#i don’t know man i’m so doomed. i’m probably not making it out of my parent’s house anytime soon

[dilf-rot]

Avoidant Attachment

based on Anon request :  could you do a fic of meeting Logan and wade in the void and joining the team? Logan and you are into each other but are kinda awkward hide behind being mean to each other wades so over it later on smuttt <3333

Word Count: 5841 

Tags: Wolverine x Reader, Worst!Wolverine x Reader, Logan howlett x Reader, Fem!Reader (kinda?), Wade is here too, Meeting in the Void, Deadpool 3, Deadpool and Wolverine, Laura is Also here, 5 people in a one bedroom apartment is a great idea, Althea is here briefly, dogpool mention, slower burn but like not really, mutual pining, Wade and Laura as wingmen, insults as flirting, eventual smut, One bed trope included, P in V, Riding

AN: This one took a lot longer than I was expecting, probably since I haven’t written Wade before and I didn’t want it to suck, and also because I was quite busy irl. Regardless, thank you for the request and your patience, Hope you don’t mind my interpretation of the prompt<3

MDNI 18+

—------------------

The Void. Boring as Hell, and yet somehow worse than hell. At least Hell would grant you company, shitty company, but better than the dust and trash here. You don’t even remember why you got put here. Probably some bullshit you weren’t even responsible for. You had a pretty lame set up, just a hole in the ground really. And you’d find garbage to shift through, look for food. You had managed to do pretty well on your own for a decent amount of time. Other than being lonely, and the occasional breakdown, things weren’t so bad.

The air was stale and unremarkable, as was the sky, no sign of oncoming doom or any excitement for the day. Or so you thought. 

Over the horizon of dusty dirt and forgotten garbage, appeared two silhouettes. 

As they approached, inching closer and closer you debated on whether you should interact or just ignore, they didn’t seem like they had been here long. 

You watched closely waiting for your moment to make a move. Listening to them as they approached.

Deadpool. Common, usually annoying. 

But the one with him. That’s a rather rare sight. You had never seen one of him before.

They seemed like they were on a mission, maybe trying to escape from here. If you could escape, maybe you could return to something approaching a normal life again. 

You decide to take the chance.

“Hello,” You pop out from your little shelter. Both men jolt into action, blades and guns drawn. The man in yellow, the interesting rare man, had blades coming out of his hands. “Oh no, not a threat.” 

They regard each other and then put the weapons away.

“Knew I smelt something,” his voice was rough and it added to his appeal for sure. 

“And you didn’t want to say anything? Some blood hound you are!” Deadpool spoke, punching the gruff one in the shoulder.

“Sorry, I know you’re a Deadpool. But you are?” You point to him. 

“Logan,” “Wolverine,” they speak out in tandem. 

“Right, so… what’re you doing this far out?” 

“Not telling you random dirt dweller,” Deadpool looked back towards Logan, and seemed to be weighing his options.

“Ok well, if you decide to be friendly I could offer my help.”

“You don’t look like you’d be of much help,” Logan retorted as he looked you over. You were obviously smaller and not as strong as either of them, but you had some tricks up your sleeve.

“Ouch, I would be offended if you didn’t have hair like kitty ears.” You pointed up at Logan’s hair and he seemed surprised by your response. “I’ve been in the void longer than you, I’m sure I know some things that would be useful to you,”

“Listen, Kid-”

“Yeah, me and Kitty Cat here are trying to get back at that bald freak show of a woman and escape this hell. So unless you know how to do that, I’d stay out of it, dust bunny.” 

You laugh and look at the state of them, confused but still combative, barely holding it together and hardly friends. “That’s a good one. Good luck with Cassandra then, Ketchup and Mustard.”

Deadpool gasps and Logan seems to have the inklings of a smile on his face but it quickly fades when you turn to look at him. You sit down on a nearby piece of rubble and watch as they take a few steps away and start to argue about what the plan is. You smile and wave when they look back at you.

“Ok, so what do you know?” Deadpool asks, rushing back up to you. And so you do your best to fill him in on as much as you know about the void itself and Cassandra. All of which seems to not be that useful to him as he just sort of brushes it off and continues, “Well as much as I’d love to have you on the team sunshine, seems like Wolvie over there isn’t too keen on it.” He points over to Logan, who turns away and kicks some dust and debris around. “But, between you and me, he’s just bad with girls. Especially pretty ones with quick mouths.” 

You blush a bit but return a quick retort, “That’s fine, not like I have anything to escape back to anyway. Good luck, random Deadpool.”

“It’s Wade.” 

“Right,” You wave as he runs back to Logan. You imagined it wouldn’t be that long before you see them again, mostly because you had planned on following them, or at least trailing them for long enough to find a new place to stay. 

—-----------

You meet them again at the safe house with Laura, she drove them here and plopped them down without a word. She had been very welcoming when you had wandered this way in search of food, and let you join them for a quick meal. You had told her that you saw Wolverine, and her interest had been piqued. She explained to you everything that had happened before she was sent here, and the two of you bonded over not having something to return too. Although now, with this Wolverine sitting in the same space, it seemed like her chances were looking up.

You figured you’d let them be once they woke up, and wait it out. By the time everyone had finished their speeches, you just stood behind them and waved. You didn’t have much to say, everyone else had much more valid reasoning for wanting to escape than you. You could hardly remember life before the void, if you even had one. Luckily, nobody ever bothered to press you about it, probably assuming you had forgotten for a valid reason. So when Deadpool- Wade, asked you for your input, you sort of just shrugged. Listening to them all plotting was entertaining at least, you were sure you would be of much use, maybe an extra distraction, at the very least you could cover them enough to get the job done. 

You noticed Logan slip out with a bottle of liquor in his hands. You gave Laura a nod before following him outside.

He had started a fire, and was sitting watching the flames.

“So how’d someone like you end up with someone like that?” You gesture back up to the house, as you stand against a tree, watching the fire flicker in front of him.

“It’s complicated.” He says taking a swig from the bottle.

“It always is.” Silence runs through the trees, nothing but crackling fire and the dead stale air of the void. “At least he seems fun.”

“Hah,” He breathes out.

“If that’s what you’re into.”

“No.” His gruff demeanor drops for a second, the bottle halting as he brings it down from his lips.

“No?”

He looks you over, before turning away.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll say a prayer for your liver,” You reference the bottle in your hand. He nods, and you walk back up to the house, passing Laura on your way in. She’d probably have better luck cracking him than you.

You wondered if you would ever have a chance to mean something to him, to be more than some small tag along he sniffed out in the dirt. If he would ever find you to be a friend, an ally, someone to talk to, depend on. But you hardly just met, and hardly discussed anything other than half baked insults and nihilistic opinions of the void and your futures.  

—----------------

Wade and Logan had somehow convinced the TVA after everything with Cassandra to allow you and Laura to stay in this universe, and you weren’t sure how or why they wanted you to come along. Laura made sense, he felt responsible for her, and to make up for losing her Logan, to make up for missed moments. 

You? You hardly had a clue why they wanted you here. Or why they offered to let you stay with them until you found something else. You were surprised that Althea would agree to having 5 people sleeping in a tiny apartment. You appreciated the shelter, you were just very very confused by the entire situation. 

“Hello my little floor sleeper, how were your dreams? You were moaning about something…” He slides up next to you in the kitchen as you're pouring a cup of coffee.

“Hi, Wade.” You sip from the mug, not answering his nonsense.

“So,” he jumps up to sit on the counter in front of you, “You gonna spill? Tell me all about your honey badger dream fling? I was surprised you didn’t just wake up and mount him right there on the floor.”

“Shut up, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, the three of us sleep in the same tiny space, I hear everything.” 

“I’m gonna steal the couch space from you if you don’t drop it.”

Laura had been given a space in Althea’s room since the boys figured she deserved it, and You, Logan, and Wade were stuck in the living room. Rotating between the couch and cheap air mattresses, usually you just stayed on the floor and let Logan and Wade fight over the couch space. Compared to sleeping on grass and dirt in the void, an air mattress was a definite improvement. As long as Mary Puppins didn’t lick you to death in your sleep, it wasn’t a bad deal. 

“Come on, just admit you like Loggie Bear and I’ll get you some alone time with or without the couch.” 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Currently, no.”

You sigh, and walk towards the bathroom to change, locking the door behind you as Wade continues to ramble and try to get you to slip and say something about Logan. But you won’t, even if he is right.

There were many nights where you thought about climbing into bed next to him and pressing your face against his chest, breathing in his scent, being held close to him by those utterly ridiculous arms, having him place warm chaste kisses against the top of your head. But you wouldn’t.  

You hardly knew him, and what you knew about him led you to believe that he was not the kind of man to be interested in someone like you. Although he had become more pleasant after having been invited into Wade’s life. Some days he still was that gruff sort of emotionally unavailable man you met in the void, but other days he’s sweet and gentle and kind, usually whenever Laura’s around. It’s as if he’s been given a reason to live again and he’s navigating how to be a person again. 

After you get dressed, you grab your bag and head out, avoiding Wade and his nonsense. You told Laura you’d meet her after her class and go to a cafe she’s been wanting to try. It’s just down the street from the apartment, but the walk is nice and gives you time to get your thoughts back in order. Trying to keep Wade’s pestering from seeping in and getting you to slip up.

When you get to the cafe, Laura is waiting for you outside. You go in and are met with soft florals, sleek wood finish, and the overwhelming smell of coffee. It is so cozy and bright, a welcome break from the dim and crowded apartment. Laura orders something you didn’t know was a thing, and you opt for a simple latte. She finds this funny and smiles at you, “Don’t you want something sweet?”

“No, I’m alright.” You lean against the wall as you wait for your order.

“What’s with you and Logan’s hatred for sugar?” She asks as she slides over to stand next to you.

“I don’t hate sugar, I’m just not in the mood for it.” You shrug and stare at the counter.

“At least you get milk with your coffee, better than black like Logan drinks.” She laughs again and grabs your order when it’s called. The two of you find a nice table by the window and enjoy watching the people passing by. When a particularly handsome man passes by, Laura perks up and asks, “How about that one?”

“He’s alright, not really my type though,” You shrug your shoulders and take another sip from your cup.

“You’re right, I already know your type.” The grin on your face reminds you of how Wade greets you in the mornings.

“Oh yeah? What's that?” You look at her quizzically. 

“Starts with an L and ends with an ogan”

You groan, “Don’t I get enough of that from Wade?”

“I think everyone can see it but you, even Al.” She looks up at you from her drink, in a way you both know she’s right.

“Wow,” is all you can muster in response. 

“I don’t know why you won’t do something about it, and look if you’re worried about me, don’t be. I give you full permission to pursue my not Dad kinda Dad.” 

You quickly try to change the subject, and once your coffee's finished and you’ve loitered around, you walk back in a knowing silence. 

You do have some sort of crush on Logan, but you feel like it would be too ideal to expect him to share those feelings. Especially when you aren’t one hundred percent sure what those feelings even are. He is exceptionally good looking, and well built. If it weren’t for his confrontational attitude and lack of expression, you’d be so certain in your attraction. But there is something blocking you from fully admitting it to yourself.

Maybe it is simply your lack of self, having to build back an identity from nothing, that keeps you from knowing if He is it for you. Even though sometimes he is all you can think about. When you catch him playing dad with Laura. When you catch him helping Althea, a gentle smile plastered on his face as he speaks soft and gentlemanly. When he falls asleep on the couch with Mary Puppins in his arms. The images of the side he works so hard to hide, the soft domesticity he allows himself so rarely. That is what really sticks in your brain.

Along with the less than innocent images you have carved into your brain. Like that time he forgot you were home and came out from the bathroom only wrapped in a towel. The water clinging to his muscles and dripping from his hair. Or when he had his sleeves rolled up while walking around the apartment, the skin shiny from sweat, and all you could think about was what it would feel like to be held in place by them.

When you remember yourself, both you and Laura have made it back to the apartment. 

—-------

You were surprised that for once, everyone was home for dinner, and it wasn’t even a special occasion. Wade decided that it would be easiest to order some pizzas to avoid having to cook. You didn’t complain, even if you would have preferred a home cooked meal, pizza was fine. Of course he had gone to pick it up and left you with Logan, Laura, and Althea. She, reasonably so, had her spot already picked out in the armchair by the window. Logan and Laura were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, watching something on tv. All the while you sat on the floor, legs folded over each other, leaning back on your hands. 

“Why don’t you come sit on the couch?” Laura had asked, and you knew she already knew the answer, which was that you didn’t want to be so close to Logan that you would be touching. You had been cultivating a very specific environment with him, one where if you could just avoid any close contact with him, you could pretend like your heart didn't ache at the thought of him.

“I’m good here,” You didn’t bother looking away from the tv, which you weren’t even watching. 

“Come on,” Laura patted the cushion next to her. 

“Maybe I don’t want to sit next to the cat,” You looked over your shoulder at them. Logan was leaning back into the cushions behind him.

“I don’t want to sit next to you either,” His tone was only slightly malicious.

“Good.”

“Just sit on the couch,” Laura insisted. 

“No. He reeks, I think the animal dna gave him the scent too,” You waved your hand in front of your nose.

“But I don’t smell,” Laura sniffed her shirt.

“You reek too, ya know?” Logan pointed to Mary Puppins in the corner, “Probably cause you’re always sleeping next to that.” 

“Thanks. She’s actually a better roommate than you.” 

“You all stink,” Althea commented from her spot. 

As you stood up to walk towards the kitchen the door swung open. “PIZZA TIME!” Wade shouted, carrying the stack of boxes into the apartment. 

You ate mostly in silence, as Wade rambled on about something or someone that you had no interest in. Lately he was obsessed with those trashy reality tv shows were people all live in one house and things go wrong one way or another. You felt like you were already living in that, no need to watch strangers go through it too. It’s not that you felt like you were walking on eggshells, or that you weren’t welcome. More so that you were waiting for this whole thing to blow up in your face. 

—---------

It was late in the morning when you managed to roll out of your bed. Logan and Wade had already been awake and were trying their hardest to be quiet. Rather, Logan was quiet, and Wade was not. You didn’t hear what they were talking about, only that Logan mumbled something under his breath and Wade turned to see you sitting up on the floor.

“Good morning sleeping beauty! Pancakes or waffles?” He turned to you and you saw he was wearing one of those tacky ‘kiss the chef’ aprons.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stood up to stretch, “Whichever you’re less likely to burn.” 

Wade feigned offense, as you walked into the bathroom to brush your teeth and hair. “How do you manage to sleep so soundly down there?” Wade called from the kitchen as you walked back into the living room.

“I don’t.” You pulled out a chair and sat at the dining table, still groggy. “Which is why I need to get a job, and my own place.” 

“You’re leaving me?” Wade gasped, and crossed his hands over his heart. “How could you? What about the kids?” He started making a big fuss about it as if you hadn’t told him before that this had been your plan. “I can’t believe you would leave me alone with honey badger and the little ones! I can’t raise them alone.”

“Everyone that lives here is an adult, Wade.”

“Let her be,” Laura said as she slid into the kitchen and sat next to you. She smiled at you and nodded. 

Wade and Logan joined you at the table, sliding the plates of pancakes to you and her. They weren’t burnt, which was progress. 

—--------

You had spent the day job hunting, and apartment hunting, which was not as important since you kinda needed the money first. The cafe you had been to with Laura was hiring, though not having much of a resume due to the whole void and lack of a world thing, probably meant your chances of getting hired were slim. You submitted an application anyway, and to a few other shops and things in the area. Hopefully something would stick.

There really weren't many options in the area for apartments either, but when you ran into the building manager they had mentioned that one of the other units on your floor might be opening up soon. It wasn’t ideal to be in the same building as Wade and the others, but it was your only lead at the moment. 

When Wade got home, he had a sort of look in his eyes, which you had learned meant something was up. And when Laura came home with the same sort of look, you were even more suspicious. 

“What are you two doing?” You asked, approaching them in the kitchen.

“Well I thought I could do something nice for you,” Wade had his hands behind his back, holding something hidden from you. “And Logan,” he whispered but you still caught it.

“What?” Logan appeared from the bathroom, and leaned against the wall.

Wade handed you a piece of paper, “Tada!” You looked over the paper, it was a reservation confirmation for a hotel. “A magical getaway for you and the kitty cat to work out your differences at an all inclusive resort!”

