#he does NOT want to be within these haunted walls and he is being SO brave about it!!

[retro-system]

the most important thing modern paper mario ever did was canonicalise mario's fear of ghosts. and also create olivia

[grapejuicestyless]

Haunted By The Look In My Eyes

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: After a near death experience while on an adventure Y/n and JJ were supposed to be sat on the bench for, tension builds between the Pogues until finally, JJ’s reckless attitude meets Y/n’s intense feelings that can only be compared to the hopelessness JJ once felt himself.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” I rolled my eyes, the coolness from the surface of the metal shipment container doing nothing to cool down the sweltering heat that danced through the air within the four walls. Boxes of random assortments of various items plastered in rotting wood and wrapped thickly in plastic wrap.

Water clung to everything, beading down my forehead in thick droplets of sweat, the salty liquid tasting on my tongue with each swipe of it over my cracking lips. I swore if I ever had the curse of being sent to hell, this was it. This was the fiery depths of heat people spoke about, I was sure of it.

JJ was glistening too, though, he seemed used to it. Growing up with no temperature regulations in the unforgiving summer heat seems to have made him less uncomfortable by the thickness in the air, I hadn’t been lucky enough to adapt over time.

I watched him slide down against the floor, trying to get as low as possible. Heat does rise, after all. I sat opposite of him. Climbing on the crates of junk and cringing at the insufferable squeaking sounds that I could only ever compare to nails on chalkboard. I sat as close to the small opening in the container as possible without making myself known to anyone walking outside. The risk was worth it for the cool breeze of the ocean, even for just a moment.

But just as I close my eyes, swaying and praying that the heat will die down, the blond speaks.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. When all this is over, and we’re just rolling in the dough…I’m gonna get a new board and I’m gonna deck it out. And I’m gonna go on a surf trip.” His head leaned back against the crate behind him, his hair sticking to the back of his neck and his once wildly untamed hair clumping together in a wet mess.

I gave him a look, leaning forward on my palms and smiling at him, I let my eyes wander around the container.

“I don’t know where, but like, the worlds callin’.” He smiled, dissociating for a second and letting his smile fade. Slipping away for only a moment. “I don’t…name a place.” He was back, the same toothy grin as before, the same glistening shine in his blue eyes.

I thought for a second, blowing air through my lips.

“Spain.” I nodded my head.

“Then, after Spain…South America or South Africa, you know-“

“You’re gonna go to South Africa?” I interrupted with a teasing smile, partially shocked that JJ ever wanted to go away so far.

“Or one of the south places.” He defended himself. “A-and then Micronesia maybe. And then, just ride…wherever the wave takes you.” He looked down at his ring clad hands, twisting them nervously like he might have doubts that his dreams were stupid, unachievable.

I smiled at him even when he wasn’t looking because I believed everything he said. I knew that one day, he would go out just like he said and catch the best swells around the globe.

“Y’know?” He looked up finally, catching my grin.

“So that’s the plan—if we were to get a ton of cash?” I asked, looking away from him again. “That’s the dream?” I said it like a question, though, really I was agreeing with everything he said. It sounded like a dream. “Surf trip.”

“Bamboo hut…cooking a fish on a fire and…after that you go back out and just hit the waves again.” He moved his hands wildly as he spoke, building his dream in his mind with just the wiggling of his fingers. I rolled my eyes playfully.

“That’s the dream.” He confirmed, his voice lowering slightly, and I knew he was serious.

“Sounds perfect.” I agreed softly.

“Yeah.”

“Got room for one more?” I shrugged, asking honestly despite the light smile on my face. JJ simply laughed, smiling and looking back up from his lap to meet my eyes. I watched how his smile dropped when he saw how serious I was.

“You got your passport?” He asked, and it made me laugh this time.

“You don’t got a passport.” I teased.

“Hell no I don’t got a passport! The Kookiest thing ever.” He smiled, and I felt myself laughing from my stomach. A real, happy laugh that I hadn’t felt bubbling up since I was a little girl. Since before all the guns and allegations, and prison sentences, and near death experiences.

Sometimes I wondered what I would think of JJ, if I didn’t know him. Sometimes, I feared that if I had been born on the other side of the island, if my parents could afford a nicer house, if I lived just nearly two neighborhoods over, would I be just like everyone else?

Would I have thought of him as just another Maybank? Surely, if told his dreams to Topper or Kelce, they’d laugh and call him nothing greater than his old man. I thought he was a great deal more than Luke ever was, but would I think that if I had more money in my pocket?

I decided that I would, because the look in his eyes told me I would have. They were blue, sure, but they were the most trusting, truest eyes I’d ever seen. Maybe that’s why he knew he was a good liar, because he had the doe eyes down, but he couldn’t fool me any more than he could fool John B, Kiara, or Pope.

JJ Maybank had been the center of my universe since he had dropped down right front and center of me, since he had wandered into my life and claimed that we were to be best friends forever without leaving any room for argument.

I knew that I would have found him in any life. Because I know JJ Maybank better than anyone ever has, and he knows me more than I know myself.

When he sighed and fought against the “B-Team” I faked my offense, because though I knew he was itching for action, we’d get to share a tender moment like this together, just locked up in a hot box with no room the breathe and no wind to cool us down.

I craved our conversations like he craved the chaos, and I clawed my way into his heart because since the moment I met him I understood how special he was to me. He’s so, undeniably special.

“The Kookiest.” I agreed softly, letting my head fall back and my eyes close again, content with the feeling of my beating heart racing for him.

Maybe being the B-Team wasn’t the worst, because then the only worry was trying to maintain a steady temperature and keep myself from swaying my way to the floor. Heat stroke seemed a lot less scary than this.

JJ quieted me down, though, I hadn’t said a word, and his pointer pressing against his lips reminded me that maybe he shouldn’t be leading us around the boat, completely exposed to danger, and so I snuck around him and squeeze through the thin passageway, ignoring his whisper-shouting protests.

Our bodied pressed flat against the side of the upper deck walls, my head stretched around the corner to view the empty deck ahead of us.

“Clear?” He asked softly, and I nodded my head quickly.

We ran on our toes, walking light on our feet to avoid the loud slapping of boots against metal. JJ fell behind me slightly as he spun around, paranoid of the potential of someone following behind.

“Jay, come on.” I mumbled desperately, feeling the stress falling down on me.

We turned the corner quickly, JJ turning to look over the railing for John B on a lifeboat, our getaway car, only to be met with open water. Our breathing echoed between our ears, neither of us heard the harsh slapping of extra feet plowing down the stairs ahead.

“I don’t see them.” He announced, all too loudly.

I froze in the presence of a taller man with untamed hair and scruffy facial hair.

“JJ…” I warned, squaring my shoulders off as he stepped in line with me. No one made any movement for a split moment.

“Jayj…” I said a little more desperately as the man unsheathed his machete, only drawing JJ’s in closer, a fein for danger, and a junkie for risk.

“Of course…” The man began to speak, his brows furrowing. “There’s more of you.”

JJ and I shared a look, our faced contorted in an unspoken agreement that we understood the numbers here. Two against one was a safe bet, though the factor of his blade made me squirm a little.

“Get down on your knees.” The man instructed, and I wanted to laugh.

“Yeah, thats not gonna happen!” JJ’s words became shorter as he took a step back, the man’s slow approach sending both of us in fight or flight. I knew from the first glance what JJ would choose.

The man swung violently, aiming down on JJ’s shoulders with a quick blow, but missing as he ducked and shifted to the left. The machete made a loud clanging sound as it hit the metal floor.

He swung again, this time at me, but he was already off balance, swinging aimlessly at someone who wasn’t there. My hands pushed down against his arm, keeping him and the weapon pinned to the wall of the boat, right against a closed compartment that looked like it was hiding electrical cables.

Grunting as he fought against my hands, JJ wound up and struck the man with his bare knuckles, hitting him square in the jaw. His hands braced the mans shoulders, our eyes meeting in the chaotic scene, another unspoken plan shared between our glances.

“Hit him, Y/n/n!” He instructed, and as JJ pulled the man back, I opened the compartment where his hand had been, smacking him dead center in his face so hard, it echoed through my ears. I couldn’t help but grimace to myself.

“Wheres John B?” JJ shouted, his voice rough with anger. He shifted from foot to foot, hands drawn in a position ready to swing, even with the man helplessly lying on the ground.

I ran to the edge of the boat, my palms bracing myself over the edge, the empty water making my stomach drop. I wondered helplessly what was holding the others up as JJ and I fought on borrowed time.

“John B!” I shouted, my voiced strained.

I heard the sound of hair moving quickly, the cut of a blade slicing above JJ’s head as he once again ducked, but this time, we weren’t as lucky. With a kick to the gut, JJ went flying back, his head bouncing off the side of the railing. He sat with his hand cradling the back of his head.

“Y/n/n!” He alerted me. Turning on my feet, the man was closer to me than before, his gaze deadly and set solely on me.

He swung once, twice, missing with each violent stroke of the blade. I ducked the best I could, growing more confident as the pain of connection never came, but I grew too overconfident. I spend too much time with JJ, I guess.

The sting came quickly, a burning pain that ripped through my skin and sunk deep past the tissue. I screamed out in a broken cry of desperation, my fingers gripping my shoulder in agony.

The man swung again, only to be pulled away by the blond boy once again, his arms swallowing him whole from the back. Their grunts were the only other thing I could hear past the beating of my heart, yet, seeing the man elbow JJ in his sternum hurt more than the wound that bled out between my red fingers.

He had JJ winded, and with one swift turn, he tried to take me one more time.

I ducked, and watched in horror as the blunt end sent JJ flying over the edge of the boat, nearly three stories until the splash sounded from the deck.

The man came at me again, the dance becoming all too repetitive as the sole of my shoe connected with his stomach. He stumbled into the ground, lying flat. I raced to the edge, the sight below me sickening.

There JJ was, floating on his stomach, his head below the surface, unmoving and sinking slowly. The waves look him in every direction, and all that filled my mind was the silent begging that he would flip.

“JJ!” I screamed, trying to wake him as if the water wasn’t filling his ears. The water around him bubbled, the deep blue a bright white from the impact, his old tank top lifting to reveal the shape of his back.

He didn’t move, he didn’t respond, and my feet met the top of the railing on the boat. I didn’t even think, I didn’t register all the danger below the surface, how stupid it was to jump into the open water with no guarantee that John B would ever show up, but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t stop it. I was hitting the water regardless of how fearful I was of the cold.

“JJ!” Water fell out of my mouth in heaving splatters of coughing fits, my hair glued flat against my skin and my clothes clinging to every inch of my body. I would be lying if I said the impact didn’t hurt, if the salt water didn’t burn the harsh aching in my shoulder.

“Jayj!” With my good arm, I pulled the blond boy into my body, laying his head back against my shoulder to keep him above the surface, to get some air into his lungs.

“Jayj?” My other hand came to grab his face, and my thighs burned with how viciously they cut through the water, treading painfully harsh to keep us afloat. His limp body drifted against mine, and the gentle tangle of our limbs made it harder to swim.

“Jayj, stay with me!” I dropped his cheek, needing the extra hand to keep us above the water. With no help around and only the unfamiliar waters to call home, I felt a bile rise in my throat, like I could vomit if my stomach wasn’t so empty, if hungry was a feeling I had grown to know.

“Please!” I gritted my teeth, feeling my head drip under the gentle waves for a moment, it stung when I opened my eyes again. “JJ, please!” I cried out, taking in every breath of air like it was a gift.

“Stay with me, stay with me!” I grunted, using all my strength. I debated letting the water take me, if only I could extend my arms to keep him a float, I would let myself drown.

My thighs burned, and my arms were too shaky to hold on for much longer. My brows furrowed and my nose burned, a familiar ache in my lungs. I knew crying would do me no good, but as my chest became hollow, I felt my tears mix with the oceans waves drowning out my face.

Everything hurt. Hurt in a way, I could never explain. It was like I could feel each edge of my heart giving out and the sharp cuts of every wheeze that huffed past my cracking lips.

The water was red. Redder than I’d ever seen the ocean because water isn’t red. Maybe it was the cut from his head staining the once vibrant seas a dark maroon, but I could see it swirling in delicate droplets down my arm, I could feel the stickiness even in the salty surroundings.

But there was also fear. Fear that my best wasn’t enough, fear that I would become inclined to give up, because giving up is much sweeter when you have the option. Dying never is. Not even when you want to. Having the urge doesn’t make the pain less scary, and so I kick restlessly to keep the both of us up.

“John B’s coming, John B’s coming, okay?” I assured the empty crowd, JJ completely unaware of the distress of the situation as he lay lifeless in my weakened arms.

His arms floated with the movement of the ocean, his hair covering his eyes. The blond hair that I adored, ran my hands through and ruffled was darker now that it was wet. Not in the way it was when he surfed, but drenched. Stuck to his skin and covering his forehead.

With one strong kick, I gained enough power to lift us up just a bit higher from the surface. My shaky hand brushed the hair from his face.

“John B!” I call out as I steal another glance at his paling face, a red stain spreading on his temple from the blow of the blade, leaking down and staining my own cheek from how close he is to me.

“Help!”

The motor of a boat catches my ear, but my lungs have given up and I’ve already sunk so far below the water, our heads are barely breaking surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pant out, my eyes shutting like it would do us any good. I could have let him go, I could have carried my own weight a moment longer, but with every doubting thought, my hands only held onto him tighter, a silent refusal to give up on him, even if it meant letting the darkness consume me.

Kiara would have yelled at me, and been proud all at once. She would have called me stupid for risking my life for someone so reckless, but then she would have clapped me on the back and said it was what any of us would have done. Pogues for life and all that.

I really missed her now, I wished she was here to scold me, I wished I wasn’t so alone.

“Hey! JJ!” A chorus of cries for us rang throughout the distance, the motor boat approaching as the others all cried out for JJ, my head slipping below the waves.

“No, no, no, no!” John B’s voice broke, the weight on my shoulder lifting, I saw Pope and John B lift him from the water through the stinging of my blurry vision, I felt him leaving my grip, but my hands only grabbed onto him harder.

Subconsciously, I couldn’t let him go. It was only hurting the both of us, we were saved, the Pogues finally finding their way to us, but part of my brain couldn’t comprehend that it was all ending soon because it was all going black. My vision, my heart, my mind.

But just before the water could suck me down, Kiara pulled me on board, her hands grabbing onto me like I had grabbed onto JJ.

“Y/n, holy shit.” Her voice shook with concern. Where her knuckles had held onto me, where my shirt was wrinkled wetly between her fingers, came the slow oozing of deep maroon down my skin, staining everything it touched.

It smeared around with every rock of the boat, and I swore I felt myself swaying. Kiara said something about the depth of the wound, how she thought she saw bone. It blurred like my vision, my lips parting only to shut at the sound of Pope and John B’s distress.

JJ laid still with his head propped up against the edge of the boat, eyes shut just as they were in the water, his eyelashes laying curled against his wet cheek.

The sight gave me a second wind, my hands craved to feel the weight of his body in my arms, to feel the warmth of his skin against my finger tips tor remind me he was here.

“JJ, no, come on!” I begged through broken tears. “Please, get up!” My hands tapped on his chest, though I was ready to press my lips against his and give him all my air if I needed to.

I crawled to him like I needed him to breathe, my knuckles scraping across the bottom of the boat, bruises and cuts littering my pruning skin. I clung to him like a vice, my lips wobbling like a child.

“Get up!” I shouted, scolding him like a mother. Yet, the brokenness of my voice seemed to carry into his empty head as his drool spilled out of his lips, spitting up onto his chest as he gained his bearings.

It was gross, the salt water mixed with the slimy drool dripping from his mouth and wetting his soaked tank top beyond what it was, but I had never seen a more relieving sight. My best friend drooling all over himself, but god, he was alive and that’s all that mattered.

The boat seemed to fall quiet for a moment, all in awe of his return, all following the wavering gaze that swept over the small boat. He was out of it, for sure. His eyes carrying a sense of question beyond what he usually held, but as he registered the faces around him as his closest friends, his family, the panic seemed to fade into a mellow knowing.

“Yeah, yeah! Cough it out, cough it out baby!” John B encouraged, a sea of instructions following from the others in a desperate hurry, all reaching over to simply feel for a steady thumping of a pulse.

I sat back on my heels, looking down at him, and revoking my warm touch from his chest quickly. Retracting it with uncertainty that it would hurt him, like he was fragile.

“Welcome to the land of the living, dude.” Pope smiled, earning a side eye from JJ as he looked around to find his friends all looking down at him with concerned gazes.

My fingers shook, hovering over his chest like I didn’t know if it was right to touch him, if I had the right. I’d felt my own chest caving in just minuted ago, I wondered if I dared to rest my palms against his skin, would he feel the same?

I laid a hand on his shoulder, and watched his vision dance from where we touched to my face, taking a moment to breathe in my presence.

“Hi.” I breathed out in relief, but also something deeper that I didn’t have the words to describe.

“‘Sup.” JJ said, his usually cool demeanor meaning nothing to me at the moment. I pushed his head away gently, still all too aware of the wound leaking from his temple, the way the blood seemed to stain everything. His hair, his skin, his stupid shirt. It tainted everything good with the memories of the bad, the unforgettable, the hurt. But I couldn’t stay away for too long.

As soon as the smile cross his golden features, my arms wrapped around his face like a blanket, holding him to my chest to feel how fast he had my heart beating. He didn’t mention the drumming against his ear, but the warmth that spread across his face told me he felt it, he knew the feeling all too well. Maybe if I had the courage to rest my hands over his heart, I would have known.

I thought of the surf trip, of his dreams, of the gold, of everything that he ever wanted, and I sweat at the thought of it never happening. I crumbled at the idea of him not getting to be a forever given in my life, of him only being a fraction of time, when I wanted it all.

“Don’t ever do that again.” I mumbled against his wet hair, but I don’t think he heard it over the chatter between him and John B, the laughter from Sarah all too loud to hear my soft whisper, a confession that really wasn’t much, but carried the weight of all my emotions.

If he did, he didn’t mention it. He was good at not mentioning it, but he was bad at forgetting.

“You’re bleeding all over the sand, Y/n.” Sarah pointed out, stepping out of the boat, allowing JJ and her husband-to-be to drag the long dead motorboat onto the shore.

An island to call home and a tropical paradise to explore for however long the summer would last and the warmth would suffice.

