#i'm freezing half to death. something is very wrong with my fingers i fear.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

from running a simple errand to getting stuck at the boba store to being stopped by four (yes, four) tramline workers and fined for not having my card on me!! what an absolute day i've had!!

[ssson-of-sparda]

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - PART 2 (DANTE X FEM!READER)

Summary: When Dante shows up, Patty finally learns how things ended between Y/N and him but that's not the kind of ending she likes. (Part 5 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tags: Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Angst / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't wait to read your thoughts about it. Is it the end you expected? How did you imagine it? Tell me everything. I'm all ears

Patty dared peeping from above the headrest of the couch when the woman opened the door, definitely curious to see the two adults’ reactions when they would finally see each other – though she still feared Dante’s wrath a little.                 But when she finally saw them face-to-face, this couple she had been imagining – and rooting for - for weeks, she didn’t care about her friend’s anger or disappointment - He would definitely thank her later - . They looked so perfect, like coming from an episode of one of those telenovelas she loved so much. Dante was towering Y/N perfectly and she was so pretty. And the lighting.  Gosh “Like a scene from a movie.” She sighed. If only she could read their minds right now.      “There you are, young lady!” Dante declared with a menacing finger as he entered the house            “Hi Dante! What are you doing here?” Patty tried to play innocent but there was something in her voice that couldn’t fool Dante. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought this annoying little brat would dare come here … or steal my stuff.”  “That’s alright, Dante. We were having fun actually. And at least, that girl dared visit me … unlike someone else.” Dante definitely felt that sting and he knew he deserved it. “How long has it been?” “A while.” He said, pretending to be casual even though he had the right amount of years and months in mind. “And this day never happened. Come on, Patty. Let’s go.”             No, no, no. This couldn’t end like that. Patty thought. Not after all this time. “Can I at least finish my tea please?”                  “ I’ll buy you a tea on the way back to Red Grave. Let’s go!” Dante insisted as he came closer to the girl to grab her by the arm and drag her away from Y/N’s place as fast as possible. “Right. Like I’m going to believe you. You never buy me anything, even when you owe me.” Y/N smiled while Dante sighed deeply. “Damn it.”                  “ Plus, you still owe me a trip to the beach.”   “ Alright. I’ll take you to the beach. You happy? Now let’s go.” He tried to pull her from the sofa but the girl resisted.             “ Or … you can let Y/N finish her story.” Patty suggested. Dante glanced at Y/N whom he hadn’t seen go to the kitchen to prepare him a strawberry sundae. “Actually I’d prefer that. Y/N can you continue your story, please?”   “ Well, maybe Dante can tell you so that you can finally erase his tab while I’m making this devil a strawberry sundae. Topped with a cherry and two pink wafers, is that it?”           “I don’t know. You’re the pro.” He had a faint smile at her that Patty noticed and beamed at. About time. “Where did you stop you damn story?”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 2

Dante was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, a magazine covering his face while he was listening to some good old school metal on the jukebox he had just acquired when the damn machine starting to sizzle and shake. “You gotta be kidding me.” Dante complained and, with a deep sigh, got up from his chair to kick the jukebox like Y/N had once taught him. “Funny how those machines always need a good kick to work.”          When he thought of his beloved girlfriend and realised how late it was, he wondered how the hell she had not arrived yet. It was very dark outside and the clock was striking one. The restaurant should be closed by now and Y/N should have been in his arms at least an hour ago, naked preferably.

Not sure Patty needs to know that.

Worry tied Dante’s stomach in a knot in spite of his sleepy brain screaming at him not to be paranoid. “Relax, Dante. She’s probably helping clean the kitchen or something”, he told himself     And yet, tired of repeating this sentence over and over again in his head, he decided to grab his coat and head to the diner. Better be paranoid and look like fool rather than wait here and worry one more second. Plus, he had waited long enough already and he had made a fool of himself in front of Y/N more than once. So what was one more time, huh?