“This is a Best Western.” The dates on the sheet were for tomorrow, Friday, until Sunday morning. 

“Did I stutter?” Wade stood with his hands on his hips.

“Who said I wanted to do this?” Logan asked, coming up behind you to look at the paper. He was so close you could almost feel his warmth against you. 

“Come on, you complain about the air mattress all the time,” Laura started, “This is your chance for a real bed.”

“Ok? So why do I have to go with her,” He was looming behind you, and the deep vibrations of his voice made your cheeks redden.

“It was cheaper to have two guests than one.” 

“Fine,” He walked away. You were also surprised that he would so quickly agree to something like this. As it was so obviously a set up. A plot against you.

“Perfect! Now go get packing!” Wade slapped you on the shoulder, and smiled. You knew this was all his idea. 

—-------

You were expecting this to be a set up, but when you opened the door and saw only one bed you knew it to be true. Logan walks in while you hold the door and he drops down onto the edge of the bed. You sigh as you drag your bag in and make a mental note to get back at Wade later. You turn the TV on to try to dispel the oppressive silence in the room, but all that's on the hotel cable is questionably written Hallmark movies. Logan shifts on the bed, and you hear it creak under his weight. You wonder what he would feel like on top of you, if he would crush you entirely.

 You sit in the chair that's against the wall, peering out through the cracks in the curtains to stare out at the parking lot, the sun is low against the horizon, and it’s surprisingly quiet. You can hear the fabric of the cheap hotel sheets rustling under Logan, along with the sound of his breathing, as he leans back into the bed, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to survive in a small room alone with him.

Despite having slept in the same room for the past few months, this is an entirely different situation. There’s no Wade, or Laura, or Mary puppins, or Althea. It is just you and him, in a hotel room, with one bed. Which was certainly a set up from Wade, in his quests to get you to admit your feelings for Logan. 

“Are you hungry?” You try to break the silence in the most mundane way possible, at least to save yourself from the discomfort.

“I could eat,”

“We could get room service?”

“Fine by me.” You toss him the menu and once you both decide on what to get you call it in. It was going to take a while, so you decided to take advantage of the luxury of a hotel shower. Telling Logan you wouldn’t be too long and to let you know if the food came before you were done. 

The shower is nice, clean white tiles, and a rather standard sort of set up. It is nice to have some time to yourself, despite Logan being in the other room, you try to allow yourself this time to relax. Letting the hot water soak into your skin and soothe your aches and pains. The sound of the water blocking out any thoughts or concerns about the current situation, letting you forget, at least momentarily, that you would be having to sort out the sleeping arrangements. The hotel soap is tropical, but gentle, not too overwhelmingly sweet or fruity. As you lather up you can barely hear the sounds of the tv in the other room. It is so still and unremarkable. It feels normal, but somehow you wonder if you can ever shake the loneliness of time in the void, if you can allow yourself to have a normal life again. As if you can build back something you don’t even remember. As if you deserve this space that has miraculously been carved out for you, for some reason unbeknownst to you. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, and the noise of Logan’s steps going to retrieve the room service. You quickly rinse and towel off, wrapping up your hair and sliding into the hotel bathrobe. 

“Food’s here,” Logan calls from behind the bathroom door. You wait until you hear him sit back down on the bed before opening the door and returning to your spot in the chair. 

The two of you eat in silence, and you can’t help but notice his eyes on you. You wonder if it is just in your head, or if he is actually trying to steal glances at you from across the way. You tried to ignore him, to stare fully at the trash tv movie, or at the weird art on the walls. Anything but him. If you could just pretend like he wasn’t there, you could make it for the next two nights. 

Although being this close to him in a small hotel room was not the ideal scenario to make forgetting about him easy. His breathing was audible. His presence was palpable. Even the vague scent of whiskey, cigars, and sweat was radiating from his position on the bed. Every little detail filled your mind with a fog, and all that was running through your brain was him. Over and over. Logan was everywhere. 

“You want to sleep soon?” His voice cut through the haze and you practically snapped your neck to look over at him.

“Hm? Oh… uh yeah probably.” You couldn’t help but look directly into his eyes, and you felt like you should disappear so that he couldn’t make you feel so foolish. So utterly trapped by the idea of him. “I can Just take the cushions from the chair and sleep on the floor,”

“That defeats the whole point of Wade’s gift.”

“So?” You started pulling the cushions of the chair and throwing them on the floor.

“You can sleep up here in the bed,” His voice was commanding. It was no longer a polite suggestion. “I don’t bite.”

“Right but-” As you go to protest, he interrupts.

“We can face opposite ways.” 

And so that is how you ended up in your pajama shorts and a ratty tee shirt, in bed with Logan. Who, true to his word, had his back facing you, and you had your back facing him. You could hear your heart beating, and no matter what you told yourself you could not get it to slow down. His presence, only inches away, was consuming you. Your mind is unable to stop racing with images of him holding you down, touching you, eating you alive. Making you squirm beneath him. You squirmed and thrashed trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, but even with your eyes screwed shut you couldn’t.

“Stop moving,” Logan’s voice was low and rumbly. He turned towards you, and laid his arm over your middle, pulling your back against him. “Go to sleep,” He murmured, his lips against the back of your head. 

He was warm and solid behind you, his body pressed to yours gently. His grasp on you wasn’t tight, but the sheer weight of him kept you firmly in place. As you tried to quell your heart and steady your breathing, you finally managed to drift asleep. And stay asleep, the entire night. 

—-----

The hotel was so quiet and peaceful, and clean, compared to the apartment. You managed to sleep soundly, and stay asleep until late in the morning. You had nearly forgotten about the situation, until you were met with Logan’s arm still snuggly wrapped around you as you opened your eyes.

His lips were pressed to the back of your head, his muscular frame firmly pressed against your back. His grip had tightened in the night, and he had pulled you even closer to himself. As you tried to remove yourself from him, he grumbled against you, “Stay.”

“Logan-” You tried to protest, to escape from the growing embarrassment and heat building up in your body.

“Just a bit longer.” He groaned, and pressed himself further into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the growing bulge against your lower back. 

“Logan, please. Let me get up.” You pushed against his arm, and tried to pull yourself away but you were no match for him. 

“Why?” His voice was losing the grogginess of sleep, he was almost fully awake now. 

“Because-” You tried again to free yourself.

“Don’t you like me?” He sounded cocky, the question perhaps meaning to be playful but it stopped you dead in your tracks.

“I-” You stiffen, unable to react accordingly. 

“Then, stay.” Taken aback by his words and sudden clingy behavior, you realized that maybe Laura had been right, and everyone, including Logan, could see it. The way you had begun to feel about him, the almost immediate crush you developed as soon as you spotted him in the void, the way you felt thankful to have the chance at life again, simply because you wanted the chance to spend it with him.

You lay stuck in his arms for an unknown amount of time, the silence makes you a little uneasy, but his warmth and tenderness keeps you from leaping away. You didn’t imagine him to be someone so gentle, although you had glimpsed some of his more domestic behaviors when he thought it was just Him and Laura at home, and he would fuss over her like how you would want a good father to do. You felt safe and held by him, the frantic thoughts and anxieties being melted away into the warmth of him and his body against yours. 

As you nearly drift asleep again, he speaks, “Turn around.” And so you do, clumsily, but when you see his face those frantic thoughts and the racing of your heart begins again.  

“So pretty like this,” He murmurs, his face and voice soft. And before you can respond he closes the gap between you, his hand lacing in your hair and pulling you into him as he presses his lips against your gentle and steady. The brief taste of him makes you crave more.

As he pulls away to search your face for any signs of discomfort, you pull him back to you, your hands reaching up to his face to crash your lips into his. You whimper against him as his hands run down your spine and land on your hips, pulling you as close to him as he can. You can feel your arousal pooling between your thighs as he darts his tongue in to meet yours, twisting and tangling yourself with him as much as you can. The months of unspoken tension pouring out of you and dissipating as you desperately try to push yourself against him. You bring your hand down to paw at his bulge, darting your fingers across the fabric of his pajama pants. 

He smiles against you as he catches your hand with his and bring it under the waistband. You gasp when you realize he had not been wearing anything underneath his pants. Your fingers wrapping around him, the warmth and size of him in your hand making your head spin. 

His hands find their way to the edge of your shorts, pulling them and your panties down your legs as he breaks the kiss only for a moment to find his breath. His fingers trace up and down your thighs, pressing gentle circles into the skin before he pushes his hand between them, his palm pressing into you. The brief friction against your clit drawing a short moan from you. His hand rubs against you, the pressure making you grind down to meet him, craving more.

You whine as he pulls his hand away, only for him to grab your hips and pull you on top of him. His back against the bed as he brings you to straddle him. You kick your shorts and panties away, as he pulls his pants down further. His erection springing up against you. You can barely focus long enough to glimpse the size of him, too overcome with greed and arousal. 

You sink yourself onto his cock as his hands guide your hips. You moan at the stretch of it. He lets you catch your breath as you take him down to the hilt. His hands never leave you as he kisses and nips along your neck and shoulders, your head pressed against his shoulder as he begins to rock into you, whispering praises and filth against your skin. 

You grind your hips against his, the head of his cock dragging along that magic spot inside of you that causes the pleasure to build and the knot in your stomach to tighten. He growls in your ear as you tighten and pulse around him. You can feel the pressure building, making your head spin. He slips his fingers into your mouth and you greedily accept them, sucking and licking and kissing along them. He removes them and a trail of your saliva beads down them. He brings them between you to rub circles on your clit. The sensation dizzying, as he draws you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans are frantic as you practically pant against him, begging him not to stop, that you’re so close, so so close. 

With one steady thrust he snaps the last thread and you come undone around him. The feeling of you cumming around him bringing him to his limit, if he wasn’t so enraptured by you he might have been embarrassed with how quickly you’ve made him cum. His warmth fills you as you come down from your high, hazy and drooling. You smile as he presses you against him. You don’t mind staying like this, you whine when he tries to move.

“Alright, princess. I’ll stay.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[sherbetyy]

not to be a downer but i feel real stupid right now bc i realized i barely even know middle school level math. oops!

[emeraldcreeper]

I truly despise writing a paper like a lawyer making a hopeless case with weird evidence going of course we can use existentialism! Yes we can use it it’s useful because…. Depression and anxiety,,, and and! And… middle aged people! And…. Fuck! Depression again! Yes I know but a new way to see it in adolescents! And,…, fuck! One more???? Shit! Okay, we can use it in research done two years ago, about pandemic and how it’s useable in 2020, yeah that’s it!

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

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[applepiewinchesters]

Doomed (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

Summary: The arrival of two new mutants at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters brings some excitement to an otherwise normal day, particularly for you, Scott Summers’ sister. When you meet Logan and his cocky attitude, you soon realize you may be crushing on the new guy.

Word Count: 2,988

Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was never one to turn away a lost mutant, even if they weren’t what was considered a “youngster”.

There were excited whispers all over the school about the two mutants who had been brought to the mansion late last night. One of them, Rogue, was already becoming acclimated, attending classes. You’d had the pleasure of meeting her when she joined your English class.

The other, a man, was still unconscious in Jean’s lab, having taken a nasty beating shortly before being rescued. You had tried to sneak down there during the students’ lunch break but your brother, Scott, had stopped you.

“We don’t know if this guy is dangerous,” Scott had sighed, dragging you away from the lower level entrance.

You pulled your arm from his grasp, “Scott, I’m a grown woman, and we’re the same age, I can take care of myself.”

Scott rolled his eyes which were hidden behind his sunglasses, “I don’t care I don’t want you getting hurt!”.

“Oh but Jean can be by herself?,” you argued,” She’d let me be down there with her!”.

“I’m not Jean, so get over it,” Scott said but turning and heading down the long hallway.

You’d flipped him off while his back was turned before stalking back to your classroom and waiting for the break to be over. All the while your mind on the mysterious man downstairs. You hadn’t even got to catch a glimpse of him when he and Rogue had arrived. He was whisked away for aid and you were tasked with making Rogue comfortable.

Charles felt you would be able to make the younger girl feel safe, she’d seemed a bit shaken up but it was nothing a hot drink couldn’t fix. You answered any questions she had while sitting at the kitchen table. Charles ended up being right in the end, he always was.

It was a bit later in the afternoon when you saw Scott run past your classroom door. You were grading a couple essays and your eyebrows knit together as you quickly stood, heading to the doorway.

You poked your head out the doorway, calling to your brother at the end of the hall, “What happened!?.”

“The other mutant, he woke up and attacked Jean, he’s somewhere in the mansion! Stay there!” Scott called back.

Nodding you walked back into the room, wondering if you should just stay there or risk running into the man.

It seemed fate decided for you when a man with dark hair dressed in black pants and what you recognized as gray zip up hoodie from the school slipped inside your classroom. You couldn’t help but notice the chest hair peeking out from the top of the jacket. He was barefoot and his hazel eyes darted around the room, quickly landing on you.

You couldn’t help but back up slightly at the intensity of his gaze, he looked confused and totally pissed at the same time.

Deciding to press your luck a little further you lifted your hands in mock surrender, “Slow your roll bucko, there’s kids here, don’t get crazy,” you reasoned.

“Where am I?” the man asked, ignoring your attempt at being somewhat humorous, probably partly deserved.

“Westchester, New York,” came a calm voice from behind the man, making him turn.

Charles was there, looking expectantly at the intruder. “More specially, a school, my school, I see you’ve met one of my brilliant teachers,” Charles explained.

You cracked a smile at the compliment, putting your hands down, “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know that.”

“I can always try,” Charles commented.

“What the fuck is going on?” the man asked, his voice was rough, almost a growl as he interrupted your conversation.

“Logan, please, calm down, come with me,” Charles spoke. Without another word he turned in his wheelchair, leaving the room and heading in the direction of his office.

The man, Logan, as Charles had called him, turned to you, almost for what seemed like clarification.

You only shrugged, motioning for him to leave the room as well. When he eventually did you followed, excited to finally be in on the big secret that’s been sleeping all day.

Arriving in Charles’ office you plopped down into one of the chairs in front of the large desk after shutting the wooden doors behind the three of you.

“Would you like some food?” Charles asked Logan, who stood close to the door, eyeing the room warily.

“Why am I here?” Logan asked, answering with a question of his own.

“You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention,” Charles explained.

“I don’t need medical attention,” Logan replied.

“Of course not,” you found yourself saying, looking up at Logan.

He glared slightly at you before smirking, “What’s your name sweetheart?” he asked, his chest puffed out a little, hands behind his back, he was cocky to say the least.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” you teased, but stood from your seat regardless. “I’m Y/N, Y/N Summers.”

You held out your hand to shake and he took it, his hand was large and warm, his grip a little tight. “Logan,” he told you, “but you’re welcome to call me anything you like.”

“How about dickhead?”.

Introductions were interrupted by Scott throwing open the office doors, almost immediately taking a protective stance by your side.

“Logan this is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops,” Charles spoke, you watched as your brother gave Logan a rather firm handshake.

“Any relation?” Logan asked you, motioning to Scott.

“Twins, unfortunately,” you answered, throwing an arm around your brother to let him know were, of course, just kidding.

Logan looked almost shocked, “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“And why is that?” Scott challenged, attempting to take a step forward but you gripped the back of his jacket.

“Well she’s…,” Logan trailed off, glancing over to you and giving you a quick wink, “and you’re, well, the sunglasses don’t do you much justice bub let’s just say that,” Logan smirked.

“Watch your f-,” Scott started but was thankfully interrupted by Ororo striding in.

You caught yourself smiling at Logan’s remark, and felt your face heat up slightly when you noticed Logan was staring at you.

Charles ignored the previous interaction, moving on with introductions,“This is Ororo Munroe, also called Storm, Ororo this is Logan.”

The two shook hands without any issue, Scott stayed planted by your side, always the overprotective sibling you never wanted.

“Where’s the girl?” Logan asked once he and Ororo shook hands.

“She’s here, she’s fine,” you spoke up, flashing Logan a reassuring smile, his gaze lingered on you a second more than it should have.

“We brought you here to keep you safe from Magneto,” Charles explained.

“What’s a magneto?” Logan asked.

“A very powerful mutant, who believes a war is brewing,” Charles answered, “I’ve been following his activities for quite some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabertooth.”

“Sabertooth?” Logan asked, practically rolling his eyes, “She’s Storm. He’s Cyclops. What do they call you? Wheels?”.