I was the first to let the water reach my shins, practically jumping out of the boat in a rush, an overwhelming need to feel the ground between my toes, to rinse off the grime and hurt from the failed mission. One cross gone and another home taken.

My body lay starfish position on the soft surface, my shoulder still open and aching, but dulling over time. It didn’t feel that bad anymore, and I was sure the ringing in my ears was just from the adrenaline, though, I’d never heard it before.

“That’s nasty, shes right.” Kiara agreed, trying to tug me up by the arm, only to stretch out my collar bone and earn a lazy grunt from my lips. If I were as smart as I had been prior to the stress, prior to the fact of the pact of the B Team, prior to all the shared dreams and promises to make it out, I would have asked Cleo or Pope to help mend my wounds.

Now, I just felt ready to die. Let my life wash away into the open ocean and let the jellyfish drink me up. Let the sea turtles consume me and share the same bliss of a high that I did with my friends.

“Circle of life.” I grunted, my cheek covered in sand, I buried my face into the dirt. “It’s an early Thanksgiving for the seagulls.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Kiara kicked my hip lightly, trying to move the rock of a being I had become.

“Yeah, and not everyone celebrates Thanksgiving.” Cleo joked from a distance, already gathering wood and stone for a fire. It would be dark soon anyway.

“My joints hurt.” I complained drowsily.

“No shit, I can practically see your bone. Get up.” Kiara fought, turning her head to call for back up from someone with the power to move me from my dormant headspace.

“John B, Pope!” Kiara called out with an annoyed expression, and I found myself smiling at the way her face grew fuzzier and the sounds all became one loud booming ring in my ears.

It hurt so good, a warmth covering my body like a blanket, a reward after fighting so hard. If death found me, I found it peaceful. Ready to be consumed by the darkness to avoid the haunting memory of the limp body floating in my arms. To forget about the way my heart clenched beyond repair.

It wasn’t like, it was love. I’d always known it deep down, but now I knew I could put a name to the feeling, and it terrified me. Because it replayed every second of JJ’s life slipping away, and somehow, it left out the part where he came to.

I could barely make out the shape of the trees anymore. Everything became one big collage in the sky.

“John B! JJ!” Kiara looked back, stunned by the look in my eyes, the same look that had been in JJ’s before he was taken by the waves. A look that would have haunted me for a lifetime. It now tormented Kiara.

It was a look of slipping, of giving up, giving out. The end, even.

“Help!” She cried out desperately, watching the clumsy boys scramble to the ground and catch their bearings, hands digging through the dirt to get to me.

“What happened?” Pope called out, his concerned hands holding Kiara’s shoulders and his love sick gaze failing to focus on what really matters.

Isn’t that funny? I spent all my time focused on JJ, my own gaze stuck in the permanent focus of only him. I didn’t even care to feel the pain tearing away at my skin and my bones. I barely even noticed it after a while. It became nothing compared to the something I almost lost.

Now, as I lay in the sand, choking on my breath in agonizing pain that slowly seeps through in waves, I watch through blurred vision as Pope does the same.

It seemed that it just now snapped in everyone’s mind that the maroon pooling around my arm wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like the scrapes from sharp rocks in the surges, or the nasty head wounds from countless drunken dares to climb things that shouldn’t even be looked at while sober.

The bubbling, and the smell, the metaling smell, it was sickening, and it wasn’t normal. Adrenaline can only get you so far, and hell, I’d already spent it all up.

“Y/n/n!” I heard a familiar voice, rough with exhaustion but stronger now that the day was beginning to wash over and the pain was beginning to creep away.

His dirty hands pressed hard against my skin, his delayed nature only slipping his hand over the one place it shouldn’t have been. Touch me anywhere, make me feel okay, like this isn’t really the end, but please, don’t dig your fingers around in the wound I have just for you.

It only makes things harder to mend.

“JJ!” Sarah screamed, and I threw my head back, screaming.

It hurt worse than anything, the feeling of nail against flesh. It stung more than any jellyfish and it scratched sharper than any knife. Thousands of needles shot down my veins, my knuckles stuttering into a pitiful fist.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried, my whole body shaking—no, my whole body collapsing in on itself. Folding into the earth in order to run away from the pain.

“I’m trying to help, stop squirming like a fish!” He stressed, the creases by his brow showing the wear from the evening already, we all felt as though we’d aged a century in a minute.

“Get off of me!” I tried to reach over, I didn’t want his dead hands on my cold body. I didn’t want his limp fingers rubbing against my moving joints. I didn’t want to feel what I felt in the water, and I didn’t want to see it either.

“Please, get off!” I shouted, my voice breaking like a fragile thing. A thin layer, a brittle sheet of clay crumbling under the weight of the hands that once so tenderly shaped it.

Dying does a funny thing to the mind, especially in a panic. You spend all your time trying to remember to breathe, you forget reality. Even though he was kneeling down beside me, digging around under my skin and arguing back harshly words he meant as sentiment in his overwhelming stress, to me, I had convinced myself he was dead. I didn’t do it, I couldn’t save him, I let those thoughts of giving up consume us and I watched him die in my arms.

There is no boat ride, there is no island, there is no nothing. There is only before, and the end. There is no after. Forget the fact the blood is sticking to everything, and the fact that I’ve felt John B’s cold rings slapping hard across my cheekbones to keep me aware of myself, everything is all nothing and I hear nothing but the sound of my ragged breath wheezing and my horrible cries echoing, bouncing off the Pogues.

Pope took over, finally getting his brains back. The scarecrow held firm pressure over the wound, evenly spread along my arm in a way that stung, but never scratched, never matted the fur of my mane or cut off my skin. He spoke so quickly, and it was so muffled, I began to want to hear him, take the trip down the yellow brick road and find the courage to stay.

Then, there was the ripping of a shirt. It was dark, and rough, but worn in so it felt softer that way. Then, more pain, more pressure, and then, nothing.

But this wasn’t death, because I could still hear and feel and taste the spit on my tongue, the salt water that washed everything I bit down on away. I was still there, but now, I could feel myself calming down, drowning out the silence and coming back to the truth.

“Have you considered a career as a EMT?” I panted, my heavy eyes flickering up to Popes reforming face, the hay and the straw hat fading away into just the kind boy I loved. The yellow road becoming the soft, now wet, sand beneath my back.

He smiled like a dope, clicking his tongue and showing his toothy grin. Relief was the only word to describe the silence that fell over the group at that moment, silence that felt heavy to everyone but the victim. Silence that I felt on the boat.

“I hate you.” He laughed, punching me between the ribs with a force that only could be equated to the fact that he wasn’t a liar, and it was obvious he was on the math team, not an athlete.

“No you don’t.”

My body curled up in laughter, nose scrunched and aware of the extreme caution that was required to keep my arm from splitting apart. I tried to argue back, but my words fell short on choked laughter, letting Kiara hoist me up by the waist and feeling her wet bracelets press against my warm skin. JJ simply walked away, all too quiet for a boy who never knew silence in his life.

I didn’t press him.

“Can I sit?”

Days had passed, water lapped at the shore, quenching the insurmountable thirst of the dry land before it. The wind blew softly against the greenery, and the birds sung out, diving into the distant waters for their supper.

JJ sat with his knees pulled to his chest, arms thrown over the bend lazily, hands fiddling with a sharpened stick he had been working incessantly on since he’d finished his first project, a white waving flag that read, Pougelandia.

The wind blew up the end of his shirt, a cut off tank top that once fell to his mid thigh now rested loosely at his tanned hips, ripped unevenly across the dark stitching.

He breathed evenly, eyes not even flickering over to meet mine, not a word shared between us. A dream of surf expenditures and found family adventures. We talked of island paradise when all smoothed over. When the earth buried our blood and tears, and the sting began to slip away.

There was happiness, beyond the blood and bruise, past the curses and cries. Beyond the terror of the swift nightfall, the impending cold that would have brought any surviving energy away from our warm bodies. There was calm.

He promised to make boards with dried wood, to carve them by hand, break them with his knuckles. The wood was rotting, and it was cracking quickly.

Once again, dreams were altered to fit the shitty hand that was dealt. The rich became richer, and our frames became thinner.

The world spat in our face and said it was the wind.

I sat down beside him now, and it was unusually quiet between us. I guess, this was better than the forever silence, the six feet of separation that I wanted nothing more than to leave behind. He couldn’t even see me.

“Did I do something?” I asked quietly, voiced drowned out by the sound of the sea, the distant hollers of our friends echoing above the trees. I wished I could see everything for what it is, but I had not a clue, a fool sitting beside my uncharacteristically empty best friend.

“No.” He answered plainly.

“No?” I asked, begged practically for confirmation. He nodded his head, agreeing, but it was unclear if it was an agreement within a disagreement.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’, bitter, I could see it more clearly now in my new found focus.

“I can’t make it go away if you don’t tell me, Jay.” I smiled, laughing like it was a pity for us to be so awkward. And it was, it was so fucking weird. Fake niceties are weird.

Leaning forward to mirror how he sat, I tried to get a forward perspective of the furrow between his brows. He brushed the space below his nose and sniffed like he was annoyed. It reminded me of the boy who held up the cross with his bare hands on the ship, the boy who had aimed a gun at the kids he grew up with, his own sister too. His anger reminded me a lot of a Camerons anger, and I figured he had enough reason to feel stressed, he had all the reason to show it.

“This isn’t Kildare.” I reminded him.

“I know.”

“It’s just us.” I added.

“I know.” He nearly snapped, fingers tingling with annoyance, anger, grief even. It was a dying fuse ready to explode, to burn it all down.

We sat in silence for a moment, and I hoped he would speak. Rarely, we had fights. Usually they were stupid, ending in us laughing and my hips thrown over his shoulder. He never hit and neither did I, neither of us even tempted the idea. If we needed space, we gave it, though, it never lasted long because we craved each other like a dog to its owner. Like a moth to a flame, we always came back.

Still, I hoped he would speak first. I felt like I was doing most of it, carrying the conversation for five people while only speaking to one. When he remained quiet, trying to reel it in, I broke the tension.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, Jay. I’ll be here. It’s not like I could leave even if I wanted to.”

If I hadn’t lost my life, I had lost my ability to read the room, because my weak joke fell so flat, it might as well have served as the boards we never got to make together, the memories we would never get to experience. It rotted into his mind and left something so disgusting to him, I could read it on his face.

“No, no but you could.” Sand kicked up behind his heels, hands pushing up off of his knees, knuckles bruised and palmed sandy. He was scruffier than usual, but the blues of his eyes were all the same, dappled with the flickers of light I had fallen in love with so long ago.

“What?” I laughed, standing up slowly, but then jerking forward once I saw how quickly he was creating distance between us.

If we weren’t alone then, I was sure he had led us into total solidarity.

The trees were thicker here, the shoreline rocky and short, even at low tide. It would be completely gone in a few minutes when the tide would start rolling in. I could feel the water trying to break free against the soles of my shoes every time a larger wave came crashing through, between the overhangs and vines that tried and failed to barricade the sacred land.

“Because you did leave, Y/n. You left.”

JJ turned around, his hand pointing to my heart and his eyes avoiding contact where the cloth was wound tightly around my skin and bone. The shirt he tore to let me wear and to let me feel put together again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between us.

I caught the way his eyes seemed to shine more delicately in the reflection of the ocean, the way the wind blew against his blonde locks, the same shining color as his heart of gold. A loyal, fiercely protective friend who was crumbling at the mere idea that abandonment could always win, even though the people he believed would never leave.

“You left.” He repeated more quietly, his lower lip wobbling with such an intensity, I felt the bile rising up in my throat.

“I didn’t leave.” I defended quietly between choked breaths. “How could you think I would leave? I would never leave you, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Then what was that then?”

His head turned to look out at the horizon, biting down harshly on his teeth and sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. His weight shifted from left to right, fists clenching and unclenching by his side, conflict evident in his face. His brows were drawn in so tightly, his face scrunched up almost like he was in pain, like he couldn’t even fight anymore, I watched the internal battle between strength and hurt argue over who got control over his brain. I could tell which had already won his heart.

“I watched you there, Y/n. I saw the…the blood and the tears. I saw all of it, you were dead. You died.”

I shook my head, feeling a familiar lump forming in the base of my throat. Everything seemed to burn. From my sweaty palms to the flare of my nostrils and the back of my skull. It all ached dully, inflamed by the accusation that I had truly given up, that I had been gone with no intention to come rescue him.

“I was there.” My voice broke, my eyebrows pulled down in a deep frown. My palm instinctively came to cup my wound, and my fingers cupped around the fabric, pulling down gently to let the pain breathe.

Never in our decade of friendship had I ever felt so alone from JJ. We were on other worlds and it was clear, and it was something I hated being accustomed to. We were so alike, but so different in this moment. Together but so far apart. Like January and December, one after the other, following like ducks but with the distance of a lifetime between.

“I was there, I saw you standing over me.”

“You pushed me away, you didn’t need me! You didn’t want me. I saw the look in your eyes. You wanted to leave. You were okay with leaving!” JJ shouted, his voice booming. I wondered if it had the power to carry over to the others and reveal our argument to everyone. We were too far away, and I was thankful for that because I knew whatever was coming wasn’t going to be kind. I could feel the bubbling pressure building in my chest like a hot rock sizzling my flesh from the inside out, and it wanted to sink through if I didn’t spit it out.

“Can you blame me?” I cried out, tears falling from my water line in a stream of pain that cut deeper than any blade had. “I was in pain, JJ! I was in so much fucking pain! I was bleeding out, in a place I don’t know, and I’ve never felt more alone! I couldn’t breathe, JJ. I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see. Why is it selfish to not want to want to suffer, when I would wish you the same peace if it were to happen to you.”

JJ’s chin wrinkled in sadness, wetting his lips with his tongue and blinking back his own tears. I had so much to say and only so much air in my lungs. Only so much I could choke on before it all came out.

“The worst part is, I thought you were dead. If the damn blade didn’t kill me, you would have because I would rather die than have to live the next eternity without you by my side. I thought…I thought I failed you, and I couldn’t even look anyone in the eye because all I could see was your face in the water. Do you know how terrifying that was? To have your limp body weighing me down in the ocean? My best friend, my buddy, the only person I’d ever want to bother me like you do. Dead, all because of me? Do you know how guilty I’ve been? How guilty you’ve made me? I’m a god damn monster, and it’s a shame I turned out like I did because I had the potential to be something like you. But I can’t be because I’m a failure. Because even for even for a moment, I was thinking that maybe we would both be better off if I just gave up? If I let the ocean take us because god, if the light hasn’t been kind then the darkness can at least give me some damn peace!”

We both fell quiet now. My chest heaved with anxiety. My bones felt heavy, I felt heavy. I felt stupid, and I knew nothing I was saying made sense. It was all mindless rambling about everything I’d been mulling over for what felt like years.

“I love you. A-and I mean that in a way that I’ve never known before, and that fucking terrifies me. It terrifies me that theres always a chance that one day I won’t have the privilege to lay next to you, or-or to sit with you on the porch at John B’s and just talk about things that don’t matter like they do. Like, I love you, dude! And I can’t act like I don’t anymore. I thought…I thought that if I pushed it down, if I ignored it then maybe I could forget about it, but I can’t. Because the truth is I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry if this means everything has been a lie, if I’m a fraud but I can’t pretend like I wouldn’t die for you, because I would and I tried.”

“I’m sorry, what?” JJ breathed, eyes wide and lips parted. He was shocked, and so was I. There was no going back, it was eat the words or let the words eat me. The truth was out, and I couldn’t deny it.

“I love you.”

Silence. Every moment led me here, to this island. Every time I grabbed onto the back of his jacket to steady myself, or the times I pawed at his chest to get him to stop trying to antagonize the Kooks. I followed him to the ends of the earth, literally. That was proof of my love, if not, it proved my devotion.

“I’m sorry.” JJ whispered back. His eyes shined with freckles of light from the waves and the stars and the sun. He couldn’t say it back, and I knew why because I know him, but we both knew what he meant to say with his apology.

“Me too.” I breathed out.

Often, our friends would poke fun that we couldn’t keep it under wraps around each other. That our lingering touches and fleeting glances were too romantic to be a friendly gesture. Maybe part of their teasing was right, but not completely.

Stepping forward in the sand, I felt the warmth of his arms pulling me into his chest, the strength and the kindness familiar, but the touches deeper and different. Where we once dappled with affection became a feeling that dominated now. We’d stood like this before, but with the confession hanging between our lips, everything was different.

His breathing, his gaze, the curve of his lips, the tucking of his nose against my cheek. We bumped noses blindly, his fingers dancing up my spine to the small of my back. I felt his eyelashes tickle my skin before I felt the rough-soft mixture of his lips pressing against mine.

It felt like something out of a movie, like fantasy. All those stupid stories I’d never believed where the lovers fit together perfectly made complete sense now as we molded together with a dance we knew all too well.

My hands reached for the back of his neck desperately, pawing at whatever curves I could get a grip on. It was slow, a steady pour of the heart into each other and completely intoxicating up until the moment we split apart for air.

“I should die more often if you’ll kiss me like that.” I joked, laughing into the crook of his neck.

“Nah, you don’t gotta do all that anymore.” He promised.

Affection was never our thing, love was foreign and forgiveness came hard. We held grudges and fought secrets for each other, and in the end, it’s what made us make perfect sense.

I look at JJ now in the dimming light above the ocean, and I no longer see the reflection of his empty gaze and heavy body. I see adoration, a softness that I’d always failed to recognize before.

“Jay?” I mumbled, chasing his lips again. He hummed against my skin, warm air tickling my body.

“Save it for the surf trip, okay?” I teased.

He growled playfully, squeezing the curves of my hips and nipping at my shoulder.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed.

“I’d save you.”

“Maybe.” JJ smiled, beaming with love.

After a moment of silence in each others arms, I felt his chest expand with a calm breath, and the stutter in mine silenced whatever thought he was about to blurt out impulsively.

“We should probably really consider getting passports.” I suggested softly, still longing for the surf trip with my best friend.

“Hell no, thats some kook bullshit” He argued softly, his smile still stretched against my skin.

“The kookiest.” I agreed.