But when Dante arrived at the restaurant and found it empty and dark, he wished he looked like a paranoid fool. But he was not paranoid and he was not a fool. He was terrified and alert in ways he hadn’t been for years. “Please be okay.” He whispered as he entered the place, feeling once again like a little boy hidden in a cupboard, crying for mommy and his brother. A ghastly feeling for someone who had spent years burying his past deep in his armoured heart as a promise … a dying wish.

Dante climbed the stairs quickly, very quickly and yet not quickly enough to his taste, only to stop and freeze at the sight and smell of warm blood on the wooden floor. But there was not just iron and salt flowing to his nostrils, there was this stench, rotting and disgusting, a stench only his demon sense could pick but that would soon be unbearable for humans too, he was sure of it. The stench of decaying corpses.

The son of Sparda never really liked Y/N’s parents. He actually lost almost all sort of respect for them the second they insulted him and made him understand they would never approve of him or of his relationship with their precious daughter. But when he saw them both, drenched in blood and completely ripped apart, their broken bodies lying on the floor of in their bedroom, he couldn’t help but feel sadness and compassion especially for the woman who was standing in the corner of the room, petrified and in tears, her small feminine frame strongly hold in a demonic grip. A nightmarish vision that had been scaring Dante for too long.               “Took you long enough… Son of Sparda.” The demon said with a calm and yet menacing cavernous voice that would make anyone tremble in fear. But that wasn’t the sound of his voice that made Dante afraid – because yes he was afraid –

You? Afraid? Rrr, shut up!

It was the sight of the woman he loved so close to that monster’s sharp claws.           The half-demon squinted at the devil before him, at his cloaked silhouette hidden in the darkness, trying to hide his fear, turning it into a nonchalant and over-confident mask he knew how to wear better than anything else (except his red leather jacket) but that somehow didn’t look as convincing as usual. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Sparda may have a son. But that's not me.”          “Tony, what’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was shaking just like the rest of her body.            “It’s alright, baby. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He had too.        “You can try and pretend to be someone else. But I know who you are. Dante, Son of Sparda. And soon, your blood will flow for what your father did to my master.” Usually, that same old routine would have made Dante scoff and slice that creature in two for he was used to demons coming at him with pathetic threats and silly villain monologues. But today, what was at stake was simply way too important for impulsiveness.           “And who would that master be?”         “The one true king of the underworld. Mundus.”

Dante had heard that name before, long ago, in something that was now a long-time memory. Mundus was the villain of his favourite bedtime story, the one his father would always tell him and Vergil before going to sleep, when they were nothing but kids tucked in their beds.            Mundus. He remembered how that name would make him fidget and jump in anticipation and how his big brother in the bed under his would always kick him through the mattress to make him stop wriggling like a hyperactive goldfish out of water.            Mundus, the so-called Prince of Darkness Sparda had cast away and locked in the underworld a long long time ago to free the human world from his diabolical tyranny. Never thought he would have ever heard about him in another context though.

“Oh. That dude. Thought he would be dead by now… like you soon will be”    “Cocky, just like that filthy betrayer Sparda.” The demon smiled, showing short pointy black fangs that yet shone in the dim moonlight. “And in love with a human, just like he was. It would be a shame …” He grabbed a strand of Y/N’s (colour) hair to toy with it with a vicious smirk, making the young woman shiver even more. “… if something were to happen to her the same way something happened to your slut mother” Dante felt his jaw clench tight and his nails pierce the flesh of his palms. The rage, it was slowly yet surely eating at him.               “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! And don’t you dare lay even just a finger on Y/N!” Dante growled, not realising he had just given his identity up. But the black demon did and with a satisfied smile, he cupped Y/N’s face in between his vile sharp claws to burry his long nose in Dante lover’s soft hair and smell her human perfume that was oh so exquisite to him. An intended provocation and an effective one.      “How chivalrous! How noble! I’m sure your father would have said the same thing…” Dante frowned and clenched his fists even tighter, trying to stay put and in control, trying desperately to resist the powerful will to pounce on that demon and impale him on his sword and spill his guts on the floor. He knew he had too because he knew that the reaction he thought so much about was exactly what that monster wanted.           He was trying to infuriate him, to make him reckless and stop thinking rationally so that he would have him at a possible advantage when he let his rage have the best of him. Provocation at its finest. A strategy Dante knew all about. “… had he been here when I and my fellow demons tore her apart.” Yes, he knew all about it and yet... “Mundus says farewell, hybrid filth.” He suddenly stopped caring about what he knew.