His question was directed at Charles and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, quickly clamping a hand over your mouth.

Charles let it slide as Logan made his way towards the door, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

Scott moved to block Logan’s way.

“You wanna get out of my way?” Logan asked, stepping closer to Scott who didn’t budge.

“Logan, it’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it?” Charles interrupted, making Logan turn away from your brother. “Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are.”

“Shut up!” Logan growled, fingers curling into fists.

“Give me a chance,” Charles tried again, “I may be able to help you find some answers.”

Without another word Charles wheeled out of the room.

“Where’s he going?” Logan asked, looking to you.

You only smiled and motioned for him to follow, and after a moment he did, reluctantly.

That left you, Ororo, and Scott alone in the office. Scott stepped towards you and away from the door.

“What was that?” he seethed.

“What was what?” you replied, “I can’t be nice to a man who’s obviously had a pretty shit roll of the dice recently?”.

“Not that one,” Scott argued.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Oh like we were perfect when we first got here, remember when you shot that huge hole in the roof?”.

“He’s not a kid, Y/N! He attacked Jean when he woke up, I already said I don’t want anything happening to you!” Scott told you.

Ororo was quick to leave the room during your little argument, she hated yours and Scott’s sibling spats, and today was not a day she wanted to be in the middle of one.

“Charles trusts him so I do too,” you replied.

Scott groaned, throwing his hands up, “Fine, whatever.”

You sighed, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder, “I know you care, okay? And I love that you do but I’ll be fine, got it?”.

Scott only nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you from the office. The two of you met Jean in the hallway, who looked fine despite her surprise attack.

“Met our new mutant?” she asked you, taking Scott’s hand.

You smiled and nodded, “He’s…funny.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Scott mumbled. Jean placed a kiss on his cheek, making him perk up a bit.

“Your sister can take care of herself Scott,” Jean teased, pulling him away from you.

You heard Scott begin to argue as Jean directed him down the hall, she threw a quick wink over her shoulder at you before they disappeared around the corner. Jean always had your back and you loved her for it.

Heading the opposite way of your brother and Jean, you made your way towards the gardens where most of the kids were playing.

There was a basketball court, lots of places to run as well as sit and just enjoy the day. It really was beautiful. You’d arrived there some while ago and even since you’ve been at the school it’s expanded. Charles wasted no expense making sure everyone felt at home.

When you made it outside you saw Charles and Logan talking, when the older man noticed you he waved you over. You obliged, crossing the grass, making sure to be wary of a few kids playing tag.

“Need me?” you asked when you reached the two men.

“Would you please show Logan to his room?” Charles asked you.

You nodded, “Of course! Come on.”

Logan followed you without a fight, maybe his talk with Charles helped. Once inside you climbed the stairs to the second floor which held student’s and teacher’s dorms.

Walking past a few doors you stopped in front of the one you knew to be empty, grabbing the door knob and pushing it open.

“This is where you’ll be staying, there is a bathroom so you won’t need to go looking for one,” you spoke, entering the room, Logan following behind you.

“Umm, food is served downstairs but you’re always welcome to eat up here, if there’s any food you like specifically we can buy it,” you found yourself rambling a bit, “I’m sensing you’re a steak on the raw side kind of guy.”

This made Logan chuckle, “What makes you say that?”.

You shrugged, “Your…vibe? And those dog tags around your neck say Wolverine.”

Logan looked down, seeming to notice the dog tags then, he quickly put them inside the jacket.

“So do you have some kind of…dog mutation?” you asked, almost cringing at your words.

This didn’t seem to faze him though, he only laughed again, he seemed less tense than before, even stepping a bit closer to you.

“No, I’m not a dog, I…,” Logan trailed off, and you jumped a bit when three sharp, long blades extended from his left fist.

“I get it now,” you said when you found your voice again, watching the claws retreat back into Logan’s knuckles. “Jean is probably going to make you come back down to the lab, figure out exactly why you have…well, that.”

Logan nodded, “So, do you have a silly code name too or is it just Y/N?”. He quirked up an eyebrow at you, making you smile a bit.

“Roulette,” you answered.

“Oh?” Logan asked, seeming to be intrigued.

“I can switch people’s mutations at will, I could make Scott have your claws and you have his laser eyes, but it’s temporary, so far the longest I’ve been able to make it last is a few hours and that’s been with years of training,” you explained, “It’s tricky, but, ya know, I’m stuck with it.”

“That’s…that’s really amazing,” Logan told you truthfully, making you blush.

“It’s nothing really, sometimes it does more harm than good,” you said, brushing off the compliment.

“Don’t we all?” Logan asked you, making you meet his gaze again.

He was closer to you now, your chests almost touching. You were interrupted by a quick knock on the door frame.

Scott.

“Jean wants him downstairs again,” Scott said, leaning against the door, no doubt glaring at Logan behind his glasses. “I’ll take you.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say bub.”

You glared at your brother before turning back to Logan, “I’ll see you later, and I’m two doors down, if you ever need anything.”

Giving Logan another smile you turned, leaving the room, bumping your shoulder against Scott’s, mumbling a “Be nice,” to him before heading to your own room.

Logan turned to Scott then, cocking his head, “You gonna tell me to stay away from your sister?”.

Scott stood up straight, folding his hands behind his back, “I shouldn’t have to.”

“I think she can make her own decisions,” Logan argued, stalking towards the other man. “Seems like a smart girl.”

“She is,” Scott replied, turning away from Logan to begin their decent down to the lower levels, “that’s why I trust that she’ll see you for what you really are soon enough.”

“Oh and what’s that?” Logan asked, beginning to follow Scott down the hall.

“Another asshole that will break her heart in a week,” Scott said, turning around to face Logan.

“Then you must not be that smart,” Logan smirked, “maybe take some pointers from your sister.”

A loud crack out in the hall made you stick your head out of your bedroom, and you saw Scott and Logan. Scott was cradling his fist, a string of curses leaving his mouth. Logan turned to look at you, shrugging and sending you a wink.

You rolled your eyes. Men.

“Come on you two,” you sighed, heading towards them. “Jean can wrap up your hand while he gets scanned.”

“Scanned?” Logan asked as you steered your still cursing twin towards the stairs.

“It’s an MRI really, nothing to worry about,” you reassured. Logan seemed a bit hesitant but nodded and followed.

Scott kept quiet the whole way after his cursing ended, his pride more hurt than his hand. When you reached the lab you pushed your brother towards his girlfriend.

“White Knight over here needs a bandage,” you joked, and Logan snorted a bit.

Jean sighed and nodded, “Take off your shirt and lay over there,” she directed Logan towards the large machine in the corner while Scott sat on another table.

You grabbed a first aid kit and handed it to Jean while Logan unzipped his jacket, tossing it onto a work station along with his dog tags.

He was, to put it lightly, ripped. You could already tell even with the jacket on, but seeing him with it off was enough to make you stare.

When he eventually caught you, you looked away, letting him climb up on the table while you directed your attention back to Scott and Jean.

Jean was wrapping his hand in gauze, “A sprain,” she mouthed to you over Scott’s shoulder and you nodding, smiling.

Turning back to Logan you walked to the edge of the table, he looked up at you and smirked.

“See something you like?” he asked, making you laugh and shake your head.

“I think that’s enough with the flirting for today lover boy,” you said, patting his arm. “I’ve gotta go help with dinner.”

Logan seemed a bit disappointed but nodded as you turned away from him.

“See you both later,” you told Jean and Scott as you made your way towards the door.

Jean nodded and Scott kept his head down, confirming his ego was more bruised than anything.

When you were out of sight of the three of them you took a minute to lean against the cold metal walls of the lower level, taking a deep breath.

Logan was going to be the death of you, you could already see that, but whether in a good or bad way you couldn’t quite tell yet.

After a second you pushed off the wall and headed back upstairs, joining Ororo and a few older students in the kitchen to help prepare dinner.

You stood beside Ororo, cutting vegetables, your mind wandering to Logan, him lying on that table…

Ororo nudged you just in time to keep you from slicing your finger open.

“Sorry,” you said, face heating up.

“Distracted?” she asked, giving you a knowing look.

“No!” you answered too quickly.

Ororo patted your shoulder as she moved to the other side of you to grab a knife, “Whatever you say kid.”

The rest of the night was spent trying to convince everyone, including yourself, that you were not crushing on the new guy.

But when you were headed to bed that night and Logan stopped you in the hall outside his room to thank you for the help and wish you goodnight, you knew you were doomed.

[literaila]

i suddenly thought of this:

satoru, a 6'3 man, probably lays down on top of reader...

“satoru, get off,” you say, but it sounds more like a bad receiver. you basically can’t breathe.

“sorry?” he hums. “did you say something?”

“i’m going to—“ a puff of breath and your hands trying to push him off. “die.”

“but you’re so comfy. like a memory foam mattress.”

“was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“why are you so warm?”

“i won’t be warm when i die from suffocation.”

he lifts his head to look at your face, your glaring eyes and flushed face. “you look like you’re breathing,” he adjusts himself so his head is against your chest. “oh, yup! there it is.”

“my impending doom?”

“your heart. healthy as a horse.”

“you just keep insulting me with these comparisons.”

“you’re a proudly bred mare. the prettiest of the… band? stable?”

“herd,” you say, huffing again. “now i’m actually going to die out of spite.”

“a dramatic horse,” he adds, pretending like he isn’t actively plotting against you.

“make sure to move my corpse off the couch. i don’t want the kids to see me dead.”

“if you die, i’m dying with you. megumi could probably get his dogs to eat us”

“that’s disgusting,” you say, laughing just a little. “don’t talk about that.”

“you’re the one who brought it up.”

“cause you’re crushing me!”

“but isn’t that a nice way to go?”

“i’ve already planned my death,” you tell him, trying to pull his hair. but he’s got your hands pinned. “i’m going to be executed after i murder you.”

“uh-huh,” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “let me know how that goes.”

“satoru,” you whine, but you’ve given up the fight. “you know you’re basically a giant, right?”

he shakes his head against you.

“a giant psychopath,” you add, “with tentacles for hands.”

“should we test that out?”

“shut up. get off of me.”

“ahh, can’t hear you. i’m sleeping.”

“oh great,” you deadpan. “it’ll be so much easier to kill you in your sleep.”

he pretends to snore, but you can feel his teeth against your neck as he grins.

“you shouldn’t let your guard down around me, you know?”

“i think this would be a nice way to die,” he says, instead of answering. “as long as you’re the one murdering me, of course.”

“oh, of course.”

[thefailedabortioon]

|| Carlos de Vil & a crush • X F!Reader

warnings: n/a

authors note: it isnt mentioned who your parent is its up to you for that! mb if its messy i havent written an x reader in like an eon LMAO.

summary: carlos de vil tries to deal with a crush and has his first interaction since first seeing her. (alternate title: jay is an amazing wingman.)

word count: roughly 900 words

A red ball bounced off the wall of Carlos’ and Jay’s shared dorm. Dude chased after it, tongue sticking out as he panted. When Carlos received the ball back, it’d been completely soaked in dog slobber, earning a disgusted groan from him.

“Ugh, Dude.”

“What? I don’t have hands for paws!” The Brussels Griffon retorted.

Carlos rolled his eyes and turned over to Jay, who’d recently set up a little punching bag for training. It’s all he ever came to the room to do besides sleeping.

“What am I gonna do, man? Do you think she even likes me?” Carlos had recently taken a sudden interest in a girl that’d passed by him in the Great Hall… flowing dark hair, elegant clothes (she actually managed to make the uniform look good), and her face. God, her face. Carlos could stare at her for days. She’s seriously all he’d been thinking about.

“Chillax, she probably doesn’t even know your name.” Jay realized what he’d said and stopped hitting the punching bag for a second to look at his woeful friend, “Or… she does! And she’s curious about you too!” He tried to keep his spirits high and uplifting, surprising behavior for the guy if Carlos was being honest.

“I’m doomed.”

“Just talk to her, you coward!” Dude yipped, beady black eyes piercing into Carlos’ own. “You need to get to know her name first before you start thinking way ahead, you know?!”

Jay cut in, “Wait, you don’t even know her name?!” He cackled, running his both hands through his hair in amusement.

“Shut up! Oh my, God!” Carlos threw a pillow towards Jay, hiding his face behind his hands.

“It’s pathetic. Really!” Dude barked out, making biscuits on the pillow Carlos threw at Jay.

Carlos turned to his side, facing the wall. He hugged himself tightly, crossing his arms over his chest for comfort. He brought his knees down, letting his legs hang from the foot of the bed.

It didn’t take a while for Jay to finally take pity on him. He sat beside Carlos on his bed, muscular arms resting behind his back. “Sounds to me you really… like her.” If it wasn’t any more obvious. Jay snickered to himself. “What if I lend you a hand?”

At that, Carlos immediately shot up. “What?! What’re you going to do?! Talk to her?!”

“No, you idiot! You’re talking to her.” Jay said with a smug smile. Carlos wasn’t too fond of the idea, what if he messed up? What if the wrong words slipped out? Everything and anything could go wrong!

“No. No! I can’t! She’ll hate me!”

“Carlos.” Jay pulled Carlos to face him, hands gripping his shoulders, his eyes dug deep into Carlos’ own, staring back intensely at two circles of brown. “Man. The hell. Up.”

The other let out an exasperated groan, pulling away from Jay’s grip to let himself fall back flat on the bed.

It shouldn’t have been that hard, right? Jay had already given Carlos a set of questions he can start off with, scribbled messily on the palm of his hand. So the conversation can go smoothly from there.

He turned to look at Jay who hid in a potted plant not too far behind, an earpiece tucked under his long hair. Carlos also wore an earpiece, a lot more visible than Jay’s but it shouldn’t matter.

Jay gave Carlos an assuring thumbs up signal as he ducked down in the leaves.

Carlos took a deep breath, raising a fist to knock against a dorm room, when suddenly it swung open violently, revealing you. The De Vil boy had nothing to say, words getting stuck in his throat.

You both continued to stare at each other before you finally broke the awkward silence. “Uh, can I… help you?” You asked tentatively, fixing your hair at the sight of a visitor.

“Ah- Y-Yes! Uhh…” Carlos swallowed a large lump in his throat, eyes darting back and forth towards a large potted plant and the girl that stood before him. Her. “I’ve… I’m sure I’ve seen you around before, I never c-caught your name though.” He finally spoke, peaking not-so-discretely at his palm.

You gave him your name uncertainly, “And you are…”

“C—“

You cut him off abruptly with a snap of your fingers, “Carlos De Vil! Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”

Carlos winced, “What have you heard about me exactly?”

“Oh, uh…” You hesitated in answering, fidgeting with your fingers, “Not much. You play Tourney right? You’re on the team?” Carlos lit up at the mention of the sport.

“Yeah, yeah! I play! Do- Do you?”

“Um, they don’t allow girls on the team.” You smiled sheepishly and god, did Carlos almost faint on the spot.

“Right…”

“Is that it?”

Carlos paused, dusting his clothes off and straightening up. “Yeah- That’s- That’s all.”

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, as if waiting for Carlos to say more, but you shrugged and closed the door behind you, excusing yourself. “It was nice talking to you. Bye.”

You shot him a grin, and you could swear his cheeks started turning pink. A giggle only left your lips as you walked past the boy and a mysterious potted plant that suspiciously had a familiar beanie thrown over it. But you paid no mind and strolled away. Cute.

requests are open!!

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

next

[hansensgirl]

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debts.

prompts. | Ari Levinson + Mob Boss + “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely.” (credits to @celestianstars for inspiring this prompt) + Innocence, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x innocent!fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, mob stuff, age gap, abuse of power, power imbalance, pet names, innocence kink, corruption kink, smoking (ari), drinking (ari), debts, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.

The weight of the debt sits heavy on your shoulders, dragging you down. You find it hard to breathe as one of Ari’s associates leads you to the leader’s office. You note that the man doesn’t keep a hand on his gun as usual. You clearly aren’t a threat—what could a little thing like you do to the big, bad mob boss?

Ari welcomes you in and ushers you to sit wherever you’d like, and you relieve your shaky legs when you sit in front of his oak desk.

“Do you need anything to eat or drink? I can make some coffee or tea,” he offers. “N– no, thank you, sir,” you nearly whisper, scared and, therefore, quiet. Ari gives you a smile as he rubs his beard, flashing the tattoos, scars, and rings that decorate his hand.