I felt JJ pull away to breathe in the salty air. His eyes remained trained on mine, and the look gave me deja vu to a time not so long ago. A look we shared in the sweltering confinements of the cargo ship container. Only, now that I wasn’t blinded by a mixture of excitement for the treasure and the fear of failure, I could see the real gold in front of me. I could understand the gravity of his gaze.

A look that would fluster me for a life time.

[murdrdocs]

HAUNTING YOUR BED. mike schmidt

description. you, mike, and abby bake a chocolate cake and mike gets to taste it from your lips

→ pt 2 to nothing real

includes. GN! reader (i think), simp mike, abby !!!!, fluff galore, more pining, more domesticity, kissing, one boner mention

wc: 2.2k+

a/n: finally wrote a pt 2 to something who would've thought. title from haunt//bed

When Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight. 

His shift ended earlier than he originally anticipated and since he’d clocked out, his body was begging for a shower and sleep. Maybe even just sleep, depending on how comforting his bed looked. If he could tolerate it, maybe even a few bites of a frozen meal. 

This is his original plan. 

But somehow due to the sleep induced haze, Mike had forgotten that you were babysitting Abby tonight. Not the sitter that had taken your place for a couple of nights, completely incomparable to you to the point where Mike didn’t even waste his time. Abby, though, spent a solid ten minutes each night complaining about the temporary sitter and another five minutes longing for you. 

(Mike felt the same but he would never let Abby know lest he wanted you to find out within 2 business days) 

So truthfully, whenever Mike opens the door, he’s too tired to see straight, and then as soon as he steps into his home, his vision clears up just enough to see you in the kitchen and his body introduces a burst of energy spurred on by your light squeal and suddenly he can tolerate an hour spent with you and Abby. 

“Shit!” your swear shocks Abby as much as it does Mike, the word foreign to his ears from your mouth but it sounds completely natural when you say it. It’s small, a tiny detail, but it reminds Mike that he doesn’t know you. At least, not the you that exists out of the four walls of the Schmidt household. 

He doesn’t know what you wear when you’re not babysitting, or what your nonprofessional personality is like. He’s sure you’re more or less the same, but for some reason, Mike wants to consider the opposite. 

Despite his rampant overthinking, Abby points at the jar sitting on the end table towards the entrance of the home. 

“Swear jar!” she alerts you. Or maybe it’s more of a command. Either way, you shamefully step away from the counter, wipe your hands on the apron you wear, and start to walk out of the kitchen. 

Mike guesses you’re heading for your purse, which he assumes is most likely sitting on the bench in front of the window where it usually is. Your plans are halted when you’re made aware of Mike’s presence, and when you say “oh”, Mike feels like he’s living his days over again. 

Just a few weeks ago, a similar circumstance, a similar feeling. 

Mike touches his hair at the memory, hoping it’s long enough to warrant another cut from you, but it’s the perfect length and he drops his hand. 

“Hey,” he greets you first, trying to remain calm and behave how he usually does. But suddenly he doesn’t know how to. Does he usually say ‘hey’? Or has he been saying ‘hi’ this entire time and didn’t realize it? Maybe even ‘hello’? 

You seem to care less about that than Mike does, greeting him back casually and then continuing your journey to your purse. Mike watches as you dig around in it for a second, pull a dollar out, and then slide it through the created slip in the top of the mason jar. 

Then, you reenter the kitchen and Mike suddenly realizes that time has been moving around him and he’s been stuck between it all, too enamored by you engaging in minute movements to do so himself. 

He throws his keys in the bowl and slips his shoes off. 

“What’s uh …” He steps into the kitchen, attempting to get a glimpse at what Abby is doing. She’s staring down at the counter, standing on a small step stool that makes her a lot taller than the counter instead of being a few inches off. “What’s going on in here?” 

Abby turns around, and Mike gets a glimpse of a big plastic bowl in front of her, along with the carton of eggs, the jug of vegetable oil, and a cake mix box. 

If he needs even more clarification, Abby happily declares: “We’re making a cake!” 

Initially, Mike’s upset. His logical (grumpy, in Abby’s words) side comes out and he’s thinking about how at least two eggs that could’ve been used for breakfast has gone down the drain and cake provides no nutritional value so not only is Abby going to be hungry, she’s also going to be bouncing off the walls from the sugar intake. 

His thoughts show on his face, just like they always do, and then Mike is looking over at you from where you’re grabbing the whisk out of the drawer and your head lifts. “I dropped the shells into the bowl,” you add, initially oblivious to Mike’s inner turmoil. Your mishap explains your out of character swearing, and Mike would comment on it but instead he’s trying to make his face neutral. 

But you see it, the exhaustion and slight frustration and worry. 

You send him a smile that’s nothing more than one side of your lips pulling into your cheek, pronouncing the apple of it that presents a faux complimentary color to your skin tone. You look … upset? Are you upset? 

Mike can’t tell and this makes him feel worse. 

He decides that instead of pouting and grumbling about it, he unzips his jacket, throws it onto the kitchen table, rolls the sleeves of his thermal up, and then steps to join you two. 

“Let me help.” 

Mike ends up wearing a pink apron that he knows for sure does not belong to the Schmidt household. At least, it didn’t whenever he left for work. 

Mike attempts to hide his surprise whenever Abby excitedly tells him that you brought the apron for him. His eyebrows lift, he looks over at you, and you’re suddenly really focused on the written instructions on the back of the cake box even though they really are incredibly simple. 

“Really? She did?” 

Abby hums and Mike hopes you’ll look over at him, but you don’t, instead gnawing on your bottom lip and squinting as you concentrate even harder. 

“Mm. It’s cute. I like it.” And that’s when you lift your eyes, sending them over to Mike to give him a quick once over. 

“It suits you,” you compliment, just before putting the box down and grabbing the cake pan. 

Some time has passed. The cake has been baked, decorated (white frosting with pink, green, and yellow swirls from Abby), and eaten with slightly freezer burnt ice cream. Abby has pouted when Mike declared one giant slice was enough for her. 

The shower has turned on and off, Abby has run into the living room to give you a hug and say goodnight, and now comes the part that Mike hates the most. 

He’s still tired, maybe minutely more energetic from the sugary cake, but his body is still begging for a good rest. Yet, he doesn’t want you to leave. 

You start to grab your things, jacket pulled back on, purse thrown over your shoulder. Just before you can slip your shoes on, Mike stands from his spot on the recliner. 

“Do you want another slice?” He gestures lamely at the cake on the kitchen table. “We can’t eat this all on our own and I refuse to let Abby try.” 

A small laugh from you as you shake your head. “No, it’s okay. Abby should be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor.” 

“She’ll enjoy it too much until she has a cavity and I have a dentist bill.” A pause where your eyes shift over to the cake, then back to Mike. 

“I really don’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

“If that’s what you’re worried about then you’ve got it all wrong.” Mike replies as he walks to the cabinets, pulling out two small plates and then two forks right beneath it. He slices the cake, the pieces almost proportionate but you seem to have gotten just a bit more. 

Maybe it’ll take you longer to eat and Mike will be in your presence for just a bit more. 

It’s silent for just a few moments before you’re talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. 

Raves about the cake the three of you made turns into reminiscing about the triple chocolate cake they used to serve at Sparky’s before they underwent new management. The talk of new management turns into you ranting to Mike about the manager at your day job and Mike listens intensely, thrilled to have a new piece of information to add to the puzzle of your life. When you apologize, a little shy and maybe even embarrassed, Mike shakes it off instantly. 

“Don’t apologize for speaking your mind,” he tells you. You joke about the line being poetic and Mike finds himself revealing that he used to write teenage angst poetry in his bedroom at night. When you laugh, it’s not as if you’re belittling him, it’s different. Light, airy, filled with enthusiastic shock and a little bit of wonder. 

It makes him laugh, too, and for a moment he forgets that his sister is sleeping just down the hall. 

You both seem to remember at the same time, laughter tapering off into small intakes of air and then fizzling off completely in the vibrant night air. 

He glances at the clock on the wall. 

10:47. 

“It’s getting late,” Mike thinks out loud. 

When he turns back to you, you look a little sadder. “I guess I should get going then, yeah?” 

Shit. Mike wants the opposite. He wants you to stay over for the night. He’ll take the couch if it means you’ll take his bed. He wonders if the small space would smell like you afterwards. He pictures you sleeping in his clothes, forced to wear them instead of the jeans and sweater you wear now. 

He’s thinking too far ahead. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You stand anyway, taking a final bite of your cake before you set the fork down. There’s still a tiny piece left, waiting for you, just as Mike is. 

He stands too. 

“No, it’s okay. You have work in the morning and I shouldn’t be on the road this late anyway.” Your jacket is zipped up, your purse is back over your shoulders. 

Mike says your name, firm despite the low volume. It’s vulnerable, a plea almost. It stops you, makes you look at him with wide and wondering eyes. 

It’s on him now. He’s the one who has to speak. 

He takes a breath. He licks his lips. 

“I would like it if you stayed. Honest.” 

His admission has weight to it. The words are that of a concerned friend, but the way his hands nervously play with his jeans and the way his eyes bounce around the room with your frame as a continuous anchor says much more than the eight words could have. 

Your voice just barely shakes when you speak. “Tell me I’m reading this wrong.” 

He shakes his head. “You’re not.” 

In the nervous energy that rakes through Mike’s body, it’s unclear to him who moves first. All he knows is one moment he’s staring into your eyes, and then the next his lips are against yours. 

The kiss is soft, nothing more than the lengthened press of lips against lips. His hand cradles the side of your face, yours bunches the fabric of his thermal around his bicep. And while it might be nothing objectively, it’s so much to Mike. For him to finally feel your lips against his, rougher than he imagined but even that means something to him. 

It’s euphoric. 

Your lips pull back from each other, but neither of you move. So, Mike is clear this time whenever he initiates, giving you one more safe kiss before he starts moving his lips against yours. Still, it’s polite, just like you deserve. 

His free hand presses into your middle back, pulling your chest into his. He tilts his head just a little for comfort. He’s holding back. 

You, on the other hand, aren’t. 

You pull Mike impossibly closer to you by his shirt, your other hand digging into the short hair at the back of Mike’s head. You turn the kiss into one of more desperation, parting your lips to introduce open mouthed kisses instead, slipping your tongue against his. 

Mike is trying to keep his composure as he reciprocates. He’s trying to muffle his little sounds before they even come out, push them down his throat. But they climb up anyway, jumping from his mouth to yours with the access. 

He can’t control himself whenever your body is pressed against his. He can’t hold back when he tastes the chocolate cake on the tip of your tongue and the mint leftover from the gum you’d been chewing earlier in the night. He presses his hips against yours, shamelessly displaying the tent that’s growing. He runs his hands along your sides and back and hips, feeling every curve he has analyzed with only his eyes from afar. You’re softer up close and it makes Mike want to feel you as you are, devoid of any clothing to cover you. He hopes he’ll get his wish soon. 

You pull away and Mike has to restrain himself from following your lips. 

“If I stay over,” his ears instantly perk up. “Can I wear your plaid pajama pants?” 

The grin he gives you is genuine. It hurts his cheeks and heals his soul. 

“Of course.”

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

hold on,hold on,Yandere!Conner Kent x reader🙏🏻

(sorry for bothering😭)

U ain't a bother and if anybody tells you that u do, then, they gonna face my pinky, my thumb and my fist they gonna run. 😼🐺🧏🏽‍♀️ nobody messes with my first ever anon 😠👊

Anyways

The night has fallen quietly over Metropolis, the cityscape softened under a blanket of stars. The world feels smaller somehow, contained within the walls of your apartment where Connor sits, angled slightly toward you, his gaze unwavering yet serene. He has that brooding, intense look—a mix of steel and tenderness—that you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his. It’s as though he’s carrying a burden, one he won’t let you see, and yet you feel its weight as if he’s drawn you into his orbit without permission.

“Connor,” you say softly, trying to break the quiet, “you’ve been… around a lot more lately.”

His eyes flicker, something shadowy dancing behind them, a vulnerability he usually keeps hidden. He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his gaze travel over your features as if memorizing every detail. The room feels charged, the air between you like the fine thread of a spider’s web—delicate and unbreakable all at once.

Finally, he speaks, his voice hushed but firm. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. Is that so wrong?”

There’s a faint, haunting cadence in his words, something raw and possessive yet laced with an almost tragic reverence. You feel the intensity radiating off him, a barely restrained storm beneath his calm exterior.

“Nothing could happen to you,” he continues, almost to himself. “Not on my watch. I’d make sure of that.”

You’ve always known Connor’s protectiveness runs deep, but tonight, it feels like there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. An edge, a quiet desperation that clings to the room, thick as fog.

“Connor…” you say his name with a gentle tone, hoping it might pull him out of whatever dark place he’s retreating into. He’s so close now, leaning forward, his hand reaching out as if compelled by some invisible force. When his fingers graze your cheek, his touch is featherlight, as though he fears you’ll vanish.

“If I could keep you here,” he whispers, his tone taking on a dreamy, almost poetic quality, “locked away from the world… I would. Not because I want to take anything from you, but because I… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

It’s a confession wrapped in longing, and you see the truth of it in his eyes, where constellations seem to burn just for you. There’s something about his gaze that feels eternal, as if the universe itself has handed him the task of guarding you.

“You mean a lot to me,” he says finally, each word slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to etch them into your soul. “More than you know.”

In that moment, his love feels like an uncharted ocean—beautiful and terrifying, with depths you’re not sure you’re ready to explore. But his sincerity anchors you, and, despite the intensity of his words, you can’t help feeling safe, cocooned in the quiet power of his devotion.

(A/n: is it just me or do you guys also feel suspicious of how I could post every day despite saying I'm too lazy to do so... Maybe my laziness hasn't kicked in yet which is weird and scary considering I'm writing dis rn in front of my 10 homework activities, and yes I am doing it last minute but so what...? I'm too lazy to do all of em and rn I'm don't know what I am talking about... I love yapping but I'm a introvert does it make me a extrovert when i talk too much but not as loud? Guys I'm turning crazy, I need someone to talk to and all my best friends are busy idk why they've been busy since last week....my gf is not replying for like 20 minutes now...im going crazy. Also sorry for spamming the Batfamily tag even though it's not the content I posted, I just feel like it's more famous than the others and also idk how to tag... Though mainly because I'm scared of being a flop hehe...)

[demonic0angel]

Haunted Paintings Sketches!

Part one

I hope you enjoy the sketches I made of the paintings!

Also! You’re free to use my ideas (please give credit ofc) if you’d like, bc I REALLY don’t think I’ll write this one, no matter how much I want to. It’s just too much and I’ve already got 3 unfinished fics and several other series to write for. If you have any questions, feel free to ask or send me a submission! You can also DM if you’d like!

TW: mentions of suicide, murder, depression, mental illness, just really dark, creepy stuff bc these are haunted paintings and they torment people :/ no scary drawings tho! I only described them (click for clarity)

Jazz:

Description: Jazz is sitting at a table in the middle of a flower garden with a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. She looks tranquil and is dressed formally. On the table are a few plates, a plate of cookies, a bookmark, an opened envelope and a bloody butter knife, and a teapot that is slightly out of view.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, watercolor, and pencils

Focus: Jazz amidst the flowers

Inspirations:

• The Queen of Hearts from “Alice in Wonderland”

• Galna from “Mairimashita! Iruma-kun”

Location: She used to be in the home of a random crime lord in Gotham for intimidation purposes. She was kept in the crime lord’s office before being relocated into Wayne Manor, where she sits in the hall across from the library.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where her tea is filled with blood and the roses would be replaced with decapitated heads. The sky would turn dark red and the ground would be a pool of blood. Jazz would smile and look at the viewer with shark-like fangs and hollowed out eyes.

+ The tea she drinks is Darjeeling and the cookies are chocolate chip.

+ Although Jazz is the weakest painting, her effects are deadlier, more painful, and longer lasting than the others if her victims survive.

+ She causes paranoia and dizzy spells. Her effects are rather weak compared to the others, but when spending enough time with her, victims can also display symptoms of scurvy, which cannot be cured.

+ She was the first one I drew and also the easiest to plan. I just love her so much, she’s one of my comfort characters so it’s not hard for me to find ideas for her 😭

Valerie:

Description: Valerie stands in the middle of a dark, foggy forest, wearing a long dress and pressed close to a tree as if she is about to hide behind it. A branch covers her face and the trees around her curve into a circle with multiple holes within them. There is a Fenton thermos in the background on the floor and an axe in front of Valerie, sticking into the tree and oozing something.

Use of mediums: pencils and watercolor paint

Focus: Her hidden face

Inspirations:

• The Son of Man by René Magritte

• The Beast from “Over the Garden Wall”

Location: She was kept in the back of an art museum, but the director has been hoping for someone to buy her and get rid of her, since he cannot handle the strain of having her inside of the gallery. Now she stands near the door to the entrance of Wayne Manor, a silent and deadly sentry.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would have her surroundings to turned into the entrance to a mouth or an intestine, red, fleshy, and bloody. There would be bones littering the floor everywhere and Valerie herself would become bloody and stained, with her face still hidden. Tortured faces would be seen through the fog.

+ The holes on the trees sometimes leak a mysterious substance.

+ Valerie is not the weakest, but she is not that powerful. However, she does amplify the others’ effects to fatal degrees.

+ She causes paranoia and auditory hallucinations, often causing her victims to feel as though they are being watched relentlessly, which cannot go away. Eventually, her victims will shut themselves into their rooms and starve to death from the fear.

+ She and Tucker had switched ideas, but I had to trash them. I never got the opportunity to draw those ideas because I struggled so much with Tucker that when I eventually got inspiration for Valerie, I just went with it. I’m quite happy with Valerie’s portrait now.

Dani:

Description: Dani, dressed formally, sits at the head of a table with a large painting and curtains behind her. She holds a fork and a knife over a pig head. Her gaze is downward and she looks like she’s frowning softly. The dinner table is messy with three other dishes and a knocked over bottle of wine.

Use of mediums: oil paint and oil pastels

Focus: Dani holding the fork and knife

Inspirations:

• Rosie’s Tea Party by Mark Ryden

• “Spirited Away” (specifically that one scene where Chihiro’s parents eat the food)

Location: She was hidden by Vlad and kept safe with him. He keeps her in his office, where he can watch her. He only recently found her again, and he was determined to watch over her. Now she stays in the Wayne Manor's dining room, but often changes her position to be next to everyone else in the bedroom hallway.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where all of her food dishes would be replaced by very obviously human parts, especially with the pig head becoming a human head. The curtains would turn to blood dripping down the wall and Dani would be smiling, taking a direct bite of the human head that was in front of her with her fork and knife.

