’t have breakfast the morning you were brought here, and you didn’t even eat much the day before. So.. what does that make it?? Two days?

As you continue walking, you guess you’re probably heading as east as you can get. That shiny thing by the last row of buildings looks like a forcefield.

You decide to enter a building that looks like a mall. At least, it looks like a mall from what your mom has described to you. You wander around and see a sign for a store on the first floor that says ‘Boulangerie’. That sounds kinda fancy. Maybe they sell lingerie or something? You wander over out of curiosity, but you soon realize there’s a cake stand in the window.

HOLY SHIT.

You rush over and look around inside. It seems like it used be a little shop that sold food. You catch yourself. ‘Used to be’, as if the gamemakers didn’t fabricate everything about this. You scoff, and run your fingers along the vacant cake stand. Everything seems to be empty. All the shelves have dust and the displays are all gone. You decide to look in the back just to be sure. There’s nothing much back here either, some boxes and drawers. You look up to see another door you didn’t see before. You walk over and move the boxes that were in front of it out of the way. As soon as you successfully open the door, you see some baked thing inside plastic packaging. You gleefully rush over and grab one. Turning it over in your hands, you see it’s some sort of bread or roll. You realize it’s in the shape of a heart. Rolling your eyes, you tear it out of the plastic and take a bite. It’s definitely stale, but it’s a little sweet and seems to be pretty filling while not being all too dense. You smile to yourself, deciding you could survive off of bread for the rest of the games. During one of your hunts in an old office building, you found a satchel type bag. You can’t fit an entire box worth of bread in there, but you manage to take a few, about seven, and stuff them in without crushing them.

You want to look at the other stores in the mall, to see if maybe there’s more food or some better tools than a hammer. You exit the Boulangerie, and you’re about to walk across the way to another store when you hear glass break.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to face the entrance of the mall, and, to your horror, you see a group of three tributes slowly walking towards you. You see that they’re not careers, but still, they’re all holding weapons, and you’re sure they’ve seen you.

There’s two girls and one boy. You recognize the girl in the middle as the female tribute from district five. She’s holding a machete. Where the fuck did she find that? The male is holding a bat, and the other female has only a shield in her hands. You deem the first girl as the ‘leader’, and she’s slowly walking towards you.

She makes a clicking noise with her mouth, as if she were calling a cat. “Cmere angel, we’re not gonna hurt yah.”

You’re scared out of your mind, but your mouth says differently. “That’s not even my name.” You retort, slowly backing away, “And what a fucking cliche thing to say.”

As soon as those words come out of you, you regret it, because in a blink, the whole group starts running at you.

You turn on your heel and run away, quickly going up the stairs to the second floor of the mall. The building is massive, but you haven’t had any time to explore it, so you really don’t know where you’re going. You turn left down a hallway and into what looks like a small gym. They’re not hot on your trail, but running makes enough noise, and the building is designed to hold a lot of people, so they can easily see you pretty much wherever you go.

You zigzag in and out of the work out machines, trying to lose them so you can hide somewhere. It works a little, but with three of them they’re all trying different routes to get to you.

~

Eventually you find what looks to be a good hiding spot. There’s an office that’s tucked away in a corner of a hallway. You run inside and crouch down behind a desk. You can hear them out in the hallway, trying to figure out where you went. With all the running, you forgot to take your hammer out, so you try holding it firmly, but it’s hard when your hands are shaking like crazy.

You can hear them getting closer. You’re playing the waiting game now. You can hear each person going into all the different stores in the hallway that you’re in. At this point it’ll only be a matter of time before they check out the last one and find you. With each door they open and each time they curse that you’re not in there, you find yourself not even thinking of your family, or even Tommy or Dina.

You can only think of Jesse. How you never got to properly say how much you appreciated him, or how good of a friend he was. You wonder how you guys would’ve been in another life, returning home after the reaping, going back to your separate families and never really ever talking to each other. You realize that you really do love him, and you wish that you could see him one last time before you die.

You hear the door open, and footsteps of your hunters walking inside. You grip your hammer as hard as you can.

“There’s really no use in hiding now, Angel. Cmon, if you come out now I’ll make your death nice and swift with my blade here. How’s a decapitation sound to you, hmm?”

You try breathing as quietly as you can. But you know there’s no use. This is the last place they have to check, and you’d be kidding if you thought you stood a chance against all of them. Maybe one, yes, but all three? Hell no.