“Shy, aren’t ya? Don’t worry. I don’t bite unless you ask me to,” he chuckles, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. You can spy smoke swirling from an ashtray, a cigarette freshly put out sitting inside. 

“So, what did you need to talk about?” Ari starts for you, and for a second, you forget why you’ve come here. The debt. A few beats of silence pass as you try to formulate your thoughts, and Ari watches you intently the entire time.  “You want something from me? You gotta ask nicely,” he eventually adds. 

“S– Sir, I never knew my family owed you money,” you begin, taking a deep breath. “Of course you wouldn’t, baby. That was many years ago, and I doubt an innocent thing like you knows what goes on around here,” he grins.

“Yes, well, I was hoping I could have some more time to pay it off. I don’t make much at my job, but I promise I’ll get you your money back,” you explain, hands flying out of nerves. Ari hums as if considering your offer. 

“The interest is a bit much, but I can handle it. Please, I just need some more time,” you plead, and you wonder if you’ve spoken too much. Or perhaps your request is too outlandish. Either way, you worry that you’re doomed. 

There is more silence and then a deep sigh from the burly man before you.

“You make a good case for yourself, pumpkin,” he tells you. You look at him, raising your gaze from your lap, where your thumbs twiddle. “But now that I think about it, I really don’t need your money. I have more than enough of my own, anyway,” Ari snickers.

You force a smile. He mirrors it, but the mob boss’s seems genuine.

“I– I’m sorry, sir. I don’t quite understand,” you admit to him sheepishly. Ari coos at you. “That’s alright, bunny. What I’m saying is that you don’t have to pay the loan back,” he says, and you’re filled with elation.

You could nearly jump for joy, but you know you should restrain yourself in front of the city’s most dangerous man. Instead, you settle for grinning until your cheeks hurt and giggling. “Oh, my. Thank you so much, sir! That means the world to me—you don’t understand,” you cheer.

Ari chuckles at your happiness before the smile on his face fades. “But that doesn’t mean you can just walk away freely, baby,” he tells you, and you can feel your bubble bursting. “Don’t worry, your punishment won’t be anything bad. In fact, you’ll probably end up loving it as much as me,” Ari continues, and he stands up.

He walks towards you and kneels in front of you. “You’ll be my perfect little plaything for the rest of the year. No ifs, ands, or buts. Unless you want me to add to your debts… Increase your interest?” Ari threatens, and you’re quick to shake your head.

“Good girl,” the older man coos. “I’ve been dying to have you on my arm, angel.” 

[gomu-fer]

You must live

What if Luffy and reader got out of Marineford with Ace?

Ace x reader

2.1k words, gn reader, SFW fluffy at the end

Depictions of war and injuries, happy ending!!! Idc idc, the most plot accurate thing I’ve ever written I guess if you haven’t catched up to marineford then don’t read, or do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I ain’t the boss of ya’

War

It had creeped up on you like a nightmare from which you cannot wake up, your heart thrumming in your chest as you repeat to yourself that nothing’s real, that it’ll past— But it doesn’t

You still remember how you got here, the fear after seeing Ace stomping out the deck just about to jump to his striker as he argued with your dad because you knew there was not stopping him, yet you plead

“Don’t do it” now you stood between his sizzling anger and the edge of the ship, arms immediately grabbing his as a cry for help

“I have to do this, you know I do… I can’t let that bastard step on my dad’s name” as you looked right into his gaze you could just feel there was something else, something he was trying to prove not to your dad, not to the crew or you but to himself— Like he had to be of use to deserve his place

“Then I’m going with you” never in your life you had spoken with such conviction; you run to the side of the deck to gather a backpack and quickly tossing some food that was left laying around before everyone had stopped to convince your stubborn lover and failed miserably

“NO!” in all your time with Ace you had never heard him raise his voice at you, but you gave it no mind, quickly scrabbling anything useful for the journey at your arms reach

“Yes” everyone stood frozen knowing better than to speak up, you and Ace were so painfully similar, stubbornness one of the qualities on that list

“I have to do this myself, I want you here where you’re safe” he tried to quickly reach for the backpack now all full and packed but to not avail since you were quicker to toss it on your shoulders and walked straight to his striker

“I can handle myself just fine. I am going because I want to, I am making that decision,”- the silence that followed your statement was seasoned with desperation from the man that was onto your toes -“If you think I’m letting you go by yourself you’re out of your mind Portgas”

His last name leaving your lips had him groaning, a warning to not question you since you had in fact already made your mind and there was not changing it— so stubborn

So you followed him, through the hot desserts of Alabasta, dangerous Marine base’s and infested seas; you would’ve followed him to the end of the world

Maybe that’s were you find yourself now— the love of your life chained about to be executed like his death had something to proof; his blood not one he choose but now being punished for it, the world had failed him even before he was born and it pains you that you didn’t know, that he didn’t tell you about all the self doubt, insecurities and regrets that blinded him, a lot of things now making sense as you recall some of his behavior even before you began to build your relationship— his search for a life worth living that now you and him wonder if he’ll ever get to taste. But you don’t hold it against him, how could you?

By your side stands his brother, a pirate you had met in your lovers journey that had doomed yourselves, a bright and brave pirate that now gives his life away for his big brother, even if there’s no more he can give he does. And you? The pain that aches your heart also aches your bones, one more hit and you’ll probably be gone but you don’t care, as Ace’s voice rattles trough the dead and screams of pain it gives you all the energy and all the will to continue

“Why is it now that my brother, my dad, the love of my life and my crew fight for me, is that I find myself wanting to live?”

His words are drowned by his tears and your own but you feel them to the core, clenching your fists as you make your way through the war unfolding. Marines, pirates and family all fight for the future, you? You just want Ace to live, then you’ll give yourself the luxury of thinking about the future— A future where he is in

You scream his name at the top of your lungs making his head jolt up looking for you from high above, even though a battle cry, your voice soothes him but it also terrifies him. He fears for your life, and if you may want to keep him in it now that you know his biggest secret— what do you think of him now?

His fears quickly fade as you scream once more

“YOU HAVE TO LIVE ACE”

He doesn’t deserve you- he thinks. You had stood by him through thick and thin. even now you could turn away from this war and start anew, yet you fight for him, body scarred, bullets and punches flying above your head but your eyes look for his, your voice chooses to call for his name and reassure him even amongst the chaos— He feels your love as it expands through his tired form, combusting

“I LOVE YOU ACE, WE ALL DO, THAT’S WHY YOU HAVE TO LIVE BECAUSE YOURE WORTH IT”

Luffy glances back at you, the widest smile you’ve ever seen painted on his features, he calls your name while one of his hands holds your shoulder in a tight grip as if trying to keep you on the here and now “We are getting Ace out of here I promise”

That is the last thing you hear before everything becomes a blur, but you hold the promise close because you know it was made with a honest and pure heart. The Marines desperate to win the war and execute your lover pounce over you like a wild animal thirsty for what they call justice, but this is just a masacre. You hold onto the idea that this may pass too, like everything does

Somehow you pull trough, how? You still can’t comprehend, probably out of your resilience alone. Helping Luffy up to uncuff Ace’s restraints knowing he’s the only one capable enough to set him free, and he lives up to his name shocking everyone as both brothers decent making the war hold its breath.

That’s when Ace finally can really see you, your face clear and your presence heavy in his heart— it’s like the first time he ever saw you, love is the only thing stirring around his stomach even in the middle of his own demise as you stand in front of him, there’s nothing more he wants than to kiss you senseless right now, cry as you hold him tight grateful you’re here

But this is not over

It might never be

Your feet move at the speed of light, Ace’s hand wrapped around yours in the tightest grip as if grounding him, while also keeping you safe and sound. You must’ve been thrilled, the love of your life free and by your side now, yet, this cruel world seemed to just hate him- forever cursed by the blood running through his veins

It dawns on you very quickly how getting out of this hell wouldn’t be easy, that you will have to leave people behind just to be free, and it pains you both to have to turn your backs on your captain, your dad. You see the distress trough Ace’s face as he escapes, his heart thrumming louder and louder but apparently not loud enough as he catches the voice of Akainu- one of the Marines admiral’s calling his dad weak, even as he dies for you all

He stops, so do you and as you turn to look for his gaze you catch that same glint that was the reason of this nightmare. Ace was angry, it bubbles on his being like it has done so many times before and you know there’s not changing the course of this— you feel hopeless

You stand terrified in the presence of the admiral, a ruthless man that kills in the name of justice but he’s no different to even the most evil criminals he has wiped from the seas. You are not a believer in any means, but you find yourself prying to anyone above that you’re not next on his list

Ace bites back, Akainu lures him as he continues to spit venom on the ones he loves, the symbol tattooed on Ace’s back nothing but reminding you of how far he can go- and he will now

Because he would never turn his back on the people he loves

It all happened so fast yet so slow; your lover hits the ground, red crimson puddle staining the hard floor as you panic. You turn to all directions as if looking for an answer, a miracle that would get you out of here alive

Then you see it, bright and burning at the heat of the sun— Akainu’s punch flies as it tries to burn Luffy like icarus.

The rubber boy that had flew too close to the sun trying to protect the person he loves most

And of course Ace is rushing to protect him

It’s selfish really, the way you’re only thinking about how to get yourself out of this. You want to run away from the war harmless, untouched; alongside the ones you love standing by your side with a future to think about the next morning. It fuels you; all the grief, pain and anger rises and you don’t know how or why— maybe it was the entity up above that heard your desperate pleas and pulled on the strings of destiny

But… You punch Ace

You punch him harder than you have ever punched before, launching both of your hurt bodies to the other side of the battlefield. Akainu’s fist wavers, enough to miss his actual target, his little brother who holds Ace’s life between his fingertips while it sets alight once again

Everything stills, even as you hit the floor hard, you must’ve passed out after all this torturous time fighting, but you hold onto the little sanity and energy you can

Ace is looking at you incredulous— a million emotions tug at him as he looks back between you and his brother. Is he relieved? Angry? Scared?. For a moment his strong morals crumble as his gaze meets yours; you’re tired, so so tired yet hopeful as you plead for him to change his ways eve if it is for just this once, because you’re a selfish bastard

You can’t really make up what he’s saying to you now, you don’t really care as you use all in you to muster

“You must live Ace”

Your body shuts down, limp crashing on Ace’s naked top half as he holds you desperately, both of you may still lay on the battlefield but you feel safe because you know he’ll listen to you— you know he’ll live

And he would never let you down

It’s cold, you can make out a continuous beep that follows the rhythm of your slow heartbeat. You try to adjust the uncomfortable position in which you lay on your back, but your body doesn’t respond not even your eyelids as you beg them to show you where you are— Were you dead? Safe? At the bottom of the sea?

Air slowly enters your lungs, allowing your tired body to settle, you open your eyes a little hesitant now, a gray metal ceiling greets you

Another breath gives you the courage to move, you don’t recognize any of the coroners that your eyes land on, the bed creeks making the cowboy hat by your bed that was still in the corner of your eye jolt up

There they were, those eyes you adored more than anything… and that you thought you’ll never see again. They are different now, puddled with grief yet softer

It was reliving how after your ears had ringed for so long, to listen to your name spoken so softly, so lovingly

“You’re here” Ace can’t even bring himself to touch you, afraid you may shatter and there was just so much he wanted to say, to do, yet he only thanks you

He sobs now, allowing his walls to fall right at your feet because who else could’ve done it if not you

Your scarred hands cup his freckled face tenderly “Ace… you lived”

What a silly thing to say, of course he lived

Why wouldn’t he live?

Masterlist

I just finished Marineford and omg I just had this looping in my mind, Ace is my favorite character I see a lot of myself in him. This was written in 3 sittings so I may consider writing a corrected/longer version of it if people are interested because I am a huge nerd and love writing takes on arcs and stuff. Anyway Portgas D Ace you would always be famous

[butteronabun]

woah, it’s just so easy to be sentimental

– an alhaitham x female reader, fwb au

overview: this conversation with him was eventually coming—it’s alhaitham, after all.

wc: 1.3k

notes: this is a modern au! also, implied smexy times but nothing explicit happens. c:

“What do you even benefit from this?” You finally speak, after two minutes of catching your breath.

You’re currently laying on top of Alhaitham, with the side of your head buried on his enormous chest. He places the plush quilt on your lower body, and his hand stays on your back.

You hear his heartbeat calming down. 

But now, yours is the opposite. Forget about regaining your composure, now that the question is out—a question long overdue by the way—you have no choice but to swallow your anxiety and face it. You finally asked him. 

And this is a good thing, right? At least, even if his answer will probably shatter you just like how Cyno broke Tighnari’s window, the annoying questions in your head can finally shut up. Right? 

Who are you kidding? You feel like you’re going to combust. It's Alhaitham. Who knows what he’s gonna answer? 

“. . .You could actually choose other people than me to be your fuckbuddy, you know. There are far better candidates out there.” You remark, and you feel your chest tighten. Why is this so hard? You feel like breaking down. “Like, like. Um. I don’t know. Maybe that one girl from your Darshan? She seems really nice. Real gorgeous, too.”

Ah, yes. Here it comes. Comparing yourself to other women. Great. Now it’s harder than before. Sooner or later, you’ll have to participate in your own solo 'Try Not To Cry Challenge In Front of The Man Who Literally Folded You in Half Moments Ago.'

You feel Alhaitham’s pec vibrate on your cheek when he replies, “I have my reasons.”

Damn him and his reasons. You need his answers. Unfiltered answers. “Then give me one.”

You tense when his thumb of his hand—that’s still remained on your back—begin to rub through the fabric of the blanket. As your cheeks steam, you shut your eyes tightly from the sensation, wishing that Alhaitham won’t notice. But since he continues his ministrations anyway, it’s safe to conclude that he did. Sometimes, he’s a bastard. ( But you like him, though. And that sucks. Maybe. Maybe not. ) 

He supplies, “Our bodies are already familiar with each other. I’m not interested in getting intimate with another and testing the waters. That takes too much of my time.” 

Right. During your first and second sessions with Alhaitham, he seized the moments and explored what worked for you and what worked for him. What worked for the both of you. 

“Okay.” 

Perhaps, what he has said is already enough for you - but it’s bullshit in your own opinion if you think you’ll only be satisfied with that. You need to know more. Even if it’ll probably lead to your doom. Why can’t you just be relieved for once? Why are you always curious? Ugh, you really have it in you to become one of Vahumana’s top students! “What are the other reasons, then?”

His caressing comes into a halt. “Do you really want to know?

Wow. Now that sure is ominous. You open your eyes at that. The blunt Alhaitham asking you if you want to know? You lift your head from his chest and blink up at him in disbelief. You try to think of other things just so you can ignore the nervous ache in your stomach.

But it’s all pointless! Everything inside this room is all Alhaitham. Everything reminds him of you, because this is his room, for archon’s sake! You sigh heavily, and stare at his irritatingly handsome face. You, sadly, have no choice.

Even if you’ve seen this sight a hundred times already and even up close considering you’ve, ahem, with him, he still makes you flustered. One gaze and you’re out. One gaze and all your clothes are on the floor. 

Not to mention, it’s just so unfair that despite all the activities you’ve both shared, he’s still so attractive. And he’s glowing. How? Why are you so lucky? And out of all the people in the world, how did you end up in his bed?

The curiosity itches.

You poke at his skin repeatedly. “That’s why I’m asking? Why are you being sus, Alhaitham?”

He sends you a flat look. “Do you mean ‘suspicious’?”

You grin playfully at him. It’s hilarious to see him get offended whenever you use some slangs that he finds nonsensical. This is what he gets—you provoking him with words that he thinks are embarrassments to the languages.

Alhaitham exhales through his nose, then resumes on rubbing your back. “Give me a minute. I’m trying to weigh the pros and the cons. Apparently, it’s hard on my part because you are an unpredictable one.”

Your eyes sparkle. Now that the anxiousness has dissipated away, it’s replaced with excitement. “Ooh, this is new!” Alhaitham doesn’t open up much regarding his personal thoughts, so you’re relishing on this. “I’m a challenge to you?”

“Very much so.”

Really? A challenge for the intelligent Alhaitham? You? You chuckle, “Maybe you’re overthinking this!”

“Maybe I am.”