+ The dishes she eats in the painting are: pig head, vulture thigh, lamprey eels, and sheep brain.

+ Her at the dining table is meant to signify greed and gluttony, 2 of the most simplest sins.

+ She causes great feelings of hunger and paranoia in others. When spending too much time with her, some victims turn to self-cannibalism to sate their never ending starvation.

+ Originally, both her and Dan’s ideas were switched, so Dan would’ve been the one feasting and Dani would’ve been the one looking at her reflection. However, I switched them around because I felt like it would’ve been spookier. I even finished the drawing with Dan and everything, but then I just erased him and drew in Dani 😓

Dan:

Description: Dan is standing in front of a mirror, glancing behind his shoulder, while his reflection shows something different: him looking at everyone else and the door behind him by looking at the mirror. The party guests are all wearing masks and there are chandeliers on the ceiling. The party looks vaguely fancy, but messy with secrets.

Use of mediums: Oil paints

Focus: His reflection

Inspirations:

• Jeff Lee Johnson and his art

Location: He was kept in a locked safe within a rich person’s house in Italy. He had to been wrecking havoc on the nerves of everyone around him, but he is now safe and happy in Wayne Manor, where he is kept in the office to the entrance of the Batcave.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form would have all of the party guests dead, but their eyes would face the viewer. Dan's reflection would also be dead, but his actual self would be the same, only with an eerie smile as his eyes follow the viewer. In the doorway would be the figure of Danny. Blood would cover the entire floor and walls, but nobody would react to it.

+ Dan keeps his own masquerade mask in his pocket.

+ The woman who is directly staring at him is supposed to look like Maddie.

+ He causes viewers intense mood swings and long, often violent mania episodes or mind-numbing depression episodes. Those who keep staring at him will gain the feeling of being watched and haunted, often with visual hallucinations, resulting in losing their mind from fear and then killing others in their terror and panic.

+ I tried so hard to make Dan as handsome as possible. I think I pulled it off bc I’m a little bit in love with him ong, but I also kinda have to be bc I draw him so often

Tucker:

Description: Tucker is in the back shot of a desert, with his back towards the viewer, staring at a large skeleton that is seemingly climbing over a large sand dune. The skeleton has flowers in its eyes, and its hand reaches over the horizon. There is a single sun in the sky and an arm holding a pocket watch sticks out of the sand close to the viewer.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, pens, and pencils

Focus: The large skull

Inspirations:

• JT Music (specifically their JT album covers)

• The Giant God Warrior from “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind”

• “Dune”

Location: He was originally kept in one of the rooms within the GIW headquarters. Now, he is kept within Wayne Manor, and stays in the theater room, where he whispers to the Wayne residents what movies he wants to watch. Sometimes, he moves to the garage.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is one where the skull becomes covered in meat and flesh, oozing blood and tar while the sand turns red. The scene turns to darkness, and more limbs would sprout from the ground. Tucker would be nothing but a pile of flayed skin, crumpled into the sand.

+ GIW agents were unable to experiment on him, since he would purposefully cause machinery to misfire and slowly corrode his surroundings.

+ His painting is meant to be a little comic book-esque with one of his mediums being ink, but I felt like that wouldn’t be a PAINTing, so nvm

+ He causes visual hallucinations, hypovolemia, headaches, blindness, and osteoporosis :). Often, when his victims are autopsied, sand and salt can be found within all of their organs. He emits so much radiation that he can wear down the materials of the place he is stored in.

+ I DREW HIM THREE DIFFERENT TIMES OML, FIRST IT WAS HIM IN A WORKSHOP, THEN IT WAS HIM IN A MARSH, THIS IS THE FINAL PICTURE I CANNOTTTT IM DONE

Sam:

Description: Sam stands on top of a small, grassy hill with a path leading to a grave and an angel statue on top of it, close enough that she is blocking it. Around the hill are pomegranate trees and hanging corpses. There is no sun, but there are clouds as Sam stands with her back to the viewers in a long goth-styled dress.

Use of mediums: paper, glue, acrylic paint

Focus: Her standing on the hill

Inspirations:

• This Reddit picture of a liminal garden

• A mix of weirdcore and dreamcore aesthetics

Location: She was tossed into the ocean by her parents when they first saw her, but she later washed up on an island and now the animals and plants there act erratically and strangely. Finally, she was relocated to Wayne Manor, where she hangs on a wall within the greenhouse, happily watching over the plants there.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where eyes would replace all of the pomegranates, staring at the viewer. The paper used to make her would become flesh textured and bloody, and Sam would appear abnormal, broken into pieces and cracked, turning around and smiling at the viewer with shark-like teeth. The grass would become hairy skin and the sky would become red, with swirls and more eyes.

+ Sam's "painting" is actually made of mostly paper, since it is a collage. It is a bit touched up by paint and all of the materials used are vegan and ethically sourced, though they do change.

+ The flora and fauna in the island she landed on have mutated so much that they’re basically mindless. They protect Sam relentlessly.

+ She causes general insanity and relentless symptoms in her victims, such as paranoia, intense episodes of mania and depression, itchiness that can result in self harm, and violent, unexplained behavior in animals and plants. She also emits so much radiation that she can cause sporadic DNA mutations, resulting in several forms of cancer and mental instability, often resulting in victims becoming inhuman and monstrous forms of themselves.

+ Originally, Sam’s portrait was supposed to be in a garden, but I wanted it more “liminal space” themed, and I think I got it right. I think it’s really simple, but I also feel like if I was able to create it in real life, it would be more interesting because it is a collage of paper and paint.

Danny:

Description: a picture of black blotches and scribbles with muddy and red stains. Any features besides the ornate frame is hidden underneath the stains.

Use of mediums: pencils, ink, charcoal, tar, blood

Focus: His crying

Inspirations:

• SCP-035 (“The Possessive Mask”)

• The Anguished Man by an unknown artist (it’s a haunted irl painting!)

• Bendy and the Ink Machine

Location: He was cloning himself in order to jump through universes to find his family. In the current universe, he was with the League of Shadows before he was found and brought back to the Wayne Manor. He is in the hallway with the bedrooms of the Wayne residents.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is technically his normal form because he cannot turn it off. Once he is happy again, his normal form would be one with him and his family, smiling and happy. Until then, he haunts the minds of others and ravages their sanity.

+ He’s been traveling all over the multiverse in order to find his family. Coincidentally, they’ve all been in the same world for some time.

+ He screams all day and night for his family. It’s so bad that Danny has destroyed thousands of worlds in his grief.

+ He causes the worst of all symptoms, often causing the viewers who look at him to go insane and kill themselves or others, even if it is only a few seconds. Even those who stay in the same room next door to him are consumed with suicidal thoughts and intense moments of psychosis. Those who have survived encountering him and have some semblance of mind left say that he “cries” relentlessly. His paintings leak a black substance that corrodes the place around him.

+ Literally all I did for this picture was scribble in my notes app, take a screenshot, and then scribble some more on photos LMAO

Extra notes:

+ Jazz, Dani, and Dan showing their face while Sam, Tucker, and Valerie hiding theirs is intentional. Danny is a mix of both, because he actually IS showing his face, but you can’t see it past the black and red.

+ Every painting has a flower inside of it, specifically a carnation, which are often funeral flowers, and can mean gratitude, remembrance, love, and affection.

+ Every painting also has a mention or appearance of Danny in it.

+ I also tried to put hints of bad omens or signs of death within every painting. Some examples are Dani’s painting with the chopsticks sticking out of the bowl (a sign of bad luck and death), or Dan’s painting, where a woman is being strangled in the background and another is being killed.

+ All of the paintings generally have an ability to teleport to places nearby and can actually snatch up viewers to shove them into their domain. This can be a defensive mechanism (the paintings protect the Bats) or an offensive ability (they pull victims in and kill them). They also all have weapons on them that are hidden or not so hidden.

+ I struggled a lot with ideas and how to get started on some characters because I just had so many, and I wanted it to be creepy, but not noticeably creepy, like most paintings. I’m sad to say that I wasn’t able to use some of my planned ideas from inspirations of actual haunted paintings.

+ Discarded inspirations: The Rain Woman by Svetlana Telets (my favorite!! Please look it up if you can!!), this picture I saw on Reddit of a sheep being stuck under ice with its back exposed, a workshop idea with Tucker, and Dani and “Daughter of Evil” with mirrors and everything.

+ The world where Danny and co., come from is different from the world they’re currently in. It’s like a world where some people are the same, but others are not. Example: the GIW, Maddie, Jack, and Vlad exist, but Danny and Jazz never made it past their childhood. So basically a What-If world or something.

+ Their backstories are somewhat undecided, but basically, something dangerous happened to them in their home dimension and it was so bad that Danny captured all of their souls and put them into paintings so they would live (with the help of Clockwork). However, by doing this, he scattered their souls and paintings throughout the universes and he went crazy from it, and turned himself into a painting too so he could find them. Now his cloned paintings travel and sends itself to other worlds to find his family again, often leading to their destruction from his power.

Or something? Lol

[mythmash]

Something Taken, Freely Given

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Modern!AU, Sickfic, Fluff, Sukuna being really bad at feelings A/N: This was written for the amazing @chaoskrakenuwu! JJK Masterlist

Sukuna had three major rules when it came to living with him.

Don’t interrupt his workouts.

Don’t eat the food specifically labeled For Sukuna - Don’t Fucking Touch in the fridge.

And the most important — do not touch his stuff without asking.

There were other rules too, little things that came with interacting the temperamental man. Things like don’t look him in the eyes for too long, don’t laugh too much around him, don’t stand too close to him. Rules upon rules, more akin to the guidelines you’d see at a zoo, warning you not to spook the animals. Blaring red signs, all telling you that any interaction with Ryomen Sukuna beyond simple pleasantries would be a fucking nightmare.

He had few acquaintances and fewer friends. The two unlucky roommates he’d had in college lasted only a semester, claiming they’d never recover from the trauma of surviving in the same space as him.

It was how he preferred things. People annoyed him, either too much or not enough for him to deal with. Always irritating. Always annoying. Always complaining.

If they didn’t like the way he was, they shouldn’t bother him. Or talk to him. Or look at him. Or breathe near him.

He was perfectly fine being alone.

Or so he thought until you’d crashed into his life and tangled yourself so deeply within his life, his mind, his heart that there was no separating the two of you.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute your friends were introducing you — him greeting you with a once-over and a firm fuck off — and the next he was carrying boxes of your stuff into his apartment. Somewhere in the middle, there’d been a few quickies, then a few dates, then the disgusting process of accepting that he did, in fact, care for you.

You’d been so smug, like a predator that’d been lying in wait for months, finally finding the perfect moment to trap their prey.

That’s exactly what you’ve done, Sukuna thinks.

You’ve trapped him.

You’re everywhere. Your stuff takes up half of his apartment, fitting so perfectly in all the empty spaces. Your pictures take up valuable space in his phone, photos upon photos all neatly organized in albums and categorized by date. Your perfume lingers on his pillows.

He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted.

You don’t even care that you’ve disrupted his once peaceful life. You invade his space to stick those slimy, colorful face masks on him, or grab his hands to test your infinite collection of nail polish or run your fingers through his hair so he won’t notice you change the channel to one of your annoying shows.

You help yourself to his leftovers even though he makes sure to keep the fridge stocked with your favorite snacks. You sit yourself at his feet when he’s doing sit-ups, gleefully meeting his every rise with a little kiss to his face. You poke through his books, his phone, his extensive record collection like you own them.

Sukuna watches as every rule, every wall, every defense he’s ever built for himself comes crumbling down.

Against his every instinct, he lets you do all of it.

You’re a witch. A cruel, devious witch who’s used her beauty and sexual charms to cast some kind of curse on him.

How else could he explain why your smile haunts him every minute he’s not by your side? What other explanation is there for the worry that seizes his heart when you collapse halfway to the kitchen at three in the morning with a fever that almost burns his hand?

He forces himself to keep calm. His voice does not shudder when he tells you you’ll be okay. His hands do not tremble as he helps you back into bed. His eyes do not well as he dabs your face with a damp cloth while you’re stuck in a fitful sleep.

You wake only minutes before he’s meant to leave for work, fever slightly calmed, and Sukuna does not acknowledge the immediate relief that floods his body.

“I’m fine,” you tiredly assure him. “It’s just a cold.”

There’s a brief argument of you trying to convince him to go to work — you think you’ll be alright on your own, and Sukuna thinks you’re full of shit.

You know him better than anyone, possibly even himself. How could you think he’d be okay leaving you like this? A million questions swirl in his mind. A million little worries he never thought he’d have to consider growing and growing until they’re a furious storm of anxiety and frustration.

What if something happens, and he’s not there? What if you can’t get a hold of him? What if he misses your call? What if he doesn’t see your text? What if you’re so out of it that you can’t call or text? What if no one else can check on you?

What if? What if? What if?

“What if Uraume stays with me?”

If it were anyone else Sukuna would immediately refuse, but you know — because you know every in and out of his being — Uraume is the one person he would trust enough to put your well-being into their hands.

He begrudgingly agrees, compromising — another thing he never used to do before you came around — by staying at your side until Uraume arrives. It takes him another ten minutes to leave, too busy going over rules, emergency contacts, and the endless supply of his medicine cabinet. He spends another minute vaguely threatening Uraume about keeping you safe, finally leaving when you threaten to stay with one of your friends until you’re healthy if he doesn’t stop.

Sukuna doesn’t hear from you the rest of the morning. It sets him on edge, threatening to push him over with every passing minute.

He’s two seconds from just leaving when Uraume texts him. It’s simple and to the point — a picture of you on the sofa under a pile of blankets, bleary eyes focused on the TV, with a brief rundown of the food and medicine Uraume gave you. It does nothing to soothe his yearning to be there with you, but Sukuna takes what he can get.

He gets three more updates from Uraume. The first is a picture of you sitting up with a bowl of soup in your lap and your hands tightly holding a thick blanket around your shoulders. The second is a few sentences letting Sukuna know that you were given medicine, and your fever had gone down.

The third is a selfie that comes ten minutes before the end of Sukuna’s shift. Uraume stares blankly ahead, giving the camera thumbs up while you’re in the background, asleep in bed, and, more notably, cuddled around Sukuna’s pillow. After cropping Uraume out, Sukuna spends the last few minutes of his shift admiring the picture, itching to leave.

Not caring about possible tickets or road safety violations, he’s home in record time. His shoes are barely off before he’s telling Uraume thanks, now get the fuck out. Uraume nods, as used to Sukuna’s poor personality as you are, and leaves without a word.

Sukuna beelines for the bedroom, the stress from the day already melting away the moment he lays eyes on you. You look exhausted, bundled tightly under the blankets as you lay across the bed to spoon his pillow.

He checks your fever first, carefully pressing his forehead to yours. You’re still warm, but much better than you’d been that morning. He hums, satisfied with Uraume’s care, and leaves you to sleep. He doesn’t bother with dinner, deciding to get ready for bed early tonight.

He’s careful — because he’s always so careful now — crawling into bed with you. You have three blankets over you, and Sukuna takes his time peeling each one back without disturbing your rest. When the final blanket, a thin, ratty thing he’s had since childhood, is pulled back, Sukuna stills.

You’re not wearing much, dressed down to the thinnest pajamas you own, but you have one of his hoodies laid over you with your arms through the sleeves.

He’s having a heart attack. That’s the only explanation for the tight clenching of his chest at the sight of you in his clothes, under his blanket, wrapped around his pillow. It’s definitely a heart attack, and not at all the terrifying realization that he’s spent the whole day scared for you. It has to be a heart attack because the other option would be an admission of feeling that he’s certainly not ready to deal with right now.

He doesn’t dwell, instead wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. You settle against him instantly, relaxing under the weight of his arms. He holds you close, pushing any thoughts of fear and feelings out of his mind. There’s no need for that, not when you’re here in his arms.

Truthfully, he doesn’t need to wrestle with himself over it. He knows. Deep, deep, deep down, in a part of his heart that’s been long sealed away, he knows.

You’ve ruined him, and he’ll spend the rest of his life all the more thankful for it.

[stwrrybwrry]

I wonder what Megumi is like after a rough mission...💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Megumi! Who watches you from a distance after the mission, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions he doesn’t understand himself. The images of his failure—of the people he couldn’t protect—haunt him, and when he looks at you, all he can feel is guilt. The fear of losing you, of becoming the very person who hurts you, keeps him away. He doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken, so he isolates himself, convincing himself that pushing you away is the only way to keep you safe.

Megumi! Who walks past you like you’re invisible, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders. He can’t look at you, not when every time he does, he’s reminded of how he couldn’t keep his promise to protect those he cares about. He tells himself it’s for the best, that he’s keeping you at a distance to shield you from the darkness within him, but all it does is make the silence between you grow unbearable. He watches as you begin to laugh with others, each smile a dagger to his heart, reminding him that he’s the one who pushed you away.

Megumi! Who can’t shake the image of your face when he snapped at you in anger and fear, the hurt in your eyes etched into his mind. In that moment, he was overwhelmed—by the guilt of his failure, the anger at himself for not doing more, and the fear of losing you. That fear consumed him, making him lash out, but now it’s suffocating him. He can’t bear the thought that he’s the one who caused the pain he’s seeing in your eyes, and it eats at him every second of every day.

Megumi! Who stands alone in the dark, remembering the screams of those who suffered because he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough to protect them. He thinks of you, of your kindness and warmth, and the thought that he might have ruined that forever sends a chill down his spine. The more he tries to push you away, the more it feels like he’s losing you completely, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s terrified that if he lets you in again, he’ll only end up hurting you, just like the others.

Megumi! Who sees the distance growing between you, the way your once-friendly smiles have faded into something more reserved, more distant. He’s the reason for this coldness, and the guilt crushes him. He remembers your tears, the way you’d hide your pain, and he curses himself for not being able to shield you from his own self-doubt and turmoil. He wants to apologize, wants to beg for your forgiveness, but he’s too afraid that the damage is irreparable, that he’s already lost you.