Dante jumped and with a scream, unsheathed his sword to slash the arm that was holding Y/N. An impulsive move, a mistake he realised only too late, when the demon pierced the soft neck of the one he loved the most with his sharp claws in an attempt to protect himself from the demonic blade.       Everything went so quick to Y/N and yet so slow to Dante. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time to realise what was going on or to process the sudden pain. She only understood something was wrong when her body hit the floor and she saw Dante’s icy blue eyes widen and stare at her in horror. Then she felt the blood, her blood she was quite certain of it, running along her pale skin covering it in shades of dark red.                   Dante screamed like never before, like no human could, so loud the walls trembled and the demon slightly bowed down in fear. He screamed with an anger, a rage he didn’t know he was capable of, something so deep and passionate he never thought was in him. Something fiery … something … demonic. It felt like his skin was burning, like there was a ravaging fire spreading, growing in his body, menacing to burst, to combust him. And it almost did. It almost did but it stopped just when Rebellion sliced the head of the demon open, spilling his brains and his blood on the walls behind him.   Then, there was a relief that all this was over. The fight. The fire. The fear…  No not the fear!

“Y/N” Dante ran to her and quickly pressed her body against his. His hand found her neck to apply pressure on her bloody wound. She was barely conscious but she was still with him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Hold on, I got you.” He kissed her forehead. It was so cold against his lips. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Dante stayed by her side for what seemed hours to him, holding her tight against him, trying to keep the weakening life in her safe, when finally blue and red lights began to flicker in the bedroom. What happened next was so blurry. All he could make out were a group of men dragging Y/N from his embrace, saying they would take care of her and that he had to let her go. He didn’t know how he did it but he eventually obeyed those men, in spite of his arms trying to reach for her.         He followed them- followed Y/N- to the crowded street where the nearby residents were crammed into, whispering and trying to take a peep at what was going on in this usual very quiet neighbourhood. But he didn’t care about them or their judgmental looks. All he cared about was Y/N being taken away in an ambulance.   The paramedics didn’t let him in. And in spite of how much he wanted to fight their decision, Dante chose not to. He couldn’t delay them. Y/N’s life depended on time and too much had been wasted already.

But he found her again, like he would always find her, and he spent days waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her beautiful (colour) eyes to open again, for her sweet voice to say she was alright, his hand holding hers in an eternal grip that only her awakening could break, days in which he had to think about what happened, about what could have happened and what will happen. So many hypothesis, each one worse than the last.       And when Y/N finally awoke and, with a soft smile that bear no grudges or hatred, said. “Hey handsome.” He did what he thought he should have done days ago. “We need to end this.”

***

Patty’s eyes were glowing with tears as she was staring at Dante without blinking. This was certainly the saddest love story she had ever heard in her entire life. Even Bolero in Spring had never made her feel so much. “You can’t do that!” She declared as if in denial, as if she could change the past. “The story can’t end like this!”    “But it is not a story, Patty. This is not some television show made to satisfy a bunch of hopeless romantic little girls. It’s real life. And real life is tough and …” Dante looked at Y/N, at her sad eyes and at the scar she was trying to conceal under a red silk scarf. “What’s done cannot be undone.” “But you loved each other!” The girl was almost furious, shaking her head nervously.              “Patty.” Dante said calmly.       “And you still love each other, I’m sure of it. I can tell by the way you both tell your story.”   “Patty.” Dante repeated with insistence this time.     “I won’t have this ending! No way!” She shouted with a deep frown.                  “It has already ended!” Dante screamed and Patty froze. He had never screamed at her, never in his entire life, even in times when she was incredibly annoying. He had never screamed at her. “It has ended. And neither you nor anyone can change it, okay? If it doesn’t please you, you can leave, wait in the car and go back to your mushy love series.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Patty stared at Dante with a disappointment he had never witnessed. “Y/N was right. You know how to fight demons. But you don’t know how to fight YOUR demons.” And she got up and left the house to do exactly what her beloved friend had told her, meaning wait in the car to go back to mushy love stories, leaving Dante and Y/N alone in the living room with nothing else but a heavy discomfort.