Then, you return to your position once more, content on making his chest a pillow. “So do you think I’m complicated?” 

“Do you want the truth?”

You huff. So many short questions and responses. You’re literally giving him the hint that he has the permission to tell you. “I didn’t reach out to you for nothing. What I like about you is that you’re brutally honest.”

Then, it’s quiet. 

Alhaitham’s thumb is still rubbing on your back. You grow a little worried, wondering why he has stopped answering. You’re about to raise your head again, until his available hand rests on top of it, preventing you from taking a glance at whatever expression he’s making.

“I have read a lot of books that are incredibly complicated—books that make people drop immediately because they find it hard to grasp and comprehend. Fortunately for me, I am not that type of person. I like the challenge, especially if it requires critical thinking. And in return, I gain new knowledge. I gain new lessons.”

Trying to make sense of it all, you hum inquisitively, “So, your point is?”

“So even if you are a mess—” “Hey!” “—Even if there are times that I find it difficult to understand your intentions or your actions, I have no plans of leaving you.”

Your heart performs somersaults. 

Oh. Oh.

All this? Coming from Alhaitham himself?

Impossible. There's just no way he said all that.

The words that you do not want to disclose reveal itselves anyway. “And. . .” You murmur, “. . .if you’re satisfied? W–will you abandon me like your other books that are gathering dust on the top shelves?”

“I’ll give you a chance to reflect on what you’ve just said. Your claims are as false as what the flat earthers fight for.” Alhaitham admonishes.

You are now the one who is rendered speechless. You don’t know if you should laugh again because the flat earthers became an example or if you should just stay silent. You don’t think you can take what he’s about to say next.

The organ inside your ribcage squeezes, and gradually, you quiver. The nervousness makes its grand entrance again.

You detach yourself from his chest once more, and meet his indifferent gaze. It’s expected, but your heart begins to pound when you realize that his eyes seem too intense this time. 

“Alhaitham. . .?”

“For the record, I don’t abandon the books. I read them once a year. And again, don’t compare yourself to bad similes—if you want me to revise it, I will be more than glad to construct one now.” The hand that’s on top of your head slides down, and he grabs your chin with his thumb and index finger. 

( Him and his habit of correcting your figures of speech. He always finds a way to insert this in every conversation, even in the most ridiculous and most serious of scenarios. )

“So,” Alhaitham lowers his eyelids, and you swallow. “Do you get what I’m trying to imply?”

You do.

And you’re not sure if you want to say yes.

Because once you nod or affirm, there’s no turning back from this.

[inbarfink]

Okay, so here is my Thought…

It’s already being established that the majority of worlds in the AT Multiverse are born from wishes granted by Prismo. I mean, we know there are other types of alternative universes (Like Flapjack’s universe) - but Prismo’s exposition implies they are the exceptions and not the rule. And we already know the Wish that birthed Farmworld, and we even got a Word of God about Babyworld (a Wish made by BMO) but… 

Was Winterworld also born from someone’s wish?

While first watching the episode, I was wondering if that was a universe born from Ice King’s wish to, like, make Princess Bubblegum madly in love with him or something. But after all of the reveals at the end of the episode and thinking about it a bit more - I feel like this is unlikely. 

I mean for once, there is the question of how the ‘One Wish Per Person' rule works with the existence of a multiverse. Because we know our Simon also tried using his Prismo Wish

(And from their interactions in Episode 4 it seems like Prismo considers Ice King and Simon to be the same person, So a Wish made by Ice King would also count as the one Wish for Simon)

So like… if Ice King made a Wish with Prismo and then got teleported into Winterworld where his wish was granted and then like… a duplicate of him keeps going in Mainworld Ooo and that one’s actually the Simon we follow… would that Simon get his own Wish from Prismo? Or would the Winter King count as the separate Simon who didn’t waste his Wish yet? Finn has already used up his own Wish but his situation is kinda unique cause he, like, came back from being Farmworld Finn. I’m not sure about the rules here but I’m feeling like it shouldn’t work, Simon used up his one Wish failing to bring Betty back so that means he probably didn’t wish up Winterworld.

I don’t feel super-confident about that, but I feel a bit more sure of this next observation; Prismo says that the Wishes he grants, whatever he wants them to or not, always have some sort of a Monkey’s Paw or ironic twist thing going on. They never go quite right for the Wisher. And the Winter King was doing extremely well until our Free Radicals came along.

I mean… maybe the fact that Pre-Curse Simon would’ve been disgusted with the Winter King’s actions counts. Or maybe the implication is that with the Candy Queen’s recent ‘escalation’ he would’ve been killed sooner or later even without the Multiverse Trio’s intervention.

But… compared to how throughly and how quickly Farmworld went badly for Finn specifically- that honestly feels like a stretch. I think that if Winterworld was born from the Wish of any character - it was most likely Marceline.

She has all the motivation to Wish for Simon to have his memories and/or sanity back - and had it for the longest time out of all of his acquaintances. And if it was her Wish - then it sure as hell has gone extremely wrong for her. 

The woman that she loves has been doomed to the same torturous existence Simon has been trapped in alongside her entire kingdom. And Simon might have his sanity and identity again, but this vile man who willingly and knowingly condemned PB to a life of suffering in his stead is so much farther away from the kindly father figure Marceline remembers than Ice King the crazy old Wizard ever was.

And then he also stole Marceline's most beloved personal possessions and like… probably killed her and definitely replaced her with an icy duplicate who is forever the child he wants her to be. If this Wish is some sort of Ironic Monkey's Paw to anyone, I think Marceline makes the most sense. 

(I will give an honorable mention to Betty, because she also very much has the motivation and it is kinda weird we haven’t seen her try and save Simon with a Prismo wish. But I think that while, like, dying in the Mushroom War unmourned and unremembered by the man you did all of this for is a pretty miserable fate.... I still think that Marceline’s narrative fits the idea of cruel irony a lot better)

[1moreff-creator]

Extra DRDT CH2 Episode 12 Thoughts

Heya! After making my last post where I just live-blogged my immediate reaction to the episode, I had a few more thoughts that I figured I should write down somewhere. They’re all too small for their own posts, but I still think they’re worth sharing.

Spoilers for CH2 EP12

CW: Murder, hanging, suicide.

The Water Thing

This episode brought up two interesting points which had rarely, if ever, been discussed within the fandom: Arei’s body swinging, and her body temperature and its connection to water. And while I’m relatively sure I saw one or two people mention the swinging at some point, the temperature issue is certainly a new one.

The swinging was explained in the trial: Arei’s body was hung shortly before it was found. But J says something interesting; the corpse should have been warm, unless it was drenched in water and dried. Paraphrasing a bit, but you get the point.

However, I actually don’t think this is a big deal, just adds a slight addendum to previous murder theories. We know the killer dumped the fish in the playground to confuse time of death, so I believe the killer likely splashed Arei with the water to cool her down. This is assuming they even thought about the body temperature, but I don’t think this is a large assumption to make.

I have seen people claim that Arei’s hair looks somewhat wet in the BDA, which… maybe? Anyways, this idea would explain that as well.

This might even give us Possible Explanation Number I Lost Count for the damn missing glove. Maybe it got particularly wet and the culprit worried it wouldn’t dry quickly enough? If people discovered a dripping wet bowling glove, the whole “using fish to confuse the time of death” thing would kinda go straight out the window. I have no idea if that makes any amount of sense, I don’t see why the glove would dry any slower than the rest of her clothes, but oh well.

Arturo’s Talent, and his Recap Foil: Levi

(Here’s the link to the original Recap Foil Theory post by gleamingtempest, in case you don’t know what I’m talking about).

Kinda forgot this was a thing when first watching the episode, but now looking back on it, there’s some neat foiling going on. Levi and Arturo’s backstory already were somewhat opposites in some aspects: Arturo got away from home himself while Levi was disowned, though Levi seems to hold a higher degree of respect for his family in comparison to Arturo. Levi is (now confirmed!) a murderer with no remorse, while Arturo accidentally caused Felicity’s death to some extent and clearly feels guilty about it. Etcetera.

Well, we can add a new detail to this foil! Arturo’s been training his talent since he was twelve, while Levi has admitted since introduction that he’s “a novice to fashion.” Neat detail, and certainly adds to this theory.

Terumin VS Xanvid

Thanks to Haru for pointing this out, but Teruko’s “I’ll fix my mistake” echoes Min’s “I’ll fix your mistake” from her Argument Armament. As I mentioned in the linked post, it’s cool that Teruko is taking a sort of Min-like attitude to her mistakes while calling Xander out, while David is taking Xander’s side in the same trial he calls Min pathetic. Foils and all that.

(Doomed Yuri V Doomed Yaoi, fight!)

This makes me hopeful that Min will still have some importance later. But I’m probably just coping.

What Was David Cooking?

I am kinda sick of talking about this man, frankly. I blame the almost three hour video I made on his MV. But oh well, he’ll stop being center focus soon enough. For now, His Deal is still one of the most central aspects of the episodes, so discuss him I will.

There are two big points of contention with what he said this trial. First, what does he remember about Xander? Second, what was he actually trying to do by pretending to be Arei’s murderer?

The first is pretty simple to assume, I think. David remembers whatever Xander did to become the Ultimate Rebel, and respects him as a result. Especially since Xander’s numeral I in LGI, the Footnote 14 code solved by y-prime, is “I have always looked up to you.”

I don’t think David has Hope’s Peak memories, despite his weird wording with “even if you all lost a year of memories.” He specifically says he and Xander had never met in his Prologue introduction, before they had any real reason to believe they’d lost memories. The LGI video also doesn’t add anything, because… well, it’s not a Milgram MV. It doesn’t come from his memories, it exists purely in meta. This is evident from the comments referencing Byakuya, Nagito and Kokichi, characters these people should have no knowledge of as Veronika claims not to remember anything like the DRDT killing game happening before; certain references to conversations and details David shouldn’t be aware of (mainly in numeral placement), etc.

(While I was writing that, the dev seemingly clarified that David does not have Hope’s Peak memories, then deleted the tweet, so. Just in case, there’s the full reasoning)

The second one is trickier. David is following Xander’s ideals, but that’s all we know. We don’t have a concrete idea of what Xander’s ideals really were, and it’s even harder to know what David thinks Xander’s ideals were.

David: I’m sure he had a good reason. I believe that he did. Xander is not the kind of person to do anything for frivolous purposes.

He believes Xander had a good reason for trying to kill Teruko, he says he’s sure of it, but he never implies to know exactly what the reason was. And if he doesn’t know the exact reason, he can’t for sure say what ideal Xander was upholding by doing what he did.

But, he knows what Xander was trying to do; kill everyone. Because if it was just Teruko, he wouldn’t have tried to mislead people with the CD thing. Although, Xander was following that one note that said to “kill Teruko Tawaki,” so it could potentially be targeted.

So, taking credit for Arei’s murder to try and kill everyone is because Xander tried to do something similar. But the deeper reason he gave, about the nature of the killing game, is it true?

(Apologies in advance for the particularly horrible collage. I am without a reliable computer atm)

David [Annoyed]: Ugh, fucking fine. You want an answer so badly? Any answer?

[Face covered] …

I…

[Sweating] Ah… We’re… in a television show, after all. That’s… what MonoTV said, right?

“Entertainment” is an ongoing show.

If Min successfully got away with the very first murder and escaped while we all died, isn’t that way less interesting for a TV show?

What’s the point of roping 14 other people into one murder, only to kill them all off immediately?

The killer is supposed to fail and get executed. We’re all supposed to catch the killer, again and again, and participate in trial after trail. You’re *supposed* to try to survive.

All of you, who are trying to slice these class trials to continue living on are playing straight into MonoTV’s hands.

[Confident] As if I’ll accept that.

I don’t care how low I’ll sink, or how despicable I’ll have to become. I’ll do anything to carry on Xander’s ideals by ending this killing game, even if it means that I have to dirty my hands.

Oh, this man is lying out his ass.

This is not an answer you hesitate over if it’s true. The words David is saying are neutral; the show is meant for entertainment, and it’s not entertaining if people die early. There’s no controversy there, no reason to be nervous. Especially since Eden’s already come to the same conclusion.

Veronika: You know, Eden once thought of an interesting plan to end the killing game. Based on everything we know, it could theoretically work.

[…]

To make a television show so boring they have no choice but to shut it down.

All we have to do is nothing.

You’re not supposed to be sweating when you’re effectively repeating something Eden said, even if under a different context.

First, David says he’ll give “any answer”, already making anything he says shady. Then, he seems to deliberate on what to say, which is already suspicious.

The most notable thing is that when he starts talking about the TV show, and what it means for it to be entertaining, he still hesitates. If his plan really was to make the TV show boring, once he decides to spill the beans, there’s nothing to hesitate about.

He only regains his confidence at the end, ironically when he’s saying the actually insane stuff. He finally finds the character he was trying to play and actually says something true; he wants to uphold Xander’s ideals and end the killing game. But I really don’t think it’s because he wants to make it boring.

In other words, he’s not lying about wanting to follow Xander and end the killing game, but his explanation about the entertainment has nothing to do with that. It’s way too simple of an explanation for the amount he hesitates. At least, that’s what I think, I may be wrong.

That brings us to the question; if he didn’t take the blame to make the game boring, why did he do it?

Well, currently and without too much confidence, I believe it has to do with Xander’s secondary goal; killing Teruko Tawaki.

One of the most well-accepted theories in the community is that David’s secret, “everything in your life is worth killing over [and] the killing game is all your fault,” isn’t Xander’s, but Teruko’s.

(In fact, side theory: I’m betting (on little evidence) that by the end of the trial, it will be David with his fanboy knowledge to point out that the “survivor’s guilt” secret that Min “received” was actually Xander’s, and reveal by process of elimination (since it’s likely going to be revealed in the trial that Hu has Veronika’s secret and Veronika has Hu’s, assuming those theories are true) that Min has the poison secret. It’s a bit of a wild prediction, but I think it’s a reasonable possibility to how the series would go about confirming the secrets of the dead)

That, combined with the fact that Xander followed a note that told him to kill Teruko, would certainly be enough for David to decide that Teruko’s gotta die. And killing everyone in the class trial is probably the best way to ensure that happens, since David probably doesn’t hunk attacking her directly is a good idea. If Xander, physically the strongest student in the cast, couldn’t get past Teruko’s luck, what the hell is David supposed to do? Especially now that she carries a knife, though I’m not sure David knows that.

It’s not even that out of nowhere; in the LGI video, Teruko’s numeral XIII appears next to a quote regarding the child of Omelas among other things. Very long story (skip to 1:22:22 in this video for the full explanation), but the child of Omelas is someone who must suffer so everyone else can live in a perfect world. It’s possible David thinks of Teruko, for one reason or another, as the Omelas child; she’s gotta die so everyone can be happy. She is someone “deeply unloved” after all.

Now, is this a stretch? Certainly. But I don’t think David’s telling the truth about his motivations, and I think this is one of the more likely options as to what exactly he was cooking here. I’m sure there’s better explanations out there, I just haven’t seen them :v

David VS Whit

I kinda skipped over the “Red Herring pun to David Freakout” line at first, but I think it’s pretty interesting that David gets so mad at Whit’s behavior. They are Recap Foils, so it makes sense they’d have strong emotions towards each other.

In particular, I’d like to point out how David gets mad at Whit for something similar to what he does as a motivational speaker.

I mentioned it in the previously mentioned section of my LGI analysis, but I believe part of the reason David hates Teruko is that he sees himself in her (pessimistic, thinks the world won’t change, etc), and this would be the other side of that. David constantly says things he doesn’t believe to make people happy, and he considers that to be pretty stupid, so it makes sense for him to get frustrated when seeing Whit doing something similar, trying to raise spirits by telling jokes. Looking at Whit is sorta like looking in a mirror, and David hates that. The mirror in LGI is labeled “reflection is due” for a reason.

I’m not fully sure this works 100%, but I think it’s at least worth considering.

Updates on Eden!Culprit Levi!Accomplice

In case you’re new here, here’s a link to my post detailing the Eden!Culprit Levi!Accomplice theory, which I came up with alongside some other theorists, and is what I currently believe the murder to be. My thoughts on possible character motivation and the such have shifted a bit since then, but the important part is the physical evidence. In particular, the combination of Lockdown Logic to determine Eden most likely took the tape from the gym and the Fish Timeline to determine someone else must have helped her get the fish, combined with the overly complicated murder method which I describe in detail, leads me to believe Eden is the blackened, and Levi helped her kill Arei.