Megumi! Who is haunted by the memory of your last conversation—the one where he pushed you away in a moment of panic and fear, certain that it was the only way to protect you. The words still echo in his mind, and each time he sees you, that same terror rises in his chest. He wants to fix things, to show you that he cares, but he’s too afraid that he’s too broken, that there’s no coming back from what he’s done.

Megumi! Who stays up at night, torn between his regret and his fear of losing you. The emotional weight is unbearable. He feels your absence like a hollow ache in his chest, knowing he’s the one who caused it. He watches as you pack up your things, and something inside him shatters. He realizes, too late, that he’s pushed you to the brink of leaving, and that the walls he’s built around himself might be the very thing that costs him your love. The thought that you might walk away for good is too much to bear, and it breaks him to know that, in his attempt to protect you, he might have destroyed everything that mattered.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 4 "O God!"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: Fluff meets oh God help us 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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Night 100

"Do you know that tonight marks our hundredth night together?" Feyd purrs, blue eyes glittering like little seas, shoulders rolling as he sways her in his lap.

"Is that why I get to be on top tonight?" Mirth laces her tone, rocking herself up and down with the aid of his hands. This barely counts as being on top when he does all the heavy lifting for her.

"You get to be wherever you want, my sweet."

She lets out a sultry moan, holding herself at the lowest point of Feyd's lap, relishing how deep he reaches, how completely he fills her when she has fully sank down on him, feeling the smoothness of his thighs against her behind. Feyd moans with her, suckling on her neck which is so beautifully bared to him.

"Really, you've been keeping count?" She mewls when Feyd begins to rock her anew, only little thrusts that make her walls flutter with growing anticipation.

"I have. I've made a tally chart."

That is so endearing to her that she laughs brightly and asks: "With chalk on the walls of your prison cell? I'm so sorry for holding your dreams hostage." She doesn't know how right she is, though it’s not the dream that is the prison. On second thought, what would happen if left through that door over there? They've never tried, because the things to be discovered within each other are of much greater interest.

She adds: "I haven't made a tally chart, but I did write in my diary after our first night. I was so certain I'd never have a dream like that again, I never wanted to forget it."

"What did you write?" Feyd inquires with sparkling eyes, now suckling on her collarbones and then her breasts, rendering her breath shaky and thick with lust when she replies.

"I wrote that I encountered the most wondrous man in my dreams last night and that I could touch him and it felt so real. I wrote that you have pretty eyes and a silly name. I may have also written that I've never come so hard in my life."

That lights a fire in Feyd's eyes and chest and he clutches her body to his tightly, rutting up into her cunt with his feet propped up on the bed. She seeks purchase on his shoulders, clinging to him. Feyd seems intent on exceeding their first night, and with the way her core coils, she thinks he just might.

"And what do you write nowadays?" He inquires with husky voice.

"That's a, haahhh, secret. It's a diary for a reason."

That doesn't quite please Feyd, but he is very pleased by her tone of voice on the edge of despair, spine arching, teeth gritted. His balls feel taut and ready to burst and he keeps his composure only for her. "Well, I want you to write about this night when you wake up, can you do that for me?"

"Yes! Yeees, haaaahhh~ Feyd!" She falls into the mindless embrace of climax, mewling his name, riding him with stuttering hips. It is less the feeling of her fluttering walls that makes him spill himself with a guttural sound, more the sight of his woman so disheveled, features painted in bliss.

When they've both calmed down from their highs, she sinks limply into Feyd's embrace, hearts thundering against each other. Feyd peppers her shoulder with kisses and she does the same to his. She likes his shoulders. After a minute, when her breath is a little calmer, she kisses his neck and jaws.

"That tickles," Feyd complains, scrunching his nose.

"You have a birthmark right here, did you know that?"

"You think I don't know my own body?" In fact, Feyd wasn't fully aware of the birthmark there, just at the underside of his jaw. He avoids looking at himself all too much and all too close, especially outside of the dream.

"It's very pretty. You don't have many birthmarks at all. So smooth." She drags her nose across his neck, blowing softly on him and Feyd flinches, cursing her lightly. That fucking tickles! Eventually, she finds something of interest, touching a spot at his neck with tender fingertips.

"What have you got there, another birthmark?" His voice comes as a light, raspy chuckle.

"No… A scar," she tentatively admits, tracing the blemished skin at the side of his neck. A small sickle moon whose tip brushes against his collar bone. Immediately, she regrets pointing it out, because only one thing comes to mind.

"A scar?" A scar he would remember. Feyd's hand joins hers on his neck, feeling the slightly marred flesh, a scar that's barely an inch long. "I don't have that when I'm awake," he pensively admits. The Baron never hurts him so far up.

Night 168

If only she had the resources and the time, she would have spent every waking hour trying to solve the enigma of her and the man named Feyd, would have done more than writing fondly in her diary, would have wired her body and brain up in a sleep lab and studied how their connection works, but she might never get the chance. No, she will never get the chance. How could that not devastate her?

She hasn't told anyone in her waking life about him. He is her wondrous companion at night, her best friend from a dream with whom she can run away, into whose embrace she can crawl to hide from everything and everyone, with whom she doesn't need to think.

Feyd hasn't failed to notice how restless she has been for the past week, her shoulders always tight, her gaze faraway and a look of guilt and pain plastered into her eyes so deep, not even his touch could melt her anymore.

Presently, his hands curl around the nape of her neck, entangling his fingers in her hair, nose sliding against hers as he slots his lips against hers in a desperate attempt to stifle his own bubbling inquiry. But she cups his cheeks and merely presses their foreheads together, cradling him like he's the most precious thing she's ever held.

Good manners might dictate that he doesn't pressure her, like she had never pressured him to bare his heart to her, but by all the Gods and all the galaxies, he cannot take it any longer and he will pressure her, because the growing unease and the lump in his throat are unbearable.

Surprisingly, she breaks under just a whiff of pressure, like a dam breaking from the removal of a single log. Feys cups her cheeks like she cups his, exhaling a heavy breath against her mouth, blue eyes open and inquisitive. She knows that they're open, so she opens hers and immediately feels stinging wetness spill over her waterline. 

"Tell me?" Half a question, half a demand. Feyd's thumbs rub over the tears that dampen the soft skin beneath her eyes.

"It's gotten s-so so much worse," she removes one hand from his cheek, twists her head to cry into her palm, though Feyd's thumbs remain on her face.

"The… war?"

"Of course, the war! I'm scared that we won't make it out alive, Feyd." She gnaws her lip, closing her eyes. She's lying. She's lying and Feyd must never know her horrible lie.

"Are you still safe?"

"Relatively, yes." She shakes her head, swallowing. Feyd calms his own heart and breathing. That is the most important thing, but he doesn't feel all too well about that 'relatively'.

"Is that really true? You've been so tense. No, don't cry. Of course I noticed." Feyd releases her face, embraces her instead so she may sob into his shoulder.

"Yes, it is. I really am relatively safe. I mean… A few days ago, there was an airstrike a few kilometers to the north and a breach in, uh, in our bunker. But we found and fixed it quickly enough. I was only feeling sick for a day or two."

To describe the place as a mere bunker is such an offense, she feels her own heart shrivel. She needs to tell him, but she can't. Such a fucking coward, pathetic!

Meanwhile, Feyd soaks up every word. He so rarely gets to hear details about her waking life, details that he craves more and more but simultaneously loathes. A heavy frown forms on his forehead, mulling over her words until he only tastes bitter rot and fear on his tongue. If this is relatively safe, how could he accept that?

"I don't know if I can dream while I- while I-"

"While what?!" Feyd snaps when she stops before the crucial part. "Stop speaking in riddles, woman, tell me what's wrong!"

She cannot tell him, or he will despise her for her privilege. It is unfair. There is a reason why people like her are envied, despised and pitied. They are privileged cowards.

"I wish we were together," she swerves but confesses truthfully. But the rules are strict, so it can't be.

Feyd senses his woman slipping out of his fingers metaphorically, no matter how tightly he squeezes her dream-bound body.

"And if I came to save you?" Madly, his heart beats against his ribs and his palms grow clammy with anxiety. She laugh-sobs, like she thinks that's an endearing proposition. Obviously, she doesn't know the power Feyd holds in the same hands that are holding her right now.

"The air space is tight and the land routes are sealed. We, oh God, we… went to orbit yesterday. Even if you had a suitable craft, you would be blown to bits on the way."

Feyd's frown thickens and blue eyes flicker questioningly over his woman's back and shoulder, as her face remains hidden in his neck, clinging onto him with raw fear of judgment.

She adds: "But I c-can't deny, I wish I could have seen you with my own eyes and touched you with my own hands. Even if it's only once." She cries harder and wetness slips down Feyd's shoulder. He cannot bear to see her suffer for a second longer.

He is ready for the singularity to break out of the black hole. To know her personally, intimately and emotionally in the flesh, outside of their dreamland cocoon. He will find her. He will see her in real life and hold her in his real arms. She will love him, it won't matter to her who he is, not to his sweet woman who has learned so much about him, more than any human alive.

"Where are you from?" Softly and calmly he asks her and the lump in his throat dissolves at once. Liberation. He's finally made his decision and never felt better.

Sobbing softly, she names him a place followed by a second place he's never heard of. Maybe a country, maybe a city.

Feyd shakes his head. "No… My sweet, from which world are you? I will get you out of there. Believe me, I can." 

Her sniffling abates and she raises her head, tear-streaked face knitted with confusion. "What do you mean, which world?" 

"Are you toying with me?!" Feyd is not in the mood for jest, because every minute counts. As soon as he awakes, he will order her rescue, and if he has to pay House Harkonnen's entire fortune to the Guild to provide a heighliner to the most distant world. "What's the name of your planet, my darling, I'll come and get you, just tell me the name!"

"Earth?" The corners of her mouth quiver. "I think you're toying with me." And she can't blame him. Everything is already horrible enough.

"From which earth?" Feyd is growing annoyed with her. Does his woman not want to be found by him? What does she fear?! Has he not proven over and over how he craves her, how he loves her? Would she rather be reaped away by some planetal war than be with him?

"I don't understand you," she meekly admits with a tightness in her chest. "From which world are you?" She laughs a little, but her features are warped into horror, like something is knocking at her own house of cards.

"From Giedi Prime, of course! I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, na-Baron of Giedi Prime!" Feyd slams his fist against the mattress. There, he's finally said it. He expects her to pull away from him with fear now and look at him the way every foreigner looks at him, envious and disdainful.

"I don't know what that means," she admits, voice warbled. Perhaps his darling is confused out of her mind, perhaps she didn't hear him correctly. So, Feyd cups her face firmly.

"That means I'll come and get you. Did you hear me? I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." All those months he had feared her reaction if she ever found out his full name. Now he wants nothing more than what he had so feared, that spark of recognition, disdain or not.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen," she whispers tearfully, trying to giggle like she did when she first heard his forename. "I like that silly name." Tenderly, she traces the shape of his jaw, smiling through the tears.

"You like…? No, listen to me closely. You said you're in orbit. Is there a heighliner near?" She squints her eyes, a flicker of a frown, and fresh tears well. She isn't listening to him!

"I-, I changed my mind, I'm not going. I'll go back down and find you. Tell me where you live!"

"No, no, no you won't go back down, you'll stay where you're safe and I'll come and get you." Feyd is repeating himself, frantic by now, clutching her face with his thumbs rubbing over her cheeks with increasing pace. "Just tell me where you are, please."

"Stop, stop!" She pleads. Feyd sounds out of his mind, confused. Bless his heart, but he can't come and get her. "Tell me, are you safe?" Aside from the obvious, his uncle… 

"Yes, I am-" Feyd doesn't get to finish his sentence because she sobs with relief, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I hope I can dream, I pray." How nice that would be. How comforting. She wants to believe it with her whole heart. "Will you be with me?" 

"I will always be with you."

How wrong he is.

"Can you hold me please? I am so sorry."

Feyd holds her, holds her so tight that he almost convinces himself her flesh, skin and bones are real, her beating heart is real, her soft voice is real. "Tell me where you are," he cries into her hair. "Tell me where you are, tell me where you are, tell me where you are."

Consciousness' meandering tendrils weave into the dream, dissolving it slowly like ink in water, gently, gently… Neither of them realizes as the other fades into mist among the stars.

After this night, Feyd-Rautha never dreams of his beloved again.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand – How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? - A dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe, 1850

Tag list: @nostalgichoya, @sebastianswallows, @forgedfromthestars

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

A/N: All I can say is I'M SORRY 😩🤭 And - P.S. - There are at least 9 more chapters left to go, so be not afraid 🫂

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Peg

Debut: DK: King of Swing

This post is not about Donkey Kong himself. Sorry! It is about the peg he is currently swinging from. But Peg on its own is not very eye-catching, is it? We need a guy like DK here, for the brand recognition. With his help, Peg is gonna be a star admired like James Dean or Mr. Bean! Hopefully after this post, you'll all want to Get Pegged!

So, here's Peg. Sorry for the blurriness, this was cropped from the Japanese cover of the game. Believe it or not, no press kits seem to have included crisp, HD promo art of Peg! Imagine the world if they did that. They could have made sticker sheets, and you could have put them on your wall, and pretended Donkey Kong was awkwardly clambering on it. Now imagine doing that while a silverfish happened to be climbing on the same wall! It would be so exciting...

Peg is a very funny thing to me. Donkey Kong is a gorilla. He climbs. It's in his nature. So it makes sense to give him his own game focused on climbing rather than platforming. But the thing is, he climbs trees and grabs onto branches and vines. And this game is about Pegs! Like rock climbing hand/footholds! I like this game a lot, don't get me wrong. But I get such a kick out of it being about Pegs.

And there are so many Pegs. So many that they come in different colors, to make them more fun to look at! Which of these would you most want to Grasp? I like the blue one. You may note that none of these are red, like the artwork is, but maybe that's because of the GBA's initial lack of a backlight.

It does not stop at different colors of pegs, however! There are peg boards! Pegs with levers, at the ends of which are other pegs! Cracked pegs that crumble away into nothingness... and that brings us to my personal favorite peg!

GHOST pegs! These pegs have perished! They are only found in a haunted shipwreck stage, so that narrows down how they could have died. I'm sure a lot of them drowned, while others were cannibalized by other, desperate pegs. Maybe some were pried open by sea stars who then digested the delectable Pegmeat from within. Many possibilities! Wait, I haven't said what these pegs do! If one is grabbed, it will manifest a hexagon of pegs around itself, while any other ghostly pegs disappear. It is a fun but honestly extremely easy gimmick with no real catch, unless you are just oh so scared by these ghost pegs. I'm not. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of! But I'm not.

I am not entirely sure how I feel about the overall art direction of DK: Jungle Climber, since I really like the more unique spritework of King of Swing. One thing's for sure, though! Pegs and Peg Boards have never looked more natural! Now THESE are pegs that someone made and put there. Don't worry about it!

[gay-dorito-dust]

would you do basically reader's universe collapsed and she's in shock and horrified back at the spider society hq and miguel's basically grudgingly comforting this teenage spider version who says she failed?

I know I say this about pretty much everything I write but this might be a lil -or a lot- like ass. My brain took a holiday and left this behind 😂

‘Miguel, you’ve got to go to them.’ Lyla said, looking at you.

‘No.’

She huffed and looked at him. ‘Why not?! If anyone here can relate to how they’re feeling right now it’s you.’

‘That’s different.’ Miguel replied, keeping his back to her. The reason why he was being so hesitant to comfort you was because of that familiar look of primal fear in your eyes; You were painfully reminded him of the things and the people that he’s lost, their bodies were warped and distorted until they vanished into nothingness before his very eyes as he was then left unable to prevent it from consuming everything-including his daughter, Gabriella- in their entirety until nothing remained but the memories.

‘How is it?’ Lyla asked, only understanding Miguel’s attitude towards your situation as heartless and unnecessary cruel, you had just been displaced from your home that starting as of now, quite literally does not exist, in what could be considered the worse way imaginable and were in dire need of a shoulder to lean; Lyla thought that due to shared experience, Miguel would be that comforting figure but to hear him downright refuse to check in on you made her put him under intense questioning.

‘Because it is.’ Miguel responded vaguely. Lyla huffs again but said under her breath, ‘what kind of leader are you if you’re not going to be there when it counts.’ Before disappearing, leaving Miguel to press his head into his hands, breathing in deeply and holding it for a couple of seconds before exhaling; On most occasions he hated to admit it but in this instances, Lyla was undeniably right in the fact that you were in need of support but for that support to come from him was where he hesitates. For Miguel was still very much hung up on what happened to Gabriella that he was trying to process what happened under a logistical viewpoint that he had yet to emotionally recover from his losses.

So when he looked back at you to see you staring off at a wall opposite, blankly, mentally having checked out the moment you were brought back to hq by the scruff of your neck. Your friends, Hobie, Miles, Pavitr and Gwen came to check on you regularly but even they couldn’t put your broken pieces together; so one of all of them would just keep you company by making sure you were that you weren’t neglecting your basic needs. While nice as that all was, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that you had no home anymore to return to, no family, no friends; and worst off you had nothing to remember them by but the memories that would forever haunt you to the point where even sleep felt like a method of torture.

‘Mr o’hara.’ Your voice reached out to him. ‘Did…did I fail?’ Miguel, forever a father at heart, felt pained by your words, he knew that he was partially to blame for putting it in everyone’s head that to have your home reality collapse was a fault upon the Spider charged with guarding it, but he thought by doing so everyone would work better at keeping their wits about them and keep their realities stable; unlike him who was more taken by the fact that he had a family elsewhere and wanted to indulge in a life that wasn’t his to experience.

‘No.’ Miguel finally said as he joined at your side. ‘You didn’t fail, you fought valiantly in protecting your reality.’ This didn’t seem to reassure you of anything as you responded with, ‘if I fought so valiantly as you say, then why does it feel like I single handedly destroyed everything I swore to defend as Spider-Man?’ Miguel thought the very same on a daily basis that he didn’t wake up or go to sleep without reminding himself as a way to keep him within that moment; and in doing so he had driven himself to the point where he didn’t recognise the person staring back at him in the mirror. He grew angry, he grew hateful, he grew spiteful and had grown to be condition himself into finding comfort in his isolation and solitude to the point he couldn’t remember who he was outside all of it.

He didn’t want you going down a similar route as he did, for it wasn’t a life he thought best suited you.