“I’m sorry for making a scene.”                “ Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.” They both had a conspiratorial smile similar to the ones they used to share when they were younger except it was fainter, sadder. “ She read the letter, the one you wrote me” Dante said staring at his hands in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Y/N, not with all the memories rushing in his head.                  “ I figured.” But she looked at him, excepting deep down he would say something, anything about what happened.”Never thought you would have kept it though.”               “ Why not?”       “ You never replied.” And there it was, that disappointment Dante well deserved.   “I did reply. I just never sent the letter.” Y/N's eyes slightly widened at this unexpected confession. What did he mean by that?              “Huh, words of advice. After writing a letter to someone, you need to mail it.” She declared sarcastically, not really knowing how she managed to crack such a joke. Was it a joke? Maybe, because Dante laughed a bit.       “ I had no money to buy a stamp.” The girl scoffed. She knew the man before her all to well to know that this was “Bullshit.” But she had missed it, missed him.  “What did it say?”          “ Same crap I told you at the hospital. How much I was sorry and … You know what? … There.” He opened his red coat to take a crumpled letter from his inside pocket. It was unsealed, stamped –obviously- and her name and address were written on it.                “ I hope Devil May Cry will never provide delivery service cause this has clearly arrived way too late.” However she took it in her hands, gathering all her inner strength not to tremble as she could feel all those emotions shaking inside of her.  “ Years too late. You can say it.” Dante smiled as he watched the letter he had kept to himself for so many years finally reaching its long-awaited recipient.  “I don’t expect you to read it … or open it. You can actually turn it into a paper plane or shove it down my throat if you want. I won’t fight you.” Of course he had to joke, to play it cool but she didn’t mind. She knew it was just one of his defence mechanism and she couldn’t blame him for it.      “ So why giving it to me?” Dante shrugged, refusing to admit he did want her to read what his young 19 years old self had to say, what he still had to say. “You can’t stop with the devil-may-care for a second and admit what you truly want, what you truly feel, can you?”     “ Fight my demons, huh?” He quoted her and she nodded. “Yes. Would that be so complicated for a ‘menacing devil hunter’ like yourself?” It was her turn to quote him but that quote made him melancholically happy.                   “ I guess that’s a challenge I still can not face.”              “ Or don’t want to” There was a new pause and as they finally looked at each other’s eyes, they knew they would not fix what had been broken years ago today. He was not ready. Not yet anyway. And that was okay. Y/N was patient. She could wait. She could keep waiting.     “Goodbye Y/N” Especially when this time a kiss on her forehead and a hand on her cheek felt more hopeful than ever. “Goodbye, Dante.”

And she watched him leave, again, but certain that someday, one day he would come back to her as he always would. After all, he promised.

[aliferous-ly]

I've never really asked for a drabble before... If it's okay with you, could you do 7 "I almost lost you" and 32 "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" with Logan and Deceit? I just kinda thought that it had the potential to make some angst with a happy ending. Oh and I only found you recently, but I love the writing that I've seen so far. I always love finding amazing writers. (I'm sorry, I'm a total suck up)

im gonna start this with if you’re on mobile, i am So Sorry

i started this and was like “ha im getting a little carried away” and then went “oh no” 

and thank u dear!! that’s v sweet of u awe 

summary: Declan is a loud and proud aromantic. Then he realizes why he feels weird, and off, and awkward around his best friend, Logan, and his world starts to crumble. 

warnings: f word twice, lying, parent being imprisoned, angst, questioning identity, if there’s anything else lmk!!

It starts, Declan thinks, when Logan smiles. 