I’m not going to talk about other theories, I’ll let the dedicated theorists perfect them with the new evidence in their own time. But, how does this theory change?

On the surface, uh, not much. We haven’t talked method much, after all.

(Side note, I know some people are bothered by how long that’s taking, and while I kinda get it, I’m not bothered by it. We’re in no rush; I prefer it if all the character conflict is addressed at some point, even if it delays talking about the actual method. Better than it going unaddressed, after all)

The only change is adding that they splashed Arei with water to hide her body temperature, but as discussed, that’s a minor change.

The big wrench thrown into this theory is the end, because… I’ll be honest, dear audience, I have no clue what Levi’s cooking here. Like, at all. Zero read on why he’s revealing his secret. I could try to speculate, but I can’t find any fully satisfactory answer even outside the Levi!Accomplice theory. Nothing makes sense to me, so I’ll just wait for the next episode before trying to read into it.

There is one unrelated thing I want to bring up, though, and it’s related to Levi’s possible motivation. I know this is one of the biggest sticking points in the theory (obviously), so I’d like to talk about it.

As a refresher: although alternate ideas have been offered, my current guess is that it has to do with his desire to be a good person, and the fact he considers Eden a good person. Cue the whole “A Good Person” hidden title behind “All That Glitters.”

Levi: Perhaps I messed up yesterday. But I want to move on. I want to keep trying to become ‘a good person,’ like you, Eden.

The idea goes like this. Levi thinks Eden is good, and so he wants to do good by her. Based on the secret quote in the code of his character page, we can tell he prefers to speak through actions. He’s a bold action man, and that can cause him to come off as heartless.

Levi: I always believed that a person is defined by their actions alone. But maybe that’s just a poor excuse for my heartlessness.

My personal theory (again, other Levi motives are possible) assumes that Levi believes someone will win the killing game eventually (and this is an assumption, I won’t deny it), and if only one persona can escape, he’d rather it be Eden than anyone else. Again, “good person.” Levi will die, sure, but unless he becomes a blackened himself, he’s going to die regardless whenever someone gets away with murder.

Now, this isn’t anything drastically different than what I said in the theory post, so why am I bringing it up?

Well, the thing is… Doing something horrible, throwing away your own life and those of most of your peers, all for the sake of the one you’ve deemed to be “a good person”…

Now where have I heard that before?

David: But doing “good” things requires sacrifice. Sometimes that sacrifice is being seen as a good person.

Even if doing something makes you hated, if that action is for a greater good, then it’s an action you have to take.

Xander is a good person. He’s the only good person I’ve ever known. I swear, I’ll follow in his footsteps and—

Huh. Funny how that works.

My point is that not only is “doing good by the only good person here” now a pre-established line of reasoning these characters can have, Levi doing such a thing for Eden would be a very interesting parallel to what David tried to do for Xander.

This isn’t evidence, to be clear. Just because one guy does it, doesn’t mean a completely unrelated dude is gonna do it too. But I’m calling it now as a potentially interesting parallel to explore, either in canon if I’m right or, like, an AU if I’m wrong :v

That said, I will point out that Hu’s capital G Girlboss Moment is directly after this, the one where she chews David out for deciding what’s best for all of them without consultation. And a little bit afterwards, Levi starts acting weird, apologizing for being useless, revealing his secret, etc. These two things could be connected, if Levi is, like, having second thoughts after that.

I could see a world where Levi’s trying to bring the conversation towards the right answer without fully committing to it, only for something or someone to somehow convince him back to accomplice-hood middway through it. I find that immensely unlikely, to be clear, but again, I genuinely have no idea what Levi’s trying to do right now, so.

All in all, a pretty neutral episode for this theory. Next one could completely break it, though, so I’m excited. I might have to come up with new theories! >:D

God I missed DRDT. And the only drawback of coming back is re-opening LGI trauma :D /silly

Anyways, thanks for reading! See you on the flipside!

[samgirl98]

Forgotten Demon Twin 2/?

Prev | Next

Danny came back early from his patrol. There had been no ghost attacks. All he had found were ghost blobs, and he let them be. They were harmless. He got under his covers, glad that the next day was Sunday. He hoped he would be able to sleep late.

Danny was starting to fall asleep when he heard his phone ring. He groaned. He just wanted to sleep. He looked at his phone and immediately called Tucker.

“What do you mean someone is looking into me?” He asked without preamble.

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude. About six hours ago, I got an alert of someone looking into Amity Park. No biggie, sometimes people get curious. The firewall the GIW and me and Technus have set has kept them out so far. Then, a few hours later, I found out someone was trying to find out about you.”

“I’ve been able to keep them out, but just barely. Whoever they are, they’re good at hacking. Technus and I are having a hard time keeping them away from your information. I’ve had to direct them to your Doom and old Twitter account to get them off your scent, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

Okay, okay. This wasn’t the time to panic. It was probably the League (in which case he was [fully] dead anyway). He had to find a way to keep his family and friends safe, hide the portal from his fruit loop of a grandfather and mother, and keep his secret of being half-dead—no big deal.

“Danny, Danny, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Listen, I want you to stop interfering with the hacking. I don’t want you or any of my loved ones in danger if it's who I think it is. I haven’t told you guys the whole truth, and if I make it out alive, I will. Until then, don’t contact me.”

“Danny, wait! What’s going—”

Danny hung up before Tucker could finish asking the question.

His phone immediately started lighting up. He turned it off. Danny moved his bed and pulled the wakizashi hidden under his floorboard; some ninja throwing stars, needles, and poison.

Danny stared at his weapons and knew he was screwed.

He could never measure up to the assassins in the League, let alone his family. He had no doubt the Al Ghuls had learned Danny had lied to them and was here to kill him and his family.

Ra’s Al Ghul did not believe in leaving loose ends.

Maybe Danny could convince his grandfather to leave the Fentons alone if he gave them all his information and let Ra’s kill Danny.

No, Danny would have to win against Ra’s. He couldn’t let the older man win; Danny knew his family would never survive if Danny died.

He didn’t know if he’d come back as a full ghost if he got killed (could he even die?), and he wasn’t willing to find out.

Besides, he no longer was the Al Ghul’s failure. He was Danny Phantom. Hero of Amity Park and the Ghost Zone. Crowned Prince of the Infinite Realms. He would win.

Danny heard a tap on his window and was met with two piercing green eyes.

They were here.

____

Once they entered Amity Park, whatever firewall kept them out went out. Suddenly, they could see everything that was happening in the small city. It disturbed Bruce.

Mentions of ‘ghosts’ attacking the town. A weatherman who predicted and announced the presence of ghosts and the Fentons on the road. The city being sucked into an alternate dimension (without the Justice League ever hearing about it), and a dead teenager taking care of the city. And the mention of a portal into the Land of the Dead, courtesy of the Fentons.

“Danyal never mentioned this portal,” Damian muttered as he looked through old letters he had.

The plane landed at 2:25 in the morning at Amity Park Airport.

It wasn’t hard to find the Fenton’s address once they were in Amity Park. Their address, phone number, and business number were public records in the small city.

The family made a plan.

They decided they would send Damian first. A (kind of) familiar face could help draw Danyal, Danny, out.

(God, it sounded like he was trying to lure out a wild animal. Though, if Danny were anything like his brother, that description wouldn’t be too far off the mark…)

“Remember, Damian, don’t engage if Danny starts attacking. It’s just talking. If he attacks you leave, and we find a different way to communicate.”

“Yes, father,” Damian said through gritted teeth. That was the fifth time his father had said the same thing. He wasn’t an imbecile.

Please, his thoughts intruded; not even an imbecile would forget they had a twin brother.

Shut up, he answered back.

Damian put on his dark clothes (not his league outfit; he threw that away a long time ago.) and the wire so his family could hear what was happening before leaving.

It wasn’t hard to find the Fenton’s house. The giant light arrow spelling out Fenton’s Work toward a house, and the big, he didn’t even know what was on top of the house, gave it away. These people weren’t subtle at all.

Damian climbed the windows. In one, there was a couple. The behemoth of a man was snoring so loudly it shook the whole room. A red-haired teenage girl slept in the next window while holding an old teddy bear. He went to the next one and froze.

For the first time in almost a decade, Damian saw his twin once more.

His back was turned to the window, but Damian saw a wakizashi in his hand. Ah, Danyal probably suspected someone was coming and thought it would be a member of the League.

Well, it was time to put his brother at ease.

Damian tapped on the window and saw blue eyes suddenly looking at him.

The two twins stared at each other for a long time. Then, Danyal adverted his gaze and went to the window. He kept the small sword in his hand.

He opened the window and let Damian in.

“Heir to the Demon’s Head, what a pleasure to be acknowledged and visited by you. To what does this Spare owe the honor?”

Once upon a time, Danyal’s subservience sent a thrill of pleasure down Damian’s spine. Now, it reminded him how far apart he had been kept from his twin. A horrid feeling twisted in his stomach and caused him physical pain.

His brother should never have been treated the way he had been by their grandfather and mother.

Damian should have never treated his brother that way.

“Danyal,” Damian said softly; his brother stiffened, “It’s okay. We are no longer loyal to the League. We are free.”

Danny didn’t dare look up. Was this a test? Was his twin testing his loyalty?

Danny’s heart rate picked up as Damian touched Danny’s shoulder.

“Brother,” Danny felt incredulous; the Heir never acknowledged the Spare as ‘brother,’ “Brother, grandfather is dead. We are free.”

Danny kept his gaze adverted. He couldn’t bring himself to hope that he was free.

Damian let his hand drop to his side.

“You don’t believe me.”

Danyal kept quiet.

Damian took a deep breath, “I have proof. He was killed in public. I brought the newspaper article.”

Damian took out the newspaper clipping and gave it to Danyal. His brother took it with shaking hands.

Danny’s breath caught as he read the title.

Ra’s Al Ghul was…dead. Danny was free! Would his brother let him stay in Amity Park? He was the heir, so he undoubtedly had taken over. Maybe if he pled his case to Damian and promised loyalty, he would let him stay with the Fentons.

Besides, Danny was the weak link of the Al Ghul line. He wasn’t a threat. Maybe Damian would grant him his wish.

Damian felt his heart twist as his twin got down on one knee, bowing his head.

“Demon’s Head, I ask you to let me stay in Amity Park. I’ll send weekly or even daily reports. Please, don’t kill the Fentons. My weakness has made me feel attached to them. If you don’t want me to stay here, please at least grant me the request of sparing their lives.”

Damian’s sadness suddenly turned to anger.

Hadn’t Danyal listened to a word he had said? They were free; they were no longer bound to the League.

“No, Danyal. The League no longer exists,” he spat out.

Danny flinched at his twin’s anger. His hold tightened on his sword.

“Bring it back a bit, baby bat,” Richard said through the comms.

Danny didn’t give any outward appearance that he heard another man’s voice calling Damian…Baby Bat?

What the fuck?

“I apologize, Danyal. My temper still gets the best of me sometimes.”

Danny couldn’t believe his ears. Damian, the Prince of the League, Heir to the Demon’s Throne, was apologizing…to Danny.

“Danyal, I left the League six years ago. I’ve been with our father.”

Father. The Batman. If what Damian was saying was true…

“Father and the rest of our siblings would like to meet you. They’re here in the city.”

…He could be free. All he had to do was convince Batman he was fine and to let him stay in Amity Park. Danny wouldn’t say anything about being Phantom, so Batman wouldn’t find any excuse to make him leave his little city.

Besides, how hard could it be to lie to the greatest detective in the world?

Danny got up, dusted his pants, and asked, “When do we leave?”

[driflew]

im talking abt witch au in a server so im posting another scene from it. this time Ren fuckign dies.

Martyn hears the fuss before he sees it. He’s looking for Ren—the dog ran off, but the sun has broken through the trees, so Martyn figures it’s not the dog he’s looking for anymore. Ren’s probably sitting naked in the forest somewhere, and as treatable as it would be, Martyn plans to find him before he catches a cold. 

“Don’t let him up—you saw how big his claws were,” says a voice Martyn only sort of recognizes, though what he says is… 

“I’m not stupid. I’m not taking any risks with this thing—I’m not catching whatever he’s got,” another voice, even less familiar. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” this voice, Martyn cannot mistake—Ren. 

Martyn steps a bit closer. He’s just outside the edge of the clearing, ducking behind a tree. Not immediately obvious to anyone in the center, though Martyn can see Ren from his hiding place. He’s surrounded by a few men—Martyn doesn’t know their names, but he knows them to be some of Ren’s neighbors. Most of them steer clear of Ren, but one has his boot on the back of Ren’s neck. 

Ren’s hands are muddy. There’s dirt under his nails and across his stomach. Hair falls around his face, and blood stains his teeth and chin. He looks like an animal, and Martyn’s heart hurts looking at him. 

“Must be full from whatever you already ate, you piece of shit,” the first voice says, and Martyn hears Ren make a choked noise of pain—the man must be increasing the pressure. “Whose blood is that?!” 

“No one’s!” Ren’s wheezing, just a bit, “I caught a deer, that’s all.” 

“A deer never satisfies a thing like you.” 

Ren is caught and there’s no doubt about it, and that means there’s nothing left Martyn can do for him. His cloak is dark, and though the rising sun means it won’t help him hide as well, it’s still effective. If Martyn slips away now, he’ll… he can… 

“My cousin had a wolfman in his town. He said it didn’t stop hunting until it had found a man big enough to chew on until the sun rose again.” 

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t,” Ren insists, “You know me, I’ve lived here since I was born. I wouldn’t. You know that!” 

Martyn tugs his hood on, biting the inside of his mouth. He needs to leave, but leaving Ren is…

“Oh, sure,” scoffs someone else, “And I knew you were human, too. But you’ve turned, and you can't trust a wolf.” 

Ren actually whimpers, a sound Martyn has only ever heard him make as the dog. It hurts to hear, but it has Martyn taking an uncertain step to the side, unsure if he wants to run away. 

He threw Ren to the wolves the first time Ren came to him in order to protect himself—he could have cured Ren, but he didn’t, wanting to keep from the magic he’d have to use for a cure being discovered and reported. 

Ren wouldn’t have reported him. He knows that now. If he’d cured Ren, this wouldn’t be happening. 

…But it is. Ren is doomed, and what can Martyn even do? He’s not a hero. He’s barely—

“Hey!” someone calls. Martyn’s head snaps up, and he locks eyes with the owner of the voice. “There’s someone else there! Who are you?!” 

Martyn takes a step back, but the nearest man grabs him by the arm, yanking him into the light. Ren twists his head under the boot on his neck, and his face pales as Martyn is dragged into the light. 

“Christ, do you mind?! Jeez!” Martyn says, shaking the man’s hand off. He brushes his sleeve, annoyed—he’s doing his absolute best to play the part of a random passerby, “What on earth is going on here? I came out to collect some medicinal herbs, and you’ve got some guy under your… is that Ren?” 

“Used to be. Wolf’s curse has him now. Who knows how long ago he turned,” someone says, “Dunno if you’ve ever really met Ren, Doctor.” 

“You’re collecting herbs, you said?” another says, “Why don’t you have any in your basket?” 

Martyn looks down and bites back a swear. All he brought was food, water, and a cloak and some loose pants for Ren—obvious ties, and a clear contradiction to his alibi. 

“Yeah, just woke up and came out for them, though I haven’t found any,” Martyn says, “Easiest to look for by sunlight.” 

“You know, Doctor, I heard something weird about you,” says the one with a shoe on Ren’s neck. Ren lets out a choked noise, another pound of pressure on his spine. “I heard you were seen with the wolf a few months ago.” 

“What? Like, Ren?” Martyn asks, playing innocent, “Sure, Ren comes to my stand, but I thought he was sick…?” 

“Not at your stand. In the night,” the man says, “I heard you’re fraternizing with rabid animals. You’re a witch.” 

Martyn laughs, a touch nervous, “A witch? No. I’m a great doctor and all, but I’m not magic.” 

“You were commanding the wolf-thing, making it obey you. Only a witch could do that,” the man insists, “Joseph’s wife saw you. She looked out the window at the awful beast and saw it knock your hood down before it submitted to your command.” 

“That’s— your friend’s wife must have mistaken me for someone else,” Martyn says. 