‘I was exactly where you are right now, to be honest I still am,’ Miguel admits, ‘I blamed and blamed myself to the point I lost sight of who I once was but you.’ He placed a hand on your shoulder awkwardly, it was obvious that he wasn’t use to having to comfort someone and you couldn’t help but appreciate his attempt. ‘Despite everything that has happened to you thus far, you are still you and that’s far more admirable then any feet of physical strength and you wanna know why?’ Miguel asked rhetorically as he moved to kneel in front of you so that you would be forced to look into his eyes. ‘It takes an extraordinary person to to come out of hell the same person they entered as.’ He tells you, smiling to himself when he saw a small flicker of light return to your eyes, even if it was minuscule and brief, it was a start.

‘You’re not alone, even if you may feel it more so then ever, you’re not and you never will be alone, especially with friends like yours.’ Miguel continues as his eyes lifted over your shoulder, causing you to look also as Gwen, Miles, Pavitr and Hobie could be seen poking their heads into the room; Upon realising that they’ve been caught, the quartet attempted to act as casual as they could with Hobie leaning cooly against the doorframe, tuning his guitar, whilst Pavitr began to talking to Miles and Gwen about something. You couldn’t help but smile a little wider upon seeing your friends, you were so lost amidst what you lost that you didn’t see what was right in front of you, and Miguel could tell that they mean more to you then anything and you wanted nothing more then to show them that you were on the mend of being okay again.

‘I just want to make them proud.’ You said but Miguel knew you weren’t talking about your friends in that moment as a melancholic look crossed over your face when you looked back at him. ‘I can’t speak on their behalf but I’d like to think you already have, they know you tried and they couldn’t be prouder of you. There’s no reason to hold unjustified resentment towards yourself over something that you couldn’t have possibly known was coming.’ He says softly. ‘The hardest part of healing is knowing when it isn’t your fault because we’ve conditioned ourselves to bear the brunt of the blame, to the point where it’s hard for us to understand that when something catastrophic happens, we have no real control nor dictation over it or how it happens. We can be doing our best and it’ll still come whether or not we spend our whole lives preparing for it.’

You reached over to hug Miguel, burying your face into his shoulder, clinging onto him for dear life as he goes stiff as a board at the contact. ‘Thank you.’ You said, voice muffled but it was still coherent enough for him to hear it. Miguel’s body relaxed once realising he wasn’t in any trouble and he brought his arms to cage you against him. ‘No problem kid, just don’t go thinking you have to be be responsible for everything in life because that’s not a healthy way to live and realise that you’re not alone in this for you will always have us to fall back on.’

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[delenygma]

❓Dano!Riddler Headcanons: Part 9 | 💌 Love Letters (Requested by Anon) 💌 ❓

Post-BTB, pre-TRYO Edward 🖤

(I got a... liiittle carried away with this one. I wanted to explore Edward's initial process of falling in love (?)/infatuation/obsession. He's such a lovely specimen.)

TW: Stalking, obsessive behaviour, Edward being Edward.

❓💌❓

🟢 You. A radiant beacon of light. There is something about you - the way you carry yourself, the way you smile as if at a distant memory, your gaze unfocused...

🟢 He needs someone to be his lighthouse, someone to guide him.

🟢 But... "N-no." The concept of love - genuine love - is something ephemeral to him, something just outside of his grasp. It's a riddle that isn't meant to be solved - one that he isn't permitted to solve. Is it even... love, or is it obsession? He doesn't know, and he doesn't want to know. Edward tries to eradicate those thoughts... Of such beauty, such light. They are trivial, a hindrance. Besides, someone loving him...? He isn't here to be loved.

🟢And yet, you begin to haunt him. Your face is everywhere, each passerby dissolving into an image of you. The agony of longing drums in his ribcage. He wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, for... you. You are the air. You are the light, the clarity, the rapture. He gets up, throws on the first set of clothes he can find, and leaves his apartment, shivering in the frigid October air.

🟢 Edward knows where you live at this point, of course. He ends up standing at the bottom of the stairway leading to your apartment, feeling an equal measure of longing - for you, for your light - and revulsion. But, he can't just... Leave now, can he? He pulls out a notebook and pen from his backpack, tears out a page, and scrawls on it, desperately, the pen breaking through the paper.

🟢 Edward slides the note underneath your door. He does it again the next night, and again. Every time he glimpses you in the subway, on your morning commute, he feels euphoric. He doesn't know - not yet - that you have been collecting those scraps of paper, analysing the silly little riddles...

🟢 Eventually, you approach Edward at the subway station. He looks like he is about to die - he feels like he is about to die - when you tell him that he's the one who's been sliding notes underneath your door for the past three months. How do you know...? It's not that complicated. Your apartment block is equipped with CCTV cameras.

🟢 He feels like such a fool. He feels like crashing his head against the wall until his skull splits open. He knows that he has fucked everything up. There will be no light anymore, only darkness, and it will try to consume him before spitting him out-

🟢 You have nothing to lose, so you tell him that actually, it's rather cute. It's pretty romantic, even, guys don't tend to do things like that anymore. His cheeks go from a ghastly shade of pale to red. Something quivers in your heart and you keep talking, you keep reassuring this stranger that it's okay, it's fine...

🟢 How do you end up having a coffee with him? You don't know exactly. He seems to be terrified, so you take charge, insist, guide the conversation...

🟢 Coffee dates, something so innocent, become a weekly fixture. As he opens up to you, you realise there is something underneath his skin, something rooted within him...

🟢 You find it delightful.

❓💌❓

[st4rbwrry]

𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

masterlist. next chapter.

SEMBLANCE WAS THE WORD TO DESCRIBE GETOU. his provision of love came in a various of ways—some of his feelings true, others a grey area. but the relationship he had with vice had been somewhat twisted, and it wasn't considered love.

at least that's what he thought towards the end of everything.

usually, starting off new came with perfect qualities. but ending up in the interestingly  haunting city of new orleans, that came with a surge of consequences. it all started off with a simple smoke, an inhale of toxins evaporating within the lungs of his body, only half of the gas being exhaled into thin air from the pen he holds. the tall man leaned against the wall of the school’s hallway, phone pressed against his ear as his long fingers toyed with the object in his hand. many people gazed at him—notes of curiosity or attraction, some hadn’t recognized him on this campus, nor had they ever seen a man with such a stringent face structure.

his eyes were scarily dark, lids drooping over the pupils he dangerously lowered. his face sent off a variety of emotions. whether it be the fact that he was mad, or he was just completely inattentive to his surroundings. he appeared unfazed by movement of people around him. they glanced as his lips moved, a fairly light pink, almost mimicking his olive skin tone. his mouth moved with a quickness; a seduction. 

once he ended the call, there had been no indication of what the conversation had been about. whether he had been talking to a lover, or ending someone's life just by muttering a few passive words. he had been standing in the same spot for almost ten minutes now. he wanted to bring himself to move,  but a sudden flurry of two bodies flown in front of him—almost right on time. as if it were all supposed to happen.

“you know i still want your fine ass brother on my roster.”

a feminine, somewhat deep voice whispered in the distance from what he could hear, making the man watch as two beautiful women emerge from the entrance of the girls bathroom. both bodies halted as one leans against the wall with books held to their chest, the other shifting in their spot to adjust their tight jeans.

"the hell, i thought you were texting that boy on the football team?" 

the voice of this woman nearly makes his blood warm. it's soft and sultry, and now he's engaging himself into their conversation. 

"i'm texting several on the football team. yet the quarterback is the finest." 

"and he's probably the worst one," the other girl replies. 

from where he stood, he could spot alluring long dark hair that grazed the middle of her back. as desperate as it sounded, he craved to see her face—for her to make eye contact with him and feel the attraction he does. 

"jealous, vice?" the girl teases with a smile. 

vice. 

"girl, you wish," vice laughs softly, the two now  strutting away opposite from him towards their class. 

from this angle, getou catches a glimpse of her side profile. a face so beautifully pure but could be so shamelessly damaged. milky brown skin, his lips tremble from the urge to sink his teeth into it. it was almost preposterous. his eyes went wide when he observed the way she walked, the salacious switch of this woman's hips in her vintage dereon jeans making him twitch in more ways than one. curvy body adorned with a gold belly chain around her waist and a cropped black baby tee. colorful bangles decorated her wrists along with rings and two rows of necklaces, complimenting the infinite amount of colorful ink along her body—from the top of her neck, all the way to where his eyes wished he could see more. he wanted to see all of her. 

his head begins to spin with erotic possibilities, illicit and passionate thoughts running through his mind about what he could do to her. it was ridiculous. he didn't even know the girls name, and yet here he was, fantasizing about fucking her like the demon he knew he was. he takes this moment to follow behind the two women after standing in his position for too long, surprised his feet didn't drag behind like a lost puppy. 

the classroom where they sat happened to be the same one he's enrolled in, coughing briefly to focus his conscious on what's important, and that was finding his seat. 

"i still think this tattoo would look better on the side of my ass," alani pouts, sliding her phone for vice to look at a sketch of a cherry blossom thorn as she suggests, "or maybe the back of my thigh?" 

"either way you're gonna scream like last time. and that was only angel numbers, on your wrist. no shading.” vice replies, wanting to focus on this idea she had for her own thousandth tattoo, pencil moving swiftly. 

alani sighs, knowing she was right. clicking off her phone, she grabs her pink cup filled with ice water to sip as she scans the class, watching it slowly clutter with students for the upcoming lecture. her eyes abruptly lock onto the man who made his presence known from afar. 

"ooh, girl. what the fuck," alani suddenly begins to choke, her hand covering her mouth as she coughs aggressively. vice shoots up in a panic, confused and patting her back with worry.

"bitch, are you okay?" vice's eyes widen, alani nodding her head and breathing heavily. 

"do you see that man?" she emphasized, finally catching her breath after she drinks her water, discreetly motioning towards a man sitting on the other side of the class near the front. vice wants to smack her for being so dramatic, eyeing her like she's a hardheaded child before adverting her eyes in the same direction. 

this man she spoke of finally caught her eye. an immediate attraction rushed through her as quickly as it left, and her stomach did a little flip. compulsive eyes that dwindled a fragile obsidian tone. flawless long black hair that nearly past his elbows, drifting along his brawny jaw and rested on the back of his black crewneck tee that accentuated his muscles. his mane was partially tied up in a manbun on the back of his head, nearly covering the gauges within his ears. lips distinctive, yet captivating, duplicity hiding within them. and now, they were arrogantly raised in an amused smirk, towards her, feeling her glance. 

"i wanna do bad things to that man," alani speaks in an almost feral manner, both women staring with somewhat opposite emotions. vice is disinterested, immediately going back to doodling artwork in her notebook. 

“yea, he’s cool. i'd sit on his face." 

"i second this quote! adding that to my roster!"

as vice laughs at her response, class begins. she wasn't necessarily looking forward to the debate they were going to have today. the previous day before was pretty heated on the topic of genocide and ethnic cleansing. she catches a mere glance at what the professor writes with chalk on the viridescent board. her pencil sat absentmindedly between her plump lips, eyes drawling back to the man once again, shoulders broad as he relaxed himself against the seat. when the teacher ended up calling her name, she hadn’t even realized. he really was . . . nice to look at. 

"miss persephome," the teacher repeated encouragingly, eyes now posted upon her skin as her slumped position peaked up, "yes?"

"the discussion, need i remind you since you seem so interested. is love a realism or is it underlined with sexual desires?" she began, causing the noiseless class to gently snicker as she continues, “i'd like for you to elucidate your debate on it."

she raised her eyebrows. allowing her pen to fall from her lips and in between her fingers, she replied, "elucidate? uh . . . sure.”

she begins, “it's simple, love. we fall in love by personality, physicality. the flutter of their eyelashes, to the smile upon their cheeks. i would say that it's possible to love someone without physical contact, because if you really love someone, sex is only a desire, rather than a necessity. you fall in love by their soul, not by the forefront distraction of their body.” 

a low and sarcastic chuckle was what caught vice's attention. her eyes turn directly towards where the sound echoed from, and oh, it was that fine ass of a stranger. the teacher was now captivated by the circumlocutory silence sitting on the right hand side of the room, seeing as he now teetered a ring in his slender fingers so casually. 

"getou, you seem amused. is there anything you'd like to add?" the professor asked. 

getou. that’s his name, she thinks. why does she care? 

vice softly frowns at him, watching as he says nothing. he looked at the teacher, lightly shook his head, and made no effort to verbally disagree. this bothered her.

"you laughed for a reason. this is a seminar. say what you gotta say," vice stares at him with impatience. his eyes lock into her's, intently boring into her cranium. the little flip in her stomach returned without her permission.

"i just think it's bullshit," he shrugs. 

"uh, alright. i understand y'all are adults. but let's exclude the profanity—"

"bullshit how?" vice interrupts, raising her brow in a threatening manner. 

"do you really think that love overshadows sexual desires? are you a child?" getou charges back. 

"um, no. i never said that. do you think that love is not a realistic thing? are you in high school?" 

"i don't have to fuck you to be in love with you. granted, any person could overshadow being in love with me by the way i fuck them." 

"oh, for real?” alani instigated, shifting her eyes back and forth. she's intrigued by their banter. 

"just based on that observation, i wouldn't fuck you,” vice snarls. 

"i doubt that." 

the professor cuts them off. "okay! that's enough, and wildly inappropriate. we'll pick this up another time. everyone may write their opinions on paper,” she concludes. 

"oooh, i love him already," alani bites the tip of her nail, a wide grin as she twinkles her fingers in his direction. 

"i can’t stand his ass already,” vice disagrees.

she stands from her seat along with everyone else in the classroom preparing to exit out the door, feeling slightly embarrassed for causing class to dismiss early, but not embarrassed enough to apologize. 

“girl, you’ll be alright. let’s go before i miss my opportunity to get them digits!” alani schemes, pulling vice by her backpack who still glares at him. the way he now politely stands to the professor and begins talking to her, it’s as if they didn’t just have that back and forth. it pissed her off even more. 

“ugh, he a scholar or something?” alani speaks impatiently, seeing as he continues to talk to the professor, both her and vice now standing outside of the classroom. 

vice pulls her phone from her pocket as it buzzes, glancing back up to her friend as she speaks, “the promo team for homecoming is looking for me. do i have to stay with you while you shoot your shot?” 

“you don’t wanna see me win? maybe you really are jealous,” alani never knows when to stop playing as she teases, vice becoming visibly more irritated. 

she starts, “girl—"

her voice goes into a stifled shout as she feels a bump within her shoulder. her eyes meet with those same dark eyes that glance back at her, that same shit-eating-fucker smirk appearing along his face as he continues walking. that sets her off. she flies forward, winding up her fist as she then feels alani quickly pull her back, sighing dreamily as she speaks, “yeah, that’s my baby daddy. cheer up, would you?”

yeah, okay. 

୨♡୧

vice stands back as she tilts her head, staring over the various amount of colors that spread along the brick wall, trying to figure out which of them compliment each other more. brent faiyaz soothes into her mind from her earbuds, the lazy pony tail she created swinging as she turns her head from the end of the wall to the beginning. 

the art department had requested for her to help decorate their seasonal wall, her artistic skills one fortunate fact about her that surpassed around the campus. it made her feel confident, but that confidence immensely disheveled if that relevancy pertained to her as a person. 

this was her safe haven, a place for her to crawl into her fantasies and never have to come out. the tips of her fingers were similar to a rainbow, sprouting in different splotches of paint. but she didn’t care. this made her happy. 

as she raised herself on her toes and added another swirl to the burgundy brick, her fantasies poofed into thin air as she felt her earbud be snatched from her head, eyes shooting daggers as her best friend now stood in front of her as she grinned, “busy?”

“expeditiously.”

“spell it, dummy.”

“A-L-A-N-I, dummy?” she refers to her as.

“whatever, you done being mad? i got tea to spill.”

“i was never mad at you,” vice clarifies, “what’s up?” 

“i got the tea on my new little project,” alani smiles, shaking the pom-pom’s in her hand, vice taking full notice of the cheer uniform she wears, figuring she’ll be going to practice soon.

“your dumbass lil’ project? yeah, not interested. can i go back to listening to brent now?” she reaches for her her earbuds, alani shaking her finger as she pulls back farther, “you’re gonna listen to me!”

vice replies, “yes, alani. i’m listening?” chuckling slightly.

“word on the street, he’s a hoe,” she starts.

vice raises her eyebrows, “a hoe ass hoe?”

“a dog ass hoe,” she clarifies, “scratching and barking, girl. been going to school here but did his classes online before coming on campus. the bitches knew him before he even stepped foot on the grass! well, not the grass, disrespectful to the ancestors. but you get my point,” she speaks. 

“i'm becoming bored,” vice sarcastically smiles.

alani’s smile drops, “you’re so fucking annoying sometimes. anyways, he’s an only child, doesn’t do relationships—commitment issues, perhaps?— probably has mommy issues, too.”

“hmm, great. so every other man on this damn campus. this is the only information you gathered in less than four hours? i thought better of you,” vice shakes her head. 

“since when are you so interested in him?” alani raises her eyebrow.

“you wish i actually was. i’m just saying, you’ was acting like you had piping hot tea. that was sugar water. and he seems pretty…on-paper to me,” she shrugs.

alani sighs, twirling her hair in her finger as she says, “you can at least admit . . .the bitch is bad!” 

vice laughs, “he in fact is. but i don’t care.”

“oh god. get over yourself, persephome. we get it. you got your heartbroken and you haven’t been the same since, you like older men, you wanna find true love and all that. is that why you got so mad in class?” alani prods. 

vice’s amusement drops. alani knows her best friend all too well, even if that meant pushing her buttons to get the truth out. vice rubs her hand over her face as she sits it under her chin, holding her arm by the other as she mutters, “alani, get the fuck away from me unless you want two broken legs before practice.”