You hear them giggle to themselves as they slowly make their way closer to the desk you’re hiding under. It’s really over, huh?

All of a sudden, you hear someone burst through the door, grunting and running up behind them. You hear a scream and a slash, a body dropping to the floor.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!?” You hear a male’s voice yell, but he screams as well. You don’t know what to do, you’re even more frozen in fear, afraid that the person who just came in will find out you’re here and kill you too.

There’s more fighting going on, you close your eyes and put your hands over your ears, still while holding your hammer. A couple more seconds pass, although it feels like an eternity, when then everything goes eerily quiet. You don’t open your eyes. Why on Earth is everything so quiet? Could you have died and not remembered it?

You’re trembling too, not daring to move in case the person is still in here. You hear footsteps approaching you. You think it’s all actually really over until a familiar voice says “Hey.”

You slowly take your hands off your ears, open your eyes, and look up. It’s Ellie, knife in hand, dripping with blood. You slowly look her up and down: her shoes are all scuffed up, the hair from her half up half down style is all in her face, and she’s managed to get even more blood on her than when you last saw her yesterday. She looks completely out of breath too - she’s panting.

You know it’s her, but you really can’t believe it. “Ellie?” You set your hammer down.

“Don’t wear the name out, okay?” She says and reaches out her hand for you to take. She helps you stand up, and you raise an eyebrow at her. If you were still in the Capitol she probably would’ve said that last line with a shit-eating grin on her face. Your confused expression suddenly turns cold blooded and angry, when you remember how much of a dick she’s been to you.

“What the fuck, Ellie? Now you’re being all nice to me? What happened to fucking hating my guts or whatever bullshit thing you said during your interview.” You try walking past her, but she puts out her arm to stop you.

“Hey, I just saved your fucking life. You’re welcome.” She stares at you directly in your eyes.

You don’t have time for this, you know you’re making a nasty face right now. “Why? What were you even doing around here? I haven’t seen your selfish ass since what you did at the cornucopia.” You realize you may have fucked up after letting that last bit slip. Ellie’s eyes dart down and then back up at you, and her eyebrows furrow.

She shrugs her shoulders and looks down at her feet, before admitting in a reluctant tone, “I was looking for you, okay?”

You can feel your eyes widen and a wave of heat wash over you. Was she really looking for you? Or is this an act to gain your trust so she can just kill you off?

You want to believe her, you really do, but everything she said during her interview and backstage to your face all comes back to you. You roll your eyes and look her up and down, “Yeah? Gimme one good reason I shouldn’t choke you out right now.”

Ellie’s eyes widen and she smirks ever so slightly before replying “Well I’ve got this knife in my hands and I haven’t tried killing you.. right?” She raises her eyebrows and smiles.

You huff and shove her a little, murmuring about how stupid this all is. You blush and pull away immediately when you realize your hands are still on her.

She gives you a weird look, to which you recognize immediately and try coming up with something to say, but you end up just mumbling, “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” and crouching down to pick up your stuff off the floor.

She stares at you for a moment too long, and sighs, “Well, now that that’s that, let’s get a move on.”

You mutter to yourself as you pick up your hammer and put it in your satchel. You notice Ellie staring at you as you guys walk out of the office.

You make a confused face at her, “What?”

She laughs and says, “We need to get you a better weapon.”

You roll your eyes at her again, this time playfully, and rustle around in your bag to put the hammer away.

“You got any snacks in there?” She looks at you with her iconic grin on her face, and you accidentally stop walking for a second, but play it off as stopping to look in your bag.

“Oh shit, yeah. Here.”

You pull out one of those stupid heart shaped breads, and you swear this situation could not get any more bizarre.

Ellie takes it and gives you a weird look, to which you scoff and say, “I’m obviously not the one who made them, okay? Just eat it.”

~

You and Ellie have been making your way north for a couple hours now. You don’t really say anything. What is there to say? You still don’t know why she saved you, or why she was looking for you in the first place. You know that you should bring it up, but you need to do it at the right time, or else something bad could happen. You feel bad for being cautious, but this is the hunger games, right?

You still have the empty water bottle in your bag, and Ellie’s been insistant on getting you a better weapon. You’ve been occasionally popping in and out of different stores to see if there was either of the two in any, but so far everything has been empty.