“My wife knows what she saw!” says a man who must be Joseph, not that Martyn cares to turn around and check which one that is. 

“You’ve been spending time with him even when he’s not in the form of a monster,” someone says, and Martyn sweats. He should have kicked Ren out, he should have decided not to check on Ren that night, he should have— 

“Martyn’s helping me with the other symptoms,” Ren’s voice cuts through Martyn’s spiraling. Martyn’s head snaps down to watch as Ren attempts to look up at his captors. “I didn’t tell him about my— my curse. He didn’t know. I didn’t tell him.”

“Doesn’t make him not a witch.” 

“He’s not!” Ren insists, “He’s a friend I lied to. Nothing else.”

“The witch was commanding him,” says another man, taking a step closer to Martyn. There’s an axe in his hand, still clean. “He must be commanding Ren now. Why else would Ren defend him?” 

“He didn’t do anything!” Ren insists, “I swear. I swear, Martyn hasn’t used any magic. Please leave him alone, please.” 

Martyn looks down at Ren begging on the ground and his stomach turns with nausea. Ren isn’t prideful, exactly, but like this he seems to have no pride at all.

It shreds Martyn inside to see him like that. Even now, it’s not his own life he’s begging for—Ren wants to protect Martyn. Christ, and Martyn had been about to leave him. 

Martyn knows how it’ll make him look, but he pulls the cloak out of his basket and steps toward Ren. 

“I’m not going to do anything,” Martyn says, holding up the cloak to show the men, “But c’mon. He’s not an animal. Ren’s always been a good man. Let him have some semblance of his dignity before you kill him.” 

“Careful,” the man with a foot on Ren says, “This isn’t Ren anymore. If you’d seen the claws on him…” 

“I’ll be careful,” Martyn says, “Just let him up a second. He’s got no claws anymore.”

The man with a foot on Ren’s neck stares, then releases their hold on him. Martyn only hesitates a moment before kneeling in front of Ren, throwing the cloak over him like a blanket. 

“Sit up,” Martyn whispers, dropping his hand to Ren’s hair. He threads his fingers through for barely a moment before removing them, “Don’t die lying down in the dirt.” 

Ren does as he’s told, sitting up and pulling the cloak around his front. He doesn’t look much better—he’s still dirty, with a bloody chin and knotted hair—but at least he can claim some small piece of pride. 

The way he looks at Martyn is devastating. This close, Martyn can see the sad, guilty eyes, the defeated hang of his shoulders. Martyn may have known he was doomed when he saw him here, but it’s another thing to see defeat so obvious on the face of someone so stubborn and headstrong as Ren. 

Martyn actually gets up and takes a step back—he can’t be that close to Ren looking at him like that. 

The man who had been standing on Ren earlier drops his sword down, holding the edge below Ren’s neck. Ren doesn’t flinch—less an admirable display of courage, and more a simple acceptance of what’s to come. 

“So, Doctor, why did you have that with you?” the man asks, “You’re already wearing a cloak. You wouldn’t carry it unless you knew someone would need it.” 

Martyn looks at his basket. There’s still a pair of pants in there, making his alibi tricky. 

“I did know he’d need it,” Martyn admits, quiet. 

“I told him. I asked him to bring it. I didn’t tell him why,” Ren lies again, fingers tight on the edge of the cloak. 

“Like hell! He was with you, wasn’t he?!” the man says. 

“The wolf defending him is proof. He must be brainwashed by the witch’s magic,” another man says. 

“Monsters have to stick together. Just get rid of them both!” 

“No,” Martyn says, “Look, Ren, I appreciate you lying for me, but you don’t have to. I did know about Ren’s affliction, but we were treating it as just that—an illness. I’ve been trying to help him treat it for the past few months. I never commanded him, never spent a night with him, but we’ve tried a few medicines to lessen the effects of the moon on him and keep him in check. I knew, but not because I’m a witch. I’m a doctor, and Ren came to me as a patient looking for a cure. That’s all.”

“Why wouldn’t you just report him?!” 

“Like I said,” Martyn says, taking another step back, “Ren’s always been a good man.”

Someone grabs Martyn’s arm, stopping him from moving any further back. 

“Good enough to make yourself this damn suspicious for?” he asks, “Because the way I see it, you protected him ‘cuz you’re a witch, and he’s your bitch.”

Martyn resists the urge to cringe at the taunt, trying his best to maintain that aloof doctor facade he’s been wearing so effortlessly for years. He scoffs, folding his arms. 

“No one is good enough to make myself this suspicious over. Especially not some wolfman I just met,” Martyn says, “But could you imagine how much money I’d have made if I’d actually cured him? There’s no one else in the world who could do that. I could charge anything I wanted for it. I saw the chance and I took it, but clearly, it hasn’t paid off.”

Ren says nothing, face unreadable, and Martyn scrambles to make it clear he’s lying. 

“Hell,” Martyn adds, gesturing one arm at Ren, “I could charge Ren anything I wanted. He couldn’t not pay what I asked—at best, I would stop trying to cure him. At worst, I could report what he was to everyone. Shame it had to end this way, though.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” Ren whispers. There’s a venom to it Martyn has never seen from Ren before, far more convincing than Martyn expects. Ren’s head snaps up, and the pain in his eyes has a fire behind it now, “You were supposed to help me!” 

“I would’ve! But I don’t want to be a small town doctor forever,” Martyn says, “The city’s much nicer. I almost have enough to open my own practice, and a few more, er… we’ll say treatments for you would have helped a lot. Especially if any of them had actually worked.”

“Is that all you wanted from me? My money?” Ren asks. 

“I mean, sure. What’s a wolfman need with money, anyway?” Martyn asks, “Your lot never live long. Do you mind if I collect your estate after this? It’s not much anymore, but it’d be really nice to sell the rest.”

“Bastard,” Ren spits. 

“That doesn’t sound like a no,” Martyn says, and Ren bares his teeth into a snarl. Almost immediately, the sword at his neck cuts into his flesh, turning his growl into a sound of pain. 

“Stop riling him up,” the man says, “We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Right,” Martyn says, putting up his arms and taking another step back. If they knew Ren like he does, they’d know the answer is nothing. Ren wouldn’t hurt any of them. 

Not that Ren defends himself. He keeps glaring at Martyn, and though it hurts, it’s better than the despair. 

“We need him dead. We’ve stalled long enough already,” the man holding Martyn’s arm says. 

“Just run him through already!” says someone behind him. 

“Drown him, wolves can’t swim,” 

“Yes they can! You have to burn them.” 

“That’s witches, idiot!” 

Ren seems a bit paler as they argue. Martyn can only imagine how he feels—these are neighbors he’s known all his life, and now they’re debating his manner of death right in front of him. It’s the end of the line, and a gruesome one at that. 

“No! All of you are wrong. You have to cut its head off,” someone else yells, “Wolfmen are sturdy, they don’t die any other way.” 

“Hey, Doctor,” the man with the sword says. “Do you ever treat animals?”

“Occasionally,” Martyn says, unsure if he likes the question. 

“Have you ever put down a dog?”

“What?” Martyn asks. His callous costume slips for a moment, though he’s quick to put it back on. “Sure, once or twice. I don’t usually bother with treating dogs, though.” 

“You bothered with a wolf.” 

“A lucrative wolf. People don’t pay as much for dogs as they would themselves,” Martyn says, “Medicine doesn’t generalize that much, you know. I don’t know how to treat anything on an animal beyond stitching up a wound.”

“Sure, sure,” the man says, “But everything dies the same. Even wolfmen. Even witches.”

Martyn narrows his eyes. “I’m not a witch.”

“Prove it, then,” the man says. He pulls his sword away, offering it to Martyn. “Kill the wolfman. If he really means nothing to you, it should be easy. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re a witch in league with him.”

“I don’t even know how to, to— what do you even want me to do?” Martyn asks. 

“You’ve chopped firewood, haven’t you?” the man asks, “It’s probably like that.”

Martyn stares at Ren a long time, but Ren isn’t looking at him. His knuckles are white, and at the hem, his hand shakes. 

If Martyn can do nothing else for Ren, he can at least make this quick. 

“If it’s like firewood,” Martyn says, “Give me an axe.”

— — —

They set Ren up on an old stump. It’s a bit too tall, and the position he takes the lean his neck against it is awkward, undignified. Most of what they do leading up to his death is—letting him keep the cloak is the only reprieve they afford him. No one lets him wipe the blood from his mouth or pull the twigs from his hair. He’s barely even let off the ground to move to his chopping block—it would be too easy to run on his own two feet, and so he’s made to crawl. 

Martyn is the final person willing to even to use Ren’s name. 

“Part your hair, Ren,” Martyn instructs, “I don’t want to miss.” 

Ren is allowed to do that, at least, pulling his hair away to clear up the skin there. Martyn tugs down the back of the cloak himself, letting his fingers linger at the base of Ren’s spine, looking at what, exactly, he’s about to do. 

His throat is pressed against old bark, putting him at an odd angle. Martyn says nothing, another of many decisions he’ll come to regret. 

“Okay,” Martyn mutters, lifting the axe, “Any last words?”

Ren closes his eyes. “I’ll see you in Hell, Doctor.” 

It should sound like an insult, but Martyn knows it isn’t. It doesn’t make it any easier. 

Martyn swings. The angle is crooked, diagonal against Ren’s bent neck. Martyn knows he’s fucked it when he hears the sound Ren makes: a choked scream, loud enough to startle the birds and as pained as it is wet. 

Martyn rips the axe out of his flesh. Blood streams down the blade and onto the cloak, but Martyn ignores it. Ren begins to sag and Martyn panics, slamming it back down. This angle is worse, and Ren cries a second time. His body shudders, patches of hair appearing on his shoulders and down his arms. There’s shouting behind Martyn, but he doesn’t process the words.  

Ren is in pain. The wolf has only ever wanted to protect him, to soothe him. He’s scared and in pain and the wolf wants to help and it’s Martyn that’s causing it. 

Martyn slams the axe down a third time. Ren makes no noise, at least, or maybe it’s drowned out by the splatter of blood, or the axe hitting bone, or bark snapping under the grip of Ren’s claws. 

Martyn’s hands and chest and legs are covered in it. He’ll probably never feel clean again. 

Rip. Raise. Swing. Rip. Raise. Swing. 

It takes a total of five blows before Martyn hits wood, Ren’s head falling away onto the dirt. 

His body slumps against the wood, leaving blood smeared all down the bark. Like a spider’s legs curling in death, the claws and fur retract as the life leaves him. He looks smaller like that, crumpled against the ground. 

He’s dead. Ren is dead, and Martyn murdered him. 

Martyn processes very little about the next few moments. He’s only seen a few bodies in his life, but this is the worst yet. Ren had been kind beyond anyone Martyn had ever met, and Martyn had killed him. If Martyn had cured him, if Martyn had sedated him, if Martyn had stepped in and saved him, if—

“—tor, Doctor!” Martyn snaps back to attention. The man with the sword is in front of him, and he actually looks concerned. 

“He’s— I’m so, you—” Martyn doesn’t know what he’s saying. Ren is dead and he wants to apologize and he wants to curse this man’s entire bloodline to ends twice as gruesome and violent. He feels small, smaller than Ren against that stump. He feels like a kid again, trying not to sob as he’s carried away from Jay’s smoldering house. His vision is blurring already, and his hands are shaking so bad that he can barely hold the axe. 

“Jesus, you look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I am,” Martyn says, honest. He hears the axe fall to the ground, though he’s not aware of letting it go. 

“Haven’t you, like, done surgery?” the man asks. 

“That— it’s, not like that,” Martyn says, “They don’t— they don't bleed that much. They’re not— they don’t feel— they don’t make noise.”

He hears someone behind him say something like ‘can’t be a witch with such a weak stomach.’ Jay had a weak stomach, too. Was no good at hurting anyone, not even if he wanted to. Not even to defend himself. 

Just like Ren. Not like Martyn. 

Martyn had always thought, if he’d only had the power he has now, he’d have leapt to Jay’s defense. He’s always told himself he’d have saved the only person who ever loved him, comforted himself with versions of the world where he and Jay escaped. 

Ren didn’t love him, but Ren had made himself the only other person who’d gotten so far as to like him. And Martyn hadn’t just let him die, no—Martyn had killed Ren himself. 

What was the point of all this power if Martyn is still a coward? How did he let it happen again? When did he lose sight of what he’d gained it all for?

What can he do with it now? 

“Take a seat, man,” the man says, and Martyn shakes his head—if he sits now, he’ll never get the nerve to move again. 

What can he do with his magic? There must be some way to fix this. Martyn is a healer, better than any other. There must be some spell for sutures or blood or bone, something that could fix this, something that could bring Ren back to h— 

…Something that could bring Ren back. 

Martyn looks up, finally meeting the man’s eyes. He’s still shaking, but he gathers what determination he can. 

“Let— let me bury him,” Martyn says. 

“What?”

“Let me,” Martyn tries again, trying to keep his voice from trembling, “Let me bury him.”

“Why the hell would you bury a wolfman?”

“So he, his body,” Martyn’s determined, but the adrenaline in his body has him scrambled. It’s hard to think, to speak, “It’ll infect the, the wolves, if— if they eat it, the local wolves, they’ll, if we just—”

The man raises a hand, cutting him off.

“So we’ll burn it,” the man says. Martyn shakes his head. 

“I need to, to be the one to,” Martyn says, and when he can’t explain himself, he tacks on the one bit of magic even humans recognize: “Please.” 

“No graveyard will take a wolfman,” the man says. 

“I’ll bury him out here,” Martyn says, “Please.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” the man asks, “Don’t tell me you feel guilty.”

“I’ve never— I’ve never lost a patient before,” Martyn says, almost a whisper. The man’s face actually softens. He believes Martyn to be a human doctor, after all, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He sets a hand on Martyn’s shoulder, sympathetic. 

“I know he looked human, but that thing wasn't human anymore,” he says, “You don’t have to feel bad. It was us or him.”

Martyn doesn’t want to be us with this man. Being safe with these people isn’t worth this. It wasn’t worth Jay. Martyn has paid so steeply for this safety and belonging, and it was never worth a goddamned thing. 

“Ren’s always— always been a good man,” Martyn says, “Just— I need to do this. Let me do this. Please.”

The man sighs, squeezing Martyn’s shoulder. “If this is what you need to sleep tonight.”

It isn’t. If only it were so simple as ever sleeping again. 

“Thank you,” Martyn says anyway. 

— — —

The first thing Martyn does is close Ren’s eyes. 

He doesn’t look at them. He has no idea what Ren’s expression looks like because he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t check, instead focusing on picking him up. 

He picks Ren’s head up first, gentle, respectful as he can be. He doesn’t take Ren by his hair or hold him by the face, instead cupping Ren’s chin in his hands. Ren’s hair cascades down his arms unobstructed, wet strands and the drenched wound coating Martyn’s sleeves in even more blood. 

Next, Martyn empties the basket. That’s careless—Martyn dumps everything on the ground without even looking. The only thing he picks back up is the pants, which he lays down on the base of the basket, just to give Ren a bit of a cushion when he rests him inside. 

Martyn sets his head down gently, leaning on his cheek. Though he tries to put Ren’s hair inside the basket, plenty of it spills out over the edges. 

Once Ren is secure, he sets the basket in the crook of his arm, and he moves to the rest of him. 

Ren’s body is still curled against the stump. The bleeding has slowed, but it hasn’t stopped entirely.

First, Martyn lays Ren’s body on his back. He covers Ren as best he can with the cloak, wrapping him carefully in the dark fabric. It’s difficult to see blood on, at least, though his stained neck is impossible to miss. Martyn has to be careful as he bends down, hooking his arms under Ren’s knees and back without tipping Ren’s head out of his basket. 

Ren is light when Martyn finally stands. Martyn’s already exhausted—staying up all night hadn’t done him any favors, nor had his awful morning—but he notices that. Ren had been a lumberjack before he… got sick. He must’ve lost the muscle at some point, though Martyn hadn’t noticed. 

Martyn rubs his thumb against Ren’s shoulder through the fabric of his cloak. His body is still warm. 

“It’s going to be okay, Ren,” he whispers, unable to care about being overheard. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

He doesn’t apologize—as much as he wants to, Martyn holds his tongue. Now isn’t the time for apologies. 

Martyn will save it until Ren can hear it.