“ooh! i hit a nerve,” she points out, “whatever. you so damn pissy! you need to do some prayer or something, have a dick shoved so far in you that it wipes away all that attitude,” she raises her middle finger, swinging her body around as she makes her way back down the hallway as she calls, “deuces! i’m heading to practice.”

vice watches as her best friend playfully sways her hips, shaking her pom-pom’s as she sings down the hall in a cheer-chant, “vice needs some dick! vice needs some dick!” 

she shakes her head, unable to help but chuckle at alani’s chaos, knowing that she loved her deeply anyways. 

it was now near six in the afternoon and vice’s fingers were stained with paint as she carried her supplies towards her car, stomach growling from the lack of food she’d eaten today. she forgot her grandmother had expected her company by now, also preparing to cook up a good meal. she always kept vice fed no matter how big she’d get. the thought of stuffing her mouth with curry goat and white rice nearly made her trip. removing her keys from her black telfar, she unlocks the passenger door to her all white 370z nismo to settle her supplies in. it was the love of her life after her art—customized to her preference with silver hearts carved into the rims, matching exhaust pipes and a black carbon fiber wing spoiler. 

vice took advantage of her family’s inheritance and splurged on her dream vehicle before she entered college, a gift to herself. maintaining a 4.0 gpa on top of balancing her title as class president for three years straight should be honored with a present, wanting her first couple of years in college to be more lax than anything. exhausted from the long day she’s had, she buckled herself into the drivers seat and inserts the key into the ignition, hand gripping the cherry blossom stick shift before hearing the one thing she dreaded to hear right now out of all times. her car wouldn’t start, that god awful scratching with dying wind sound ruining her day further. 

“fucking hell. why?” vice whines, wanting to bang her fists on the steering wheel in anger. knocking her head back, she blows a raspberry before aggressively swinging the door open, reaching underneath the wheel to pop the hood of the car.  

irritatedly climbing out, she circled to the front of her current tragedy, lifting the hood and hooking open the lever to inspect the issue. she’s not exactly sure why it’s acting up right now. she just had it looked at a few weeks ago. 

“damn, that’s all yours?” 

a voice had spoken nearby, vice wanting to crawl into a fetal position and scream once she recognized it. barely having a full conversation with this man, yet she memorized his voice. she slumps her head before darting her eyes towards getou. she has no chance to reply as he then says, “lemme see.” 

then, he’s standing next to her, tall and brooding as he leans over the engine to catch a quick glance. vice feels the way her heart raced at the close proximity. relax. 

“holy fuck, you have a z06 engine! that shits like fifteen grand.” 

“you’re a little too close,” vice deadpans, almost hurting her back from how hard she tried to lean away from him while still, in a dumb way, protecting her car with her hand holding it. as if he could steal it. 

“relax, i’m trying to help,” getou scoffs, ignoring her burning stare. irregardless, the combination of smaller frame, soft eyes and full lips are hard to ignore. 

“your battery died from running it too long,” he states. 

“i knew that. i have a brother that knows about cars,” she tries to brush him off, rolling her eyes as she wants to shove him out the way. 

“you gotta lot of attitude stored in that pretty face of yours, huh?” 

"do you not remember what happened in the seminar earlier?" 

getou thinks back, kind of forgetting. oh, yeah. that.

 “do you really think it was deep enough to have this underlying hatred towards me? you don't even know me." 

again, he’s bothering her further. 

“oh, i do know you. all i have to do is open my ear to the girls bathroom and i'll hear everything i need to know about you." 

"you shouldn't believe everything you hear,” he finalizes sternly, licking his lips before he’s motioning his hand to shoo her away. if he was actually willing to help, she’d accept it if that meant he’d get out of her face. 

“do me a favor, rev the engine while i tweak this shit,” he keeps his focus downward. 

“it's wrong?" she steps aside to allow him full access, doing as he says and sitting halfway inside so she could still hear him over the noise. her foot applying on and off pressure to the brake as she turns the key. 

getou’s jaw clenches as he chews on his gum, lowering his head to inspect deeper. he then slightly tilts around the hood as he replies, “no. you just shouldn't believe everything you hear."  

“your reputation sums up your opinion in class earlier a lot better now. you know, how you think sex overshadows love. that’s all you’re used to.” 

after moments of him solely focusing on her car rather than her, he then raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the girl's probing. 

“so that’s how you feel, huh? that you can confide in a person without the conceptualization of sex?” 

“call me a romantic, poetic even. if you think that's lame, i don't care,” she shrugs. 

“nah, it's cute. i just disagree with you,” getou inquired, trying to keep the conversation unceremonious as possible.

now vice is getting fed up, releasing the break altogether. “so what’s your fucking take then?”

“you chose love because you believe in fairy tales and happy endings. you said that sex is more of a desire than a necessity. but, how can love be established without the need for sex? sex is raw, pure . . .a bond that creates when people in love interlace, its a string that’s hard to ignore. the infatuation for that person you love ignites your soul. you can love a person for their personality, for the way that they laugh or make a funny noise when upset. that’s whatever. but you can’t fall in love with someone without fucking them. no matter what you say, sex is a staple necessity in a relationship. in my case, i’m too fucking hypersexual to be with someone who isn’t as sexual as i am. who doesn’t crave for that burn of desire. that need to feel you drag your nails down my back, my lips against your skin, your voice in my ear . . .small, broken and begging. you know how much a person loves their significant other based off of that continuous desire.” 

and like the introvert he was, he simply went back to his calm yet vexed expression, awaiting for her response. in the midst of it all, getou had managed to start her car, vice unaware of what magic stunt he used to activate the battery. apparently, rubbing his palms together to create heat and electrifying her battery did the trick. still stunned by his answer, as he can tell, she swallows, watching as he wipes his dirty palms on the denim of his jeans. 

“thank you,” she clears her throat, managing to be gracious of his help. the least she can do. getou nods, unhooking the latch for the hood before slamming it shut. 

“i’m just confused,” getou starts up again, jaw still shifting from the now old gum lodged between his pretty teeth. 

vice stares at him with curiosity, wondering what monstrosity is going to come out of his mouth now. “about?” 

he bites his cheek to kill the smile wanting to breach against his face. “so sitting on my face, does that go with your little bullshit morality?” 

like clockwork, vice finds herself in that same puddle of irritation she felt from the first interaction with him. frowning, she fully sits inside of her car, slamming the door shut, ignoring the sudden smirk arising on his face. her car is running without a problem, catching a look at him through the window to see him pull his pen from his front pocket to take a few puffs, the eye contact from the two of them intense. hidden with a smidge of unexpected attraction, even. vice rolls her eyes, shifting her stick and purposely swerving her vehicle around him in a swift donut, nearly hitting his ass, getou still so enamored by the girl named vice. 

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 + @thecoochiefairy all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify our work simply because it is ours. stealing isn't cute. we'll ruin your life <3

[bittersweetsthff]

Hi hello! do you have any alien stage fic recs??

i most definitely do!!!

I've only read ivantill until now (cus the brainrot is real) so that's what I'll share here but once I'm done scouring the mizisua tag, I'll definitely return!

links below the cut <3

from ashes by petitfives

vampire till and vampire ivan. ivan is deranged and till suffers per usual. rating: explicit

"This is the face of the dog who has killed so many of my fledglings,” Urak says, snapping Till out of his reverie. “Remember it. It might be the last thing you see.” Till has never liked Ivan more than he does right now. Good, he thinks, as viciously as he can. He doesn’t think his prayers carry any weight, but he stares hard at the saint wearing Ivan’s face and hopes Ivan puts a stake through Urak’s unbeating heart. Or, Till gets turned by a vampire, and Ivan is a vampire hunter.

the silhouette in my peripherals by Anonymous

till in the aftermath of r6. rating: explicit

Ivan is gone, but he is still there. Or: how to haunt a person.

till death do us part (so why are you before me again?) by Aminori

ivan and till reuniting in the afterlife. <3 rating: teen

When Ivan had held his beloved’s throat, felt the pulse of life as his own ended, he had expected to not see Till again. … He had expected Till to live on. Had selfishly wanted it, in fact. But here his beloved was, in his arms, in a place that they were never meant to be reunited in.

And he wasn’t quite sure what to feel, anymore.

(or: Ivan dies. He didn’t expect to see Till again, but he did.)

break a heart, stitch it right back by yamscooper

till being jealous. rating: teen

If Ivan wants to laugh and giggle and twirl his hair at some girl Till has never met before, that’s none of Till’s fucking business. “I don’t think Ivan’s hair is long enough to twirl,” Mizi says. “It’s a figure of speech,” Till bites out.

a certain ivantill fan's origin story by gustavo

somehow luka becomes the #1 ivantill fan. rating: teen

Over the course of his preparation for the much-anticipated Final Round of the hit dystopian drama, Alien Stage, Luka discovers that he might be a lot more invested in his best friend’s love life than he’d expected himself to be. or: the fic where luka somehow becomes an ivantill truther.

breathe again in the world anew by aerivel

more ivantill reunions after r7. rating: teen

Till and Ivan reunite one more time. - “I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” The sound of a deep, gentle voice cutting through the air startles Till enough to bang his head against the tree behind him. Wincing slightly, he sits up and jerks his head to the slowly approaching man in white. “I thought you would win after all,” the man continues, slowing until he stood a few feet away. The man’s attention is stolen by the fluttering of a crimson flower inches away from his foot. Absently, he shifts his shoe and crushes the petals beneath him. It’s enough to spark something within Till. Ivan. It’s Ivan.

your shadow on the wall of my room by ephemeroptera_insecta

ghost ivan haunts till. rating: teen

Till won Round 6. He had his first kiss. He’s one step closer to winning. He’s also, notably, now being haunted. Or : Ivan comes back as a ghost. Till realizes what Ivan has done for him, and the feelings he buried for him out of fear. They navigate life (and death) as a man and his ghost.

what we’re allowed to do to each other’s faces by fakekniferealketchup

ivan lives and till escapes. rating: teen

When Ivan had died, the lens through which Till saw the world had fractured, rearranged, and stuck that way, like a broken bone that wasn’t set. A bleeding kaleidoscope of the past. A dozen years of memories clamored for fresh attention, to be reexamined, to be cut open so they could show off all the terrible wriggling things that had wormed around inside them and eaten them hollow. He couldn’t think of the garden, anymore; only of how stupid he had been. — - — Ivan lives; Till escapes the arena. There's no elegance in their reunion, but there is spit, and blood, and something close to forgiveness.

[starillusion13]

Hi congrats on 500 i would like to request for ateez ot8xfreader

IS THIS THE END?

Pairing: Ateez! ot8 x fem! reader

Genre: Lore Au, Angst, Mystery

Warnings: crying, mention of death, fever dream, many flashbacks, loneliness (major warning is this is mixture of sad and happy fic, idk why am feeling so down in this spooky season.)

W.C: 5.3k

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated 😭. Applause to the ones who come up to me to interact and they know how friendly I am. Okay enough!

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

dear Anon! ( I'm sorry if you wanted something spicy or fluff but i instead of these two, wrote something very different. i hope you may like it. Please let me know.)

Standing in front of this place seems different now, no more those chaos, those laughs echoing through the huge space, those smiley faces running around the street and getting shelter inside the huge place. Street is just now a silent and abandoned place without those lively beings occupying the area. Your fingers touch the cheeks to feel the wet sensation only to realize that you are crying, Crying for what? You don’t have hope for anything to return to its origin, right? Nothing can turn back. You are lost, they are lost and everything is lost. This place is lost without you all. Are you still going to keep a hope within yourself for, for them. Why? Everything is clear to you. You have seen those faces, those words, that scene still haunting you every day, every second and every moment and even now. Your heart aches on those thoughts but never you are caring to soothe it. It’s only because you don’t know how. How can you say to yourself that everything is alright when nothing is in its place, not even your mind and your heart.

Please.

Please what? Is there someone to listen to your pleadings, to listen to your heartbreaking cries every night and to see your helpless state? No. No one is going to pull you into their arms and rub your back with whispers, ‘Shush….its okay…I’m here. Nothing can hurt you. I’m here.’

I am here. Nothing can hurt you.

You are still here but everything is hurting as you are here alone. You are not with them. Them? Is it just them? Are you really going to refer them like this? They are your ‘home’. A safe place. The warehouse in front of your eyes is the only home to you and to them.

Taking few steps closer to the big metal door, binding with chains and locks, your hands fish inside the pocket for the keys. Hastily, you unlock the different locks and pull the chains and throw them to the side, not caring if they are okay to use afterwards. Your mind is just focused on one thing and that is to enter the place. Gripping the big handles in your hold, tears flowing continuously and so you close your eyes. You are ready to push the door but a memory flash across your mind.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

“Welcome to the Wanteez.”

Chuckling, you asked the person, “Wanteez? Why such a name? like, are you wanted?”

Standing in front of an old abandoned building with rusted gate, with some graffiti sprayed across the door and the walls all around, one name is quite repeated ‘WANTEEZ’ and also there are some other things repeated like their names and ‘Heart Awakened Live Alive’ and ‘Hala-zia’. Them and their names, both are weird.

“Yeah something like that. You know why as hear clearly, the loud beats of the music is coming from inside and guess you know, people don’t like citizens like us causing disturbance in the society.”

“So? You guys are enjoying yourselves and why does it matter to those others, they can simply ignore it. It’s not like anyone lives around this place. The nearest house is much far away from here to reach this sound. Unless, you are playing the speakers in front of their house. I would do this if anybody had complained anything about me.”

He laughs loudly along with you on your comment, “There’s more to this, you know. People assume us that we are some sort of gangsters and we are doing illegal stuffs behind everyone’s back. The government and police are always attentive to this surrounding to find any little proof against us to claim us as the criminals.”

“Are you?”

“Huh?” His face turns into a frown and his confused eyes staring back at you.

“The way this place looks like, I must believe you guys have some illegal shits up your sleeves.”

Before he could reply you back, you both feel someone’s hand around your necks.

“What are you both doing here? So, you finally brought our girl to this place.”

You smile to this intruder between you both but you are really happy to see him so energetic like always.

“Yes, Woo. Joong finally brought me here after so much whining and ta da I’m standing in front of the building.”

Wooyoung is the one who is always hyped up with silly matters and trying to lift up everyone’s mood in every situation. The way he takes care of everyone and other’s need is very adorable. Being one of the youngest member, he is referred as the menace also because of his mischievous acts but he is the first one to jump in for you if you are in trouble. The most clingy one and your favorite one in this family. But hush, don’t let him know about this as he would be going to shove this on everyone’s face.

Hongjoong removes his friend’s hand from around his neck and walks towards the gate and before he could pull it open. Wooyoung gives you a mischievous smile and holds your hand and makes a run towards the gate.

“Let’s go….”

“Woo...I will fall. Slow down.”

With other hand, he pushes open the door and left Hongjoong cursing at him

“I swear Wooyoung….”

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

You push open the door.

Darkness reflects back to you but the full moon day spreading its light inside, slowly clearing your vision and those memories of coming here and spending time fills your mind. Your eyes are blinded not with the darkness of the room but those happy days replaying in front of you.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

As soon as you step inside the warehouse, your hand still in his hold, you come to a halt and take heavy breaths. With calming yourself and fixing your posture, you look towards the centre of the warehouse, where six other boys staring back at you, some confused and some with soft look on their face. With a quick smile towards them, your eyes follow the interior of the place, some small high widows lining the upper end of the walls on your sides and also huge ventilators, old and somewhat rusted rods attached to the pillars for arranging their stuffs. Many of their items spread across the floor, food packets, clothes, shoes all scattered near a corner, basket ball and different kinds of flyers. You pick up a flyer near your feet and eyes scan the photo and description, some men in black outfits of coat and masked and fedora hat with chains decorated on them. ‘wanted’ written at the top of each flyer.

Those flyers still scattered around you. Tears blurring your vision, legs feeling weak, hands shaking by your side. With shaky steps, you walk towards the sofa, covered with a layer of dust and memories. Taking a seat, your hands caress the material.

“Who are they?”

You look at them with curious eyes but none of them answer you, only Hongjoong snatches away the paper from you and throws it aside. Furrowed eyebrows and pouty lips staring at him, he just gives away a dry smile.

“Nothing, its just something which is not your concern or…any of us.”

Your attention moves towards the speaker where the song has been changed to a different melody. It’s a very soothing one from the previous one and you can see Yunho memorising his steps while looking at the mirror. Seonghwa and San by his side and Wooyoung grinning beside them.

“Well, I don’t care about these mysterious men but I care of these three not acknowledging my presence. I feel so neglected and hurt.”

You make a fake crying expression to which Wooyoung stick out his tongue and Seonghwa flick his head and comes near you and now you are grinning to the scene.

“I cant ignore my girl ever.” His warm palms over your cheeks, soothing your every nerve from the exhaustion since the morning. He has that magic of warmness and healing in himself for which you always run to him for warmth like the heat in winter afternoon.

“I don’t believe you. Also, why is this place so dirty?”

He lets out a groan on your question to which everyone laughs and you jokingly glare at them.

“I have to clean this place all alone and everytime these idiots have to destroy it afterwards.”

You keep a neutral expression for few seconds and one two three you burst into laughter. And now everyone has abandoned their previous individual works and attention focused on you. Only you.

Maybe they are friends since childhood and you are a new addition to the group but you are the most precious part in their life. They have their own individual stories and some of them has shared a little part of their life with you and some just gives you tight smile whenever you want to know about them, like Hongjoong, the leader of this group. He has built this whole friendship circle and the last one to meet you. You don’t know much about him but still you trust him, have faith on him that whatever he does or is going to do in near future is nothing wrong. It means no harm to anyone but you fear for him. He keeping his life and feelings aside, always caring about his friends and you.

Will he be safe?

The second person you don’t know much about is the person standing in front of you, Seonghwa. He has a very strict family and always, he needs to follow their rules and regulation on everything as if every second of his life is already scheduled and he cant have his own way and this is the place where he met hongjoong and now this hideout is the escape place for him. This cold abandoned place has the warmness only because of him. He also gave you a bracelet which has a sensor and signal technology attached to it, of course made by yeosang so that they can know if you are in any danger or not. The way a bracelet braces your wrist like a protectiveness. He is always there like a protective barrier to you.

“I thought you will take my side but you are literally laughing like them.”

“I’m sorry Seonghwa but you looked so funny while complaining. Its not like I’m a tidy person myself so….”

You walk towards Wooyoung and snatch the packet of snacks from him, ignoring his whines. Munching on some, satisfied with the spicy chilli-peppered flavour, you again go near the eldest one.

His confused eyes keenly following your every move and his eyes go wide when you a bundle of papers which are kept in a place altogether on the table in front of the sofa.

“What the hell….”

Wooyoung skipping steps towards you, messily throw some other stuffs towards Seonghwa and others joined in the fun too. That’s how the chaos filled with some running after others, scolding, whining and laughs echoed throughout the place.