Eventually, you two find a fountain in a little hidden corner. You’re hesitant at first, but Ellie says it’s fine. It’s in the corner, so if someone tries hurting you, at least there’s only one way they can come from. You two sit down on the edge of the circular fountain, facing each other.

You fan yourself from walking, and Ellie reaches into your bag to get the bottle. She fills it up. The water doesn’t look dirty all too much, thankfully. You feel like you’ve just found the garden of Eden.

You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes catch Ellie lift up the bottle to her mouth and take long, drawn out sips of the water. You never even realized how plush and full her lips look. You unconsciously bite your bottom lip and look away.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and hands the bottle to you. You take a few sips and set it back down.

Ellie says nothing. You feel like you could cry with how many wild thoughts and emotions are all built up inside you. Everything has been all too much. All your thoughts of Ellie are all muddled up, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or sad that she saved you.

You look up at her and you realize she’s looking at you too, and she still has all that blood on her face. You reach to take your bag and jacket off you, placing your bag on the ground and your hoodie in your hands. you silently and slowly dip the corner of your hoodie into the small pool of water to the other side of you, ring it out a little, and bring it up to Ellie’s cheek. You pause and look in her eyes, silently asking permission to touch her, to which she puts her hand on yours to place the wet cloth on her face. The blood starts coming off. You go back to the water to dip it and clean the blood out. You bring it back up to her face, and with your other hand you gently hold the other side of her face to keep her steady. You can tell your eyes are already glassy from trying not to cry. You look into her eyes and say, “Why did you save me?”

Ellie’s bottom lip actually trembles. She looks down and says, “Because I wanted to.”

You’re still cleaning her face, but you feel yourself start to cry. Your voice shakes as you say, “I thought you hated me.”

She shakes her head slightly, but not enough to disrupt your work. “I don’t. I promise. I don’t hate you. It’s the opposite.” Her tone is so soft and sad. She still can’t bring herself to look at you, and you suddenly bring your hand down.

Your voice completely breaks and there’s tears streaming down your face. “Then why did you say those awful things about me?” You shout, a little bit louder than you intended to. Ellie winces a little. You can tell it’s not from your volume, but from shame.

“Because my mentor told me to.”

You just stare at her. You don’t even know what to say. “Wh… What?”

She finally looks up at you, and you swear she looks like a lost puppy who came up to your doorstep in the snow. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. About all of it. I never should have agreed to it. It was so stupid. My mentor told me what to say because she was scared of you. After your training score was announced, she saw the reactions other people and sponsors had, and she was scared that you’d be more popular than me. That you’d be a threat.” She looks up, blinking back tears, “I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t know what I can do to convince you, but it’s the truth. I really- I really knew I fucked up after I walked away from you backstage. And the guy from my district said he was gonna kill you. And then we were sent here and I knew I had to kill him the first chance I got. I know it’s bad and it’s a horrible thing to do but I just couldn’t let him hurt you with how kind and thoughtful you are to me.” She’s fully crying now, once a few tears slipped she couldn’t stop, and she’s rambling on and not making any sense. But still; you get it.

“Ellie, I get it. I- I understand.” You wish you could say more, but you really can’t think of anything.

“I’m sorry. I’d never do anything to hurt you, okay?” She looks at you directly, and takes your hands in hers. You think Ellie is probably the best person you’ve ever met.

You take your hands away to wipe away your tears, and nod silently.

Ellie pauses for a moment, looking away. “Yknow… I did really like your dress.. by the way.”

You laugh, drying your eyes more, “Oh yeah? Which one?”

She laughs, “All of them.”

You just giggle in response, and look up at her. Your eyes accidentally flicker to her lips. But she notices, because she does the same. You let out a small, shaky breath, scooting closer to her. She’s not even trying to hide it anymore, she’s staring at your lips, and she comes closer too.

She’s reaches up, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. You can’t exactly read her expression, but you’re literally swimming in her eyes with how gorgeous they are up close.

You’re relieved that Ellie never hated you. You honestly hated how it felt to feel mad. To be angry. It felt wrong and disgusting to you. You’re still staring into her eyes.

You lean in, holding the side of her face like how you did when cleaning the blood off her. Both of your eyes keep flickering back and forth between lips, and each others eyes.

She takes one last look at your eyes before softly kissing you.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