[lolita-lollipop]

broken glass

UVOGIN X READER

warnings: yandere(stalking implied), reader is not okay, bad upbringing, kidnapping.

Kinda long but it’s okay

———————————————————————

Ever since you were nothing but a child, the world had chosen to bring you misfortune. A dead mother, a father who is would love you if alcohol didn’t exist, a lack of friends, or family, or anybody who cared.

Your life was an endless cycle of misery and misfortune. You were cursed with the worst luck possible.

As a girl you were bullied, living in a small town the knowledge that your mother was killed brutally spread fast, and the kids at school would take anything to fuck somebody up. It only got worse when your dad did nothing to stop it. So you grew up an outsider, somebody completely alienated from the rest of the people your age.

The worst part about it, was that there was nothing you could do to fix it. You were strong enough to fight them back and win, nor were you smart enough to get them caught by the schools or their parents. So you had to live with it.

Your unlucky tendencies carried with you all the way into adulthood. You had somehow managed to get into a good college, miles and miles away from your small hometown, where your past couldn’t follow you. But by that time you had no clue how to socialize like a normal person, so you only made a few friends in your first year. Even so, your life was going better than it ever had, you had more friends than you’d ever accomplished to make in your childhood, your roommate cared for you, being much older and much wiser. And you were happy.

Then, you got a call. From the exact person you had been avoiding since you stepped foot out of that awful town. That awful place.

“Y/n… I’m sick” your father sounded older, his voice was scratchy and weak now. Probably from the endless amount of cigarettes he smoked, you knew that your dad would never call you unless he actually needed you. He hadn’t even tried to contact you since you left, barely caring enough to send you a happy birthday text. You were a last resort to him, that much you knew for certain.

“And.”

“I need you to come back. To come home. My legs, my legs don’t work anymore. Please baby…I miss you.” You could hear the lies dripping from every word he spoke, that’s the sweet tone you had only ever heard from your father when he wanted something. Usually it was something as minuscule as money or whiskey or weed. Like usual, he knew you didn’t know how to say no to him when he dangled that ghost of affection in your face. And like usual, you chased after it like an idiot.

That’s what you were, an idiot. You knew ut, your father knew it. Who would go back to a life of misery, back to a town filled with only sad memories, of pain. Who would be stupid enough to fall for the manipulation of an old man who barely raised you? You would.

So, you packed your stuff up from your dorm, opting for the online classes your college offered. And prepared for the long drive home in an old car you bought for half the already low price.

And here you were. Standing in your local grocery store , in your pajamas, trying to decide if you had enough money for snacks for the drive home. Bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, a heavy weight pulling down on your shoulders as you accepted your fate, doomed to a small town full of bullies and lying snakes.

The melancholy of your situation weighed down on you, showing on your face, the frown lines deepening as you sucked yourself deeper into a depressive black hole. Blankly staring at the small bags of corn chips and popcorn, you let your shoulders sag. Exhaustion reading on your posture. You didn’t know how long you were standing there, nor did you care. Not until a string band tapped your shoulder a few times, sending your head to snap up, and your eyes to snap out of it.

“You alright there doll? Ya look a little bit… dead” a gruff voice spoke, it was scratchy and rough. Not in the way your fathers was (withered with age and years of vices), but natural. Husky. Pulling yourself up from your spacing out, you straightened your back, screaming your neck up to see him. The man was fucking giant, taller than anybody you had ever seen before, with tattoos speckling his neck and arms. You stood there for a few moments, staring in awe at the man whom you hadn’t realized was actually pretty terrifying in person. Maybe you were just tired, or stressed, or scared, but the way he stared made you want sink into your own skin and disappear. It was unsettling, how his stare weighed down on your shoulders and pulled you back away from him.

“Uhh- Yeah man. I’m good.” You spoke in your quiet voice, pulling your shoulder as far away from his hand as you could. You sent him a tight lipped smile, and returns to your decision between what bagged snack you would pick. You tried to ignore him, who stayed put in his spot next to you despite your obvious dismissal to his advance on a conversation.

You spotted him in your peripheral vision, staring at you. That heavy feeling never left you, and the longer the giant man stayed there, the heavier and heavier it weighed down.

“The popcorn is gross here. It comes stale even in a sealed bag. I wouldn’t get it if ya don’t wanna feel sick tommorow” he spoke again, leaning down to be at your eye level. You glanced back at him, remaining indifferent despite your ever-quickening heartbeat. His eyes were still focused on yours, while your pen glanced over his physical appearance.

It wasn’t just his height that made yoh hneasy, he was wide in a muscular way, with a beard that put the men of your hometown to shame. There were slight twinges of Greg throughout his long hair, and while he was well kept and smelled nice, he had messy, almost unhinged undertone. And yoh had managed to gather all of that without even talking to him much. You gave another right smile, before throwing the chips back and placing the popcorn in your basket (doing it almost to spite the man) among the advil and energy drinks. You almost missed the way his eyes scanned over your cart. Almost.

“Thanks” with that, you were off, trudging your way to the front of the store with your basket in tow, you heard a pair of heavy footsteps behind you, and the cashier glanced up for a couple seconds. A recognizable look of fear flashed on her face for no longer than a moment, before the bells of the front doors let out a cheery jingle. And the man was gone.

The repetitive beep of the checkout machine rang through the storefront, as the woman made no move to strike up a conversation with you, her eyebags sinking almost worse than your own. You had almost worked here at some point, when you first arrived to the big city. You were glad you didn’t now, as you didn’t want to be subjected to whatever this pooor woman clearly had been through.

She just kept beeping through your groceries, bagging them up, and setting them off to the side for you to grab. When she was finally finished she placed the pricing machine down and stared at yoj like she was waiting for something, you pulled your card out of your pocket and gave it to her, but she immediately handed it right back. You sighed, partially in confusion and partially of exhaustion. Of all times, now was not the moments for somebody to mess with you, at two AM at a stupid grocery store. You stared right back as she held the card out to you, waiting for you to grab it.

“He paid for your shit. Just take it”

Huh

Strange.

———

That night you went home with a weird feeling in your stomach, you know when something feels like it’s gonna go wrong? Yeah. That. You chose to blame it on your father, knowing that you would not be met with a joyful arrival home.

The feeling stuck with you all along the drive to your little stupid house in the middle of nowhere, the popcorn you had bought did actually end up being gross, but it didn’t change the satisfaction you got from denying that man of you following his advice. Your radio was cutting in and out, your car was on the verge of breaking down, and your ac didn’t work anymore, leaving you sweaty and sticky in your car.

You weren’t wrong in assuming that it wouldn’t be a happy “welcome home”, it would’ve been nice yeah, but it wasn’t a surprise when you pulled up to your house and there was no short outside. The dead grass of your front yard, and withering plants of what once was your guarden spoke for itself how your father had been taking care of the property. Leafy vines had started to overtake the front wall of your home, the place looked abandoned. Sad.

After a few deep breaths of preparation for whatever fight that was about to come, you hopped out of your truck and began the short truck to your front door. The small glass frame above it was smashed with many small cracks across the surface.

It was sad really. The house once looked somewhat presentable, none of the houses in the area looked to be well kept or highly perfected in the visual category, they never looked that way, but at least you could tell it was a home for someone whether it be the old lady next door with kids who don't care about her and more debt she could handle, or the couple across the street you used to hear screaming at each other through the night. Somebody really lived in those homes, your house looked like an empty shell.

The pavement leading up to the front door was cracked and probably permanently stained with dirt or paint or blood or alcohol, the little garden you used to try to keep alive while you were little was shriveled and blackened by the sun, no lights were on in the house, and it was dead silent. You hated this place, you hated that you were back here, you hated that you still cared for this empty pit of shame and misery of a home. Cared for a man that had hurt you so very many times.

Approaching the door, you didn't even care to knock or ring the bell, the electricity in your house had long been cut off so it wouldnt matter, and if your father was expecting you he wouldnt mind if you just walked in. It was your house, anyway. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you let a deep breath calm down your running heart and pushed it open.

…

Unsurprisingly, the house was dead silent, a creak resonating through the open space as the noise bounced wall to wall. You could hear your heartbeat as you walked over the rest of the broken glass from the window, leaving quiet crunches under your feet. Just breathing the air in your home sent awful memories of childhood to race across your brain, it smelled like your dad, like alcohol and cigarettes and unhappiness and anger. It even looked miserable in here, almost just as bad, if not worse, than outside.

Flicking on your phone flashlight, little flecks of broken glass reflected the light, they were scattered across the entire house, maybe from the broken front window, maybe from other windows in the house. Your dad was never one for cleaning, knowing him he must've gotten upset and broken a couple. With no one else to clean it, he probably left it there. That's how he is, how he's always been. Why did you love him? How stupid were you?

“Dad?” you called, but it echoed through the home. You now realize just how empty it truly was, no more furniture was scattered here or there or anywhere, it was just empty and sad. Fitting. Really fucking fitting.

“Dad? You called me?” You called once more, still only getting the creaks of the old house in return. You took another deep breath, the smell was starting to get to you, this was supposed to be easier for you now, you were an independent woman now, and the smell of your childhood home shouldn't have you spiraling like it did. You shouldn't have come here.

“I drove all the way out here for you. If you weren't gonna show you could've just called me. Go to hell, asshole.” still awaiting an answer. You knew he wasn't here, and you certainly knew it was stupid to talk to an empty house, but you wasted gas and good money for this. Wasted money on a man who didn't even care enough to show his face. Wasted money to go back to a life you've been clawing to escape from.

You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

It hurt to be here, genuinely, the floors felt like they were trying to soak you up and suffocate you, the walls felt like they were closing in, and the ceilings felt like they were slowly crushing you. What were you supposed to do? You spent so long running away from this place, how could you let yourself be dragged back here, especially for no reason?

Your eyes fell to your feet, sucking in air as best as you could, you tried your hardest to keep your soft cries from turning into sobs. There wasn't anybody to hide your tears from, but it felt wrong, you shouldn't let yourself be this upset. You know.

Your cries halted when you spotted a dark patch of carpet in between the space where your feet were planted, not tears or water or even alcohol, it was bright red. Blood, and not the kind that's gone brown because it's been sitting for so long. This was new, recent blood. The dead silence of the house now had you frozen in spot. Could somebody have broken in? Your eyes followed a now obvious trail of spots leading toward your mom's old bedroom.

They slept in different rooms before she died, whether it was because they hated or other or were scared of each other (or both) he never went in there. Never.

You should leave. Shouldn't you? You should leave, he's not your problem anymore, he abandoned you when you were little, and kicked you to the curb. He deserved whatever was coming to him, he had it coming. You should leave, you should leave, you should leave, you should leave.

…

But you can't.

Even though you were actively willing to run out the front door, you just couldn't find it in you to leave. Pathetic. You knew, but this is how it was, this is how it was always meant to be. He calls and you answer, no matter how fucked up it was.

So, instead of making a haste bolt for the door or any of the broken windows, you slowly crept closer and closer to the bedroom where you said goodbye to your mother, your breath was shallow and unmanageable, almost worse than your uncontrollable heartbeat, whatever was behind the door was surely not pretty.

It took you a few moments to work up the courage to even touch the doorknob, hand quivering along the way there. You waited, the last time you were in this room was over 10 years ago, you couldn't even remember what it looked like, what your mother looked like. You were being stupid weren't you, it was just a room, probably empty by now, furniture either stolen or sold like the rest of the house. inhaling, you twisted, and pushed the door open.

To reveal… absolutely nothing. Just an empty room with the same exact smell as the rest of the house, a puddle of blood sat in the middle of the room, but nobody, no person or animal or thing that could bleed. Just an empty, meaningless room. Just like the rest of the house. You let out a sigh of relief at the uneventfulness of the failed search, that wasn't so bad, you were fine.

Were you? A loud creak echoed through the short hallway behind you, and you made a motion to turn around.

Hands were on you before you could even breathe again. One covering your mouth, and one firmly planted on your shoulder. Huge hands, bigger than your fathers for sure, calloused and strong, scarily strong. Whoever this was smelled familiar, vaguely familiar, not like someone you knew closely. The shock from him grabbing you forced your phone to fall out of your grip. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god

You should have gone home, you should've cursed out your father and left. You shouldn't have been curious or caring or kind… you lived in a bad neighborhood, people died left and right, and the police couldn't give less of a shit what happens here. You were going to die, you were going to die in the same house you grew up in, the same house you cried and hurt and screamed in. What a sad ending, to think you were finally starting to get your life on somewhat of a track, only to die at the hands of a stranger. Fuc-

“Stop thinking so hard, I’m not gonna hurt you” a gruff voice spoke behind you, deep and dark and powerful. You started crying the second he spoke, your heart beating faster than your body should be able to take. Whoever this was, was not somebody you would ever want to mess with, they sounded more authoritative than you could ever even wish to be. You couldn't stop your heart from clenching out of fear, couldn't stop the tears from dripping down your face, couldn't breathe right.

“You don't need to cry… I said I wasn't gonna hurt you” One of his fingers strayed from your mouth to wipe tears away, but it did nothing to stop fear from overtaking your senses or forcing out sobs and cries from your lips. You were positive that your entire body was quivering and shaking, you couldn't feel it, too scared to think about anything other than death, but you knew it was naturally happening. You heard him let out a sigh from behind you (even his breathing was harsh and rough) before his arm hooked under your knees and pulled you flush against him.

“I’ve never been this close to you before, I’ve been waiting for this one for a while. We met when we were kids ya know, you looked so… empty, miserable, tired, fucking empty. You still do, you're just better at hiding it. I've been watching, it since then. You're just too nice for your good.” your cries increased as he spoke, you didn't struggle or scratch or scream, just cried. He was too strong for it to matter if you did.

He chuckled as you kept crying, by now he had begun to walk to the front door.

“Don't make a scene, if anybody notices, they're dead.” The words he spoke were so nonchalant, but still so terrifying that it had you struggling to breathe. He broke the front door open with his foot and pushed his way through the doorway, he hit his head on the top as he went through, that must be why the glass was broken.

You were frozen in his arms as he continued to carry you, the sun now lit up your surroundings, showing exactly who your captor was, now it made sense why you mildly recognized him. He was the man from the grocery store, you should've known by the way he spoke, you should've recognized that voice anywhere. HE caught your gaze as you stared at him, giving you a toothy smile. His canines were scarily sharp, and now that you can get a closer look this man was even more terrifying. His bear, his eyes, his teeth, everything about him screamed danger. You stiffened as you stared at him, why why why why why why why You shouldn't have fucking come here.

“Quit looking so scared of me. God you're stiff as a board, I forgot how jumpy you were. It's been a while since I’ve seen you this scared, not since the incident at the coffee shop-” Who does he think he is? Talking just like he knows you like he's had any kind of conversation with you before that wasn't about popcorn at a stupid stupid grocery store. What were you supposed to do? You fully believed that he was the type of man to kill anybody who tried to stop him, even then nobody would (people in this neighborhood learned to keep their mouths shut), and he was much much stronger than you. You just… you just had to give up. There was no winning, not against him, not here.

The thought alone made you want to curl up and die.

Pathetic.

“Don't worry though, You're scared and I get it. But you'll get used to me. I’ll treat you real good, buy you things you’ve never had before. “ Your breath hitched and you quivered as he continued to blabber on and on about what kind of house he had, he tucked you into the passenger seat of some kind of black fancy car, got into the driver's seat, and proceeded to drive away—no more explanation than that. You couldn't do anything more than stare at him with those wide eyes of yours, he was watching you too intensely for you to try and throw yourself out of the car, and even then you doubted you would get very far before he caught you.

So you awkwardly sat in the leather seats of the fancy-ass car, tears still freely flowing as you sat, waiting for this man to take you to some alleyway and murder you. You picked at your fingernails, eyes darting around the interior of the car, it was clean and neat and looked to be stupidly expensive, everything that man wasn't. Who is that man anyway?

Almost as if reading your mind, the man brought a hand up to wipe the tears from your face, only to end up cupping your cheek and staring at you for a while as he drove.

“The name’s Uvogin, and I’m madly in love with you”

———————————————————————

Hey pookie s I’m back, this has been in my wanna write list for a LONG time. But it’s now so it’s fine. I’m kinda weak in the knees for the entire phantom troupe so tell me what you think.

Sorry for the long delay:) but I’m back now

Have a great day today, bye!