The situation starts out innocuous -- they’re sitting in Logan’s room, Declan tossing a tennis ball up and catching it unsuccessfully, making a right disaster of Logan’s room with all the objects he keeps knocking to the floor. Logan, naturally, continues doing his homework. 

And they’re just -- talking. 

Declan likes to think his world should shift on a more momentous occasion, maybe with fireworks, fingers brushing against one another dramatically, Jason Mraz playing in the background. 

But it’s the smallest thing. Declan throws the tennis ball up in the middle of his sentence -- “You can’t tell me you hate white pines, they have the softest needles” -- and he misses it on the way down. 

So he takes a tennis ball to the face and sits up, sputtering, rubbing at his nose, arm reaching out to snatch it before it rolls too far. 

Logan chokes out a laugh, eyes squinty and wrinkled at the edges. His laugh fills the room for a few thrilling moments and Declan thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world and he can’t stop staring at Logan’s engaging face, in the upturn of his lips and dimples carved in his cheeks. 

He’s radiant. 

Declan’s heart squeezes, lungs filling with something heavier than air, a foreign feeling washing through his veins. Like rose petals or sunlight. Woodsmoke or freshly fallen snow. 

The gears in his chest shift and settle and he feels… right. More right than he’s ever been. 

Which is, of course, why fear swiftly follows this gorgeous wash of emotions, because this is unusual and anything unusual is often bad. 

Declan forces down the incoming wave of anxiety, schooling his expression into one of smooth disdain. 

Just in time, too, because Logan opens his mouth and says, “It was only a matter of time until you paid for your crimes.”

“I’m too pretty to die,” Declan replies, thanking the heavens that while his brain may be steadily turning into mush (have Logan’s eyes always been that striking? Or his shoulders that broad?) his tongue still works. 

“Implying Death themself has a type, intriguing,” Logan says. He flashes a look over his computer, the after effects of joy still written on his features. “Bold of you to declare what Death likes.” 

Declan tries for a smirk but can feel the way his mouth turns to genuine grin, the traitor. “Aw, Logie, are you saying I’m not everyone’s type?” 

“That would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it?” Logan says wryly. He types away at his computer, dutiously finishing an English assignment that Declan is currently ignoring for bigger and better things. “The aromantic everyone pines over.” 

That strikes an odd chord in Declan’s chest, like he’s a half-tone off; not quite wrong, but not quite right, either. His expression must change, because Logan pauses in his typing. He blinks at Declan. “Something wrong?” 

Of course, that’s when Declan’s brain decides that those words are simply too much, too much, his shoulders tightening, back tensing. It’s like his rib cage is squeezing his vital organs, which seems rather counterintuitive. He hates this unknown, this awkward buzz against his skin, the prickling feeling through his bones. 

The resounding crash of everything happening all at once is overwhelming and Declan can’t seem to decide whether to sit as still as humanly possible or bolt. 

Or, of course, do what he does best. 

Lie. 

“I forgot to do something for my mom,” Declan says, barely registering the words before they fall from his lips. He hasn’t lied to Logan in a very, very long time (he knows it’s because they have been best friends for ages, but his mind twists it into something of a foreshadow, even though it’s not, it’s not) and the resurgence of his bad habits leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, but. Desperate times. Desperate measures. 

“Oh,” Logan says, disappointed, and Declan longs to explain -- what? 

He angrily shoves the emotions deep into his chest. If he can’t explain them, he’s not going to give them the right of control over his actions. 

(He ignores the prevalent fact that he has just lied to his best friend in order to escape his presence, but denial, evidently, is not just a river in Egypt). 

“Sorry,” Declan spits out, meaning so much more than it seems. He stands, grabs his backpack, shoving papers and folders into it haphazardly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow,” Logan calls out hollowly. Declan takes that as his leave and he slips out Logan’s bedroom door, backpack in tow, keys clicking in his pocket. 

Something deep inside him aches. But he doesn’t know why. 

Frustrated, Declan gets into his car and slams the door shut, fingers white-knuckled against the steering wheel. He takes a breath. He’s fine, he’s fine. He’s probably just sick, or something. 