Whatever their individual life was, one thing was common among them. It’s you. Their precious treasure in life. You were their everything. You were meant to keep safe by them as you were their only hope in life.

To be their light.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

Your gaze falls on the diary still kept in the place where it used to be on the table. You don’t know exactly to whom this actually belongs to but you know, this is most important thing to them. Maybe was. They are no more here to keep this diary. You put the diary in your backpack when you notice a drone placed in a corner and you know that’s broken.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

“What are you doing Yeosang?”

He is still connecting the wires and testing his remote, not aware of your presence behind him. You place your hand on his shoulder for him to get startled and the drone on which he was working fell from his hand.

“Oh…I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“Y/N. Its you. I thought….Leave it. What are you doing here today?”

“Wooyoung has a dance battle later this evening and he asked me to go there to watch his performance. So, your eyes are blessed with my beauty.”

He chuckles. Taking the drone in his hands, he gets up to put it on a shelf nearby. He is the quietest one in this group and the reason is very clear. Somehow, like Seonghwa his life is also controlling one but in a different way. He belongs to a royal family from the city, Sector 1. He has an image to be maintained and also his father doesn’t like him to be friends with others who don’t belong to any royal blood. He is the first one you met. You first met him while you were returning home from school and he was standing in the middle of the road looking up at the sky, maybe questioning about himself. About his life. That’s how you become friends when you two met often at that street and that’s how he introduced you to Seonghwa at one convenience store. Yeosang is very talented in every stuff but outstanding when it comes to technology. You know his secret feelings about everything as he only shares such things with you. And you are always there to listen to him. You are his little blue bird to keep the secrets safe. A bird of hope.

“lets go.”

“where?”

“Come on. Don’t you wanna see how well Yunho choreographed Some steps for Wooyoung?”

You gladly accept his hand and go to the other room where both of them were practicing to a song, you heard it before from them ‘To the beat’.

Both of them are very passionate when it comes to dancing. You love to see the rage behind their eyes to make every step to a perfect level and until they are satisfied, they are repeating the steps again and again.

“Yunho, why don’t you go to the dance battles as well?”

The music is already paused by the other to get some water and so your words are well audible to the tallest one. You could see a sad expression flick to his eyes but quickly he sends a wide smile towards you. This does not ease your worry for him. He doesn’t share much with you but he is the most comfortable person to spend time with. He is the one to give you hug after a long day, to give you the feelings of having an older brother. Brother? Is that he to you? You don’t know what they are to you. But they are everything you need. He is a perfect brother for his friends in this place and a perfect man for every girl out there. And for you?

You feel hands engulfing you in a bear hug. You smile widely, snuggling to the chest, knowing who this is.

“How are you tiny?”

“Ugh! I’m not tiny. Joong is tiny. Call him that, not to me. I’m very tall, atleast than majority of the girls in my neighbourhood.”

“Whatever makes you stand tall.”

“My legs keep me stand tall. You are just too tall Yunho. A walking giraffe.”

“Excuse me.”

“You cant be excused. Woo….lets run away before this giant bury me here.”

Grabbing his wrist, you run outside. Don’t know where. But atleast every place is like heaven when one of them is with you.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

A thud sound makes you startled and then you noticed how a black cat has entered the place. You didn’t notice before but the gate is open and maybe the cat has entered through it as there is no other possible entrance. ‘But I’m sure, I had closed the gate when I entered here’. The black cat sniffing a cabinet and you thought of some food or something is kept there but still out of curiosity, you made your way towards the cat.

The cat is not frightened with your presence near it but as if it is signalling you to open the drawer. With shaky hands, you pull the handle.

An hourglass? No wait. It’s that ‘cromer’.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

“Don’t touch it.”

“Hm?”

“Capt…I mean Hongjoong doesn’t let anyone to touch it.”

“Why? What is this?”

“its cromer. it’s a very important part of our life, especially to him. Come on, lets go to the park.”

“Jongho. Are you all not hiding something from me, right?”

Silence. Your anticipation for an answer grows with each second of his mouth shut and slow breathing.

“…no..”

“hmmm…so you are.”

“what do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m not close to you all for a long time like you guys are from your childhood but in these five years, I have come to know a lot about you all and also not. Whenever, one of you spend time with me, shares a lot of things with me. I start to think, I have known you completely. I know you all. But the next second I don’t , as if you all are ones with hidden life. What are you all hiding from me?”

“y/N…its nothing like you think.”

“It is everything that I think and like you know. Its nothing the way you all are trying to show me things. If you want me to stay away from this, I will. Stay away from you- “

“never. We wont let you stay away from us.”

“I cant. I cant stay away from you all. You guys are like pirates in my life. The eight boys with individual mysterious pasts and united through friendship and on a heist to conquer the treasure. But, I don’t know what I am. An intruder in the pirate ship, maybe?”

“Our light. Our precious treasure.”

Their light.

Jongho, the youngest of the group. You met him when he was thrashing things around the basketball ground because his dreams of being an athletic came to an end after his accident where he hurt his leg and hand. You still don’t know the cause of it but you know both jongho and yunho feel uncomfortable with the topic and so you keep quiet with this. Jongho is the not the one to show affection in front of everyone but he is really a caring person when you are alone with him. He is a very passionate guy with his personal things, majorly his singing. His soothing honey like voice and gummy smile is everything you need to keep your nightmares away. He is a great listener like yeosang and so the most of the time when you are feeling low, you can find these two beside you.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

There is no one to light up your darkness now. You are all alone here. In this cold abandoned building, sitting in front of the table in middle of the warehouse.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

Palms pressed over your eyes, a presence behind your back, pushing you towards your front.

“Mingi…you know I can’t see when you are literally closing my eyes. Slow down. I can’t match your steps here where different things bumping my shoe.”

“I told you, yeosang to keep your gadgets somewhere else then why are they scattered here?”

You could hear Mingi scolding Yeosang but you know Seonghwa is already picking up the things from the ground.

“So? You could have done then, why still waited for me to clean the mess? I am very much busy.”

Your hands come up to remove his hands from your eyes when you come to a pause but he holds it tighter.

“Not now.”

Licking your lips, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and contemplating as what need to be unfold here. What are they upto? Its not your birthday today then-

“Congratulations on being with us for five years.”

Your eyes squint several times to adjust with the view. Hongjoong standing with a cake in his hand, smiling widely at you with Seonghwa glaring at Wooyoung and trying to smile at you because the other one is trying to blow away the candles. Yeosang by your side gives you a smile and congratulates you with San behind him, giving you his eye smile.

“Y/N. You better blow the candles before him or I have to smack him and light it up again.”

“Don’t worry, San. I’m sure he doesn’t want his name to be removed from the dance club.”

“But you don’t know that Yeosang is there to help that menace so better be prepared.”

Yunho comes to your other side with jongho trailing behind and both of them are smiling wide at you but something is there that Yunho is sad about because he is the worst one when it comes to hide his feelings. Its not right time to ask him but maybe later.

“Tiny. San is right. Never trust these two’s intentions. They are bestfriends and they can do anything for each other.”

“Aren’t you all?”

Yunho asks in surprise, “What?”

“Best friends? Aren’t you all best friends with each other?”

“No tiny. We are more than that. We are like brothers, Hongjoong accepted me in this group as if…as if…he is my own elder brother. But soon after others treated me the same. We are a family.”

“So, you all are to me. My family. Also, you all need to stop calling me tiny. I’m not Tiny.”

“Of course, you are.”

All of them laugh at you and meanwhile Jongho pats your head with shaking his head to ignore them. He signals you to blow the candles and when you are about to blow it, you pause. Their worried and confused looks earn a chuckle out of you.

“Whose plan is this for our 5 years?”

They all stare at you. Wait not you. Someone behind you. Mingi.

You quickly turn around, causing his hands to fall from your shoulders. Small eyes and wide smile staring down at you.

“What happened?”

“Thank you.”

He turns you around and hands resting on your shoulder like before and now, you smile towards everyone.

He whispers in your ears, “Welcome.”

“Also, I like the name ‘our girl’ because you all are my ‘my boys’. No wait. ‘My Pirates’.”

Their smiles drop for a mere moment but quickly nod their heads and you blow away the candles.

What are they to you? It’s obvious that they are your family. The only people who actually cared for you like a family. They are like brothers with each other but with you. With you? Did you fall in love with them? Love? You haven’t thought like this with them but you are sure one person is always making it obvious. Even if you feel a little bit something more with them. You are sure its not the same from the other end.

San. He has almost confessed his feelings several times but you just waved it off with changing the topic or just giving him a smile. You being their light was first referred by him. His life is very unstable unlike others. He had to change schools several times and this time, he made himself clear that he has to permanently settle down at one place. Due to changing places often, he does not have any one permanent in his life like you before meeting them. That is why, you are so close with him. The nights you both spend together with your head resting on his shoulder and talking about your life. The comfortable silence between you both and whispers which are only for between you two.

San is a comfort place. They all are. In their own way. The way mountains stand high to protect the nature and its beauty, he is the one shielding all of you and can even sacrifice himself to save you all. To save the friendship and the bonding of the family.

To protect his light.

Their light.

Their treasure.

 You.

The member who is just the opposite to San is Mingi. He is a mysterious person. Its true that they all have some hidden past but his present is also hidden. When San is very physical and verbal with everything, Mingi is quiet and staying all by himself. When you first met him, he was still in school and he got in many fights and Jongho and San were there to bring back him from the scene. He is the one who still thinks himself as the extra member in the family even after so many years. You don’t want him to be left out in any way so you always keep his update whenever you are with them. He always keeps his earplugs on and closing his eyes, staying in a corner of the warehouse. But secretly, he is the most emotional one.

Maybe they have individual mysterious past and some uneven presents which are not clear to you. You don’t know exactly what they do for the living but one thing is common. The future with you all together. The uncalled blurry future which is peeking like a moonlight yet you are not fazed with it. The way they keep you safe from this world. You need to keep them safe from whatever lingering danger roaming around for them.

But, can you?

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

“Mr. kang Mr. kang please tell me. Tell me. What’s going on here? Where are they?”

“Go away. Just go away. You don’t have to know about this. I’m sure you don’t want to end up in a similar way like them.”

“what? What happened to them?”

“Nothing you need to know.”

“I have to. I need to know. Let me enter the building. Leave my hand. I need to see them.”

You are screaming and the people crowding the place are looking in between the warehouse entrance and to the side where Mr. kang is holding your arm, preventing you from entering the building. You could see many police cars and ambulance all around. Government forces are also guarding and preventing from anyone trespassing the area which they have already closed with barricades and no entry tapes.

Your screams are echoing the place even silencing the thunderstorm and heavy rain at the moment. Everything is blur to your eyes. Your tears and raindrops mixing together same as the way your hope to meet them mixing with the worry of what happened to them. Everything is crashing to the ground with each rain drop. But one thing is still in your mind, to see them.

A government officer comes near you and Mr. Kang, and your hope to know about the scene rises.

“Hello, Mr.kang.”

“please, what happened? Let me enter. Please.”

The officer looks at you for a moment before Mr. kang speak up, “Ignore her. I will take care of this. So, that’s the end, right?”

“No one is alive. Each on of them is deceased. Also…your son was there too. One among the deceased ones.”

“I know.”

You look towards them with horror in your eyes, “Who?”

“Kang Yeosang.”

Yeosang.

One of the deceased. Them. They are deceased.

You sat on the muddy ground with bawling your eyes out and crying louder. If it were some other times then one or the others would come running to you to engulf you in a tight hug and never let you go until you had come down. But now again. Its you all alone. You don’t have a family now. But atleast you have wonderful memories with a family.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

You are again crying and hiccupping like that day again now, sitting on the sofa with the cromer and your backpack. You don’t know what to do with these stuffs but you are going to take all their stuffs with yourself before someone else gets their hand on them.

The cat is still roaming around the place. You put the cromer on the table where moonlight is coming directly from the big ventilators and starts to put everything possible in your bag. Its late at night already and your eyes feeling droopy with tiredness and crying. So, placing the bag aside, you lie down on the sofa to rest yourself.

.

.

.

.

“She is lonely without us. I can’t see her like this.”

The girl’s head resting on the thighs of the tallest man among them. His hands combing her hairs and caressing the scalp in between. Her legs placed over the other’s thigh, one with broad shoulders and his hands drawing soothing circles over her sides to lull her to sleep.

The other peeking down at her with his best friend from behind the sofa and tears glistening their eyes. Another tall man sitting on a chair nearby the sofa, staring at the tired body sleeping soundly in his friends’ hold.

“She is still wearing my bracelet.” Said the one who is examining her hand and the bracelet.

“She even put my drone in her bag.” The eldest who is still holding the bracelet in his hold looks at the person behind the sofa on hearing his words.

The person beside him nods his head with similar sad smile, “She even pass through the dance club with the hope that she would still see me waiting for her.”

“Everything is still in the same place. Thanks to that dad of mine to lock the place and not letting anyone to enter here but I know he is just going to sell this place to the government and she is doing her best to protect this place with her all might.” Yeosang says while wiping the tears and turning away from them.

The leader kneels in front of his face and removes the loose strands of hairs and tugging them behind before caressing her cheeks with a soft smile on his face but tears threating to fall from his eyes.

“I should not have included her in my life when I knew that one day, I need to leave her here all alone. I should not have showed her the hope of us together forever.” He pauses before continuing, “I thought I could have achieved both- the victory and her but I lost both.”

“But you said We can get back with her and that’s possible?”

“I don’t know, Mingi. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Is it possible?”

Everyone looks towards the youngest on his sudden question as he was being all quiet and him asking the leader caught everyone’s attention.

“What?”

“Is it possible to start again?”

Hongjoong turns back to the girl sleeping peacefully while the eldest caressing her hand. The leader’s thumb ghosts over the dried tears over her cheeks and dry lips with exhaustion reflecting from her whole self.

“I don’t know what to do but everything is possible till she is being our light and our precious treasure which we need to protect. Our only hope to start a new beginning from the horizon.”

Honjoong leans forward to peck her lips.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

Your eyes shot open and you sit up. You are sweating and bring your fingers to your lips, you feel as if the dream was real. They were here. No. how can they be? You touch your forehead and then to your neck, you are having fever. Its just a dream because of your exhaustion. It was a fever dream.

‘Everything is possible till she is being our light.’

‘Their precious treasure.’

Your eyes stare at the cromer. You need to know about them all over again but in details. You need to find their past and what happened to them that day.

‘Our only hope to start a new beginning from the horizon.’

The diary.

You rummage through the items to get the diary and quickly pull it out.

The title written on it: ‘From the witness.’

Flips open the diary, the first page reflects the word, ‘The Black Pirates’.

The words written scribbled below are Passion Young Fever.

“Is this the end?”

.

.

.

“Or is it the beginning of the end?”

.

.

.

The fever dream was real?

Or actually, you never met them?

Or maybe, It’s just the part of the witness you read in this diary and all these times you spend yourself imagining in her place.

Was it her dream?

Or yours?

……..

[ Now listen here! When writing this down, i literally plotted a whole series but somehow i uploaded this one-shot on the request. maybe I would write a series on this in future. Should I make it a series?]

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[a-whispering-echo]

Hello hello!

I am back to bother you :3

I have one question that is haunting my thoughts.

How did Nightmare decide on the guys as his breakout buddies in Death-Row AU?

I am very curious :3

( hi hi! i wsnt ignoring this, i just got really into laying CotL for a bit, ans whoops-)

Nightmare picked the boys based of a mix of how useful he thought they'd be, along with how easy they would be to manipulate.

Horrors very physically strong, as well as a foreboding presence, he'd be useful for a lot of the actual breakout, good for breaking stuff and beating up the cops, the downside is he can TELL Nightmare's manipulating him, that hes playing with his emotions and trust to use him.

The very easy way to gaining Horrors trust, though? Dust.

Dust, in his more sane moments, can see that Nightmare doesn't have.. the best intention at first, some little things that stick in his mind as odd, but mostly, he brushed them off, assuming its his own flawed mind being paranoid, but also, Nightmare is so NICE to him! He tells him hes smart, he tells him hes useful, that he as a purpose, a place within their group, that hes not... dead air, dust walking, that what he did was okay, he doesn't deserve all this <3 And besides, under all that... mess in his head, he can tell Dust is a smart monster, hes good at fighting, even when restrained, and the amount of magic suppressants on him clues Nightmare into his abnormally deep mana pool quite easily, yes, he thinks, a good one.

and, Dust begins to trust him, and,seeing Dust trust Nightmare, Horror begrudgingly beings to trust him too. besides, he wants out too.

Killer was the easiest to manipulate out of them all, he seems entirely unaware of the manipulation (Killer is aware, hes just so used to being taken advantage of at this point that hes just like whatever) hes so willing to do thing for him for even the smallest drop of praise and affection, that it was so easy to win him over. Besides, Nightmare doesn't doubt Killers usefulness; hes fast, sly and sneaky. Hes a great thief, and can very easily slip thins from the right people pockets, or. slip something *into* their pockets for destruction. Hes good with words, which makes him an excellent distraction for them. Hes perfect. (To note, yes, Killer has trust issues, but its formed not in the way where you distance yourself from others to protect you, but the way where you form unhealthily quick attachments to people you shouldn't. have a conversation a single time with him? he now considers you a FRIEND, no just, 'possible acquaintance' like most people would)

Cross was a little more tricky. Like Horror, hes slow to warm up and trust, and also like Horror, can see the manipulation a mile away, and yet... Nightmare offered him freedom. he offered him a life outside these walls, a life he could freely live again, where he could pretend that what he did never happened, and he was pure again. So, hesitantly still keeping Nightmare at arms length.], he does as he says. Nightmare wanted Cross the second he said he used to be a soldier. A soldier, you say? Those are USEFUL skills, already honed. He likely has survival skills, he likely sleeps lightly, ready to wake or move at a moments notice, hes probably very observant, very physically fit, stays calm in danger, can listen to instructions and execute them perfectly, and, very importantly, works well in a group. Oh, and he can shoot a gun. That's useful too.

So, Killer was an easy member, as was Dust. Horror and Cross were much more difficult, but, when weighing up their usefulness against their resistance, he had to have them. they were vital to his plans, in the end, and he finds himself growing so much more fond of them overtime, and likewise, them to him. Yes, he doesn't regret picking his idiots, he picked well.