Or something. 

Not for the first time, Declan longs for a working aux connection. 

Because flicking through radio stations does not help. 

Lewis Capaldi croons Someone you loved on one, Sam Smith singing Dancing with a Stranger. He woefully flips through two channels on commercial break, groaning when the last one has Adele, which, really?

He remembers Virgil’s favorite station, and turns up the volume to forty, My Chemical Romance’s Mama screaming from his speakers. He pulls into his driveway with Hallelujah by Panic! at the Disco blowing his ears out when he remembers that Logan once spent hours rambling about Brenden Urie and a conspiracy about curses and he slams his palms on his steering wheel, furious. 

Can he not escape Logan for a moment? 

As Declan slams the car door shut, throwing his backpack over his shoulders, and freezes at the sight of the stupid Beware, dog sign that Logan had vandelized to read Beware, snake, he realizes that no, he really can’t. Because Logan is his best friend, his favorite person, and his life is irreversibly intertwined with Logan unless he up and leaves with absolutely nothing, starting from scratch. Which would be worse than death. 

He trudges up the stairs like a funeral dirge and when his door shuts with a click he leans against it, steadily sliding down until his knees almost touch his chin. 

“Fuck,” Declan says out loud, unable to keep the emotion termoil inside like it should be. 

His phone buzzes where it fell from his hands, angry against the carpet. Declan sighs. Rubs a hand down his face. And picks up the phone. 

There’s one text from Logan that reads, “are you okay? I’m not irritated but you left rather…” 

Well. The beginning reads as such. Declan assumes there’s more, but he’s unwilling to open it for the time being. 

Then he has three from Virgil, two of which reference an obscure meme video and the third which reads “r u home i wanna play dark souls on ur ps4”. 

And there’s a text from Patton asking if he wants normal chocolate chips or mint ones, and a followup that proclaims “never mind i got both! :3c”. 

He sends a quick “no” back to Virgil and merely opens the texts from Patton, leaving only Logan’s unopened. I’m not irritated but you left rather… suddenly? 

A strange emotion flutters about Declan’s chest and he groans. He doesn’t feel this way about his other friends, not even Virgil, who he’s known for ages and has gone through four too many devastating arguments to not be close with. Nor does he feel like this with Patton, his brother. Those bonds are, he’s certain, platonic--

Declan lurches forwards with a gasp, the realization bowling him over and leaving him breathless. He curls his fingers into the carpet, focusing on the texture instead of the immediate swirl of panic. 

He -- does he have a crush on Logan? Him, Declan, the aromantic king, who once boasted the world could never produce a human Declan could fall in love with?

And it doesn’t track with him falling for Logan either because Declan would have loved him months earlier, suddenly falling in love with someone he’s loved platonically… it just doesn’t make sense. Declan can’t wrap his mind around it. 

Maybe he’s just reading the emotions wrong. How can he -- what can he do that -- which -- 

What would Logan do? 

An experiment, Declan’s mind supplies helpfully, so, well. Declan pressed his back against the wood of his door and thinks. 

Hypothesis: he’s in love with Logan. 

In love? A very rational part of his brain yells. You were talking about a crush before!

So Declan thinks, and revises. Hypothesis: he’s feeling romantic attraction to Logan. 

Then he takes a few minutes trying to remember the following step in the scientific method and ends up looking it up on his phone, and it’s really long so he’s just going to cut some corners. 

Procedure: 

Well, Declan can’t think of any way to do this physically without making an entire fool of himself, so he changes the experiment into a thought experiment. 

Procedure: Consider emotions of other relationships and compare to feelings for Logan. 

Okay. Declan settles. He considers. He tries to imagine holding hands with Virgil and giving him flowers, but he can’t really picture giving Logan flowers either, so if it’s weird for both -- but he wants to hold Logan’s hand, not Virgil’s, and sometimes Patton’s, and Patton is his brother, he knows for sure his emotions are strictly platonic. So if Patton is the control group, the certainty of platonic emotions, Virgil is the one with normal emotions, and Logan has some weird emotions, so if Virgil and Logan’s are merely two different shades of friendship then Declan will know. 

Declan closes his eyes and imagines kissing Logan, because that’s what romantic partners do, right? He imagines stepping closer to him until there’s inches of space between them.. Declan thinks about leaning in, brushing lips before pressing in, heat curling in his chest and oh god, oh god Declan’s face is on fire. 

His eyes shoot open and he can only imagine how panicked he must look right now. He presses his hand against his chest, taking deep breaths. Then, reluctantly, he thinks about kissing Virgil -- nope, nope, eugh he physically shakes his head, gut rolling uncomfortably. 

So that is a big contender for Declan has romantic feelings for Logan. 

He sighs and clunks his head against the door. This sucks. Declan hates feelings. 

The door downstairs sounds, opening and closing, followed by a resounding, “HEY, CICI, LOVE YOU!” 

Dee sighs, a smile flickering across his face. He pushes to his feet and exits his room, wandering downstairs, aloof. 

“Hey Pat,” he says, leaning against a wall. 

“Ci, I’m making lots of cookies!” Patton declares, beaming at him, and Declan’s heart drops. 

His expression must, too, because Patton’s features are suddenly painted in concern. “What’s wrong?” 

“I should be asking you that,” Declan says, and he feels bad, unexpectedly, for not replying to Patton’s text earlier. “Lots of cookies? With mint and chocolate chips? Enough to feed an army?” 

Patton’s arms wilt and Declan reads the tremor in his shoulders, the glisten of his eyes. Patton tries for a smile and misses by a mile. 

Declan crosses to where Patton stands in five steps, wrapping his arms around his smaller brother, pressing his cheek against Patton’s head. “What’s wrong?” 

Patton takes a shuddering breath, returning the hug. “Nothing, really. I’m glad you’re home.” 

“Ah,” Declan says. He tightens his grip on Patton. “Do you want help?” 

“No.” Patton presses his face into Declan’s chest. He’s shaking, ever so slightly. “Can you talk with me at the counter, though?” 

“Of course,” Declan agrees, mentally side-tabling his emotional turmoil. 

“Okay,” Patton says. He’s quiet for a few more moments, then says, “And Steven Universe later?” 

“Anything,” Declan says. He makes a face. The word had slipped out unbidden, but Patton doesn’t tease him for it. 

“Alright.” Patton pulls away, takes a breath. “I’m about to make the best damn cookies the world has ever seen.” 

“Damn straight,” Declan says, grinning. Patton pauses for just one moment more before moving to the kitchen, dropping various ingredients onto the counter and moving smoothly to gather more. 

Declan wonders at his influence on Patton’s vulgar mouth, then shrugs. Patton’s a teenager. He can do what he wants. 

“Weren’t you hanging out with Logan?” Patton asks conversationally. He’s pulling down bowls and sugar, obviously expecting easy small talk. And normally Logan is easy for Declan to talk about. He talks about him all the time.  

So when Declan winces, Patton turns and addresses him with full attention, brows furrowed. “What? What happened?” 

“I…” Declan considers for a moment to just lie about it but dismisses the thought. This is Patton. “I think I have a romantic attraction for him.” 

Saying it out loud only cements the certainty in Declan’s chest. No, he hasn’t quite completed the experiment, but he just… knows. 

The knowledge is both relieves and spikes his anxiety about the whole situation. 

“Oh,” Patton says, eyes wide. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really,” Declan says honestly. 

“Alright,” Patton says. He turns back around and a wave of affection flows through Declan. “How did Roman do on his audition?” 

Declan hums, eternally grateful for Patton’s ability to turn the conversation away. They talk about Roman’s skill as an actor for a few minutes, jumping to Patton’s involvement in VEX robotics (focusing on the robotics instead of the people) and they kill about forty minutes with Patton talking about his baby bot, Pat Jr. 

When the clock strikes seven, Declan throws together two grilled cheese sandwiches and they eat in front of Steven Universe and the gems, Declan stretched out along the couch and Patton creating a throne of blankets for himself. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Patton murmurs, eyes never straying from the bursts of pastel on the screen, “but if you do have a romantic attraction to Logan it’s okay. You weren’t wrong in saying you’re aromantic. Because that fits you, you like it. There’s just more strings attached than you originally thought.” 

Declan blinks, the smallest smile growing on his face. “Thanks, Pat.” 

Patton hugs a pillow, eyes bright. “Love you, Ci.” 

Declan pushes his foot against Patton’s blanket pile in response. 

--

“Do you think we have to move?” Patton says, three hours into their movie night. 

Declan breathes, slowly inhaling as if it gives him an excuse to not reply. “I didn’t. I don’t want to. But probably.” 

“That’s why you haven’t told anyone,” Patton says. He shifts, turning to look at Declan. Declan maintains eye contact with the screen, despite having seen this movie countless times. “And why you told me to keep it under wraps.” 

“Yes,” Declan says, because really, he lies to the world, but he doesn’t lie to Patton. 

He tries not to lie to Patton. 

“But something changed yesterday.” Patton’s not asking questions. Somehow, he just knows, despite being left out of the loop. “And you were going to tell Logan today.” 

“Yes,” Declan says. Static thrums through his veins. Aladdin ignores a buzzing genie on screen, swatting him away to benefit his own desires. 

“What happened?” 

“Mom’s not getting out,” Declan says simply, because that’s it, really. Their mother is not getting out of jail. And with no father, their final hope is their uncle, three states over. Their father’s brother. 

Two months away from eighteen, and Declan is forced to concede. 

“When?” Patton asks. He’s trembling, but he’s not crying. Declan knows that will come later. 

“Because of the legal mixups and leaning on Sasha, two weeks, probably,” Declan says. Sasha is, of course, their next door neighbor, the crazy cat lady of the street who “watches” the boys “all the time”. 

“Two weeks,” Patton whispers. There’s a sheen in his eyes. Declan tries not to look but his gaze is like a magnet and Patton stares, stares, stares. “That’s not enough time. That’s not…”

Declan closes his eyes. 

He really thought he would win. 

He thought he could win. 

They only had to last two more months. His deadbeat mom had to last two months and they couldn’t even keep the legal proceedings--

He takes a breath. “Uncle Thomas is nice, at least.” 

“I don’t want uncle Thomas,” Patton snaps. 

“Well we don’t have a choice, Pat,” Declan bites out, stomach rolling at the words, eyes snapping open. 

Patton recoils, hurt flickering behind his eyes, but Declan knows it’s not enough to overpower the fire roaring in Patton’s lungs. “We did, we could have put more savings into mom’s defense, we could have found a place to live before it was our last resort but now we have to tell all our friends that we’re moving hundreds of miles away in two weeks!” 

“Mom doesn’t deserve to get out,” Declan spits. 

“I don’t CARE.” Patton’s fingers are clenched in fists. He stands. “I don’t care if mom deserves it or not. We deserve to stay.” 

“The world doesn’t work like that,” Declan says. 

Patton opens his mouth and snaps it shut, obviously restraining himself. A thousand emotions swim behind his eyes. Declan hates every single moment but he doesn’t say a word. 

He leaves. 

He leaves Declan sitting alone on the couch, watching Patton’s favorite movie. A door slams shut and Declan exhales heavily. They don’t get into fights, it’s just not -- Patton’s normally too upbeat to bother, Patton hates being angry, Declan normally doesn’t -- there’s nothing to get angry about, not in the grand scheme of things. They share easily, they have chaotic conversations, they… 

They’re fighting. 

Declan buries his head in his hands. He was too hopeful, too caught up on the possibility of the future to notice the sinkhole of reality. 

He really thought -- things would work out, Patton has his lucky charm of a personality and Declan works, he works hard, so things should -- Declan’s a senior in high school, halfway through the first semester, he should be worried about grades and school dances and friends and crushes and --

Logan. 

Declan curls, releasing something like a sob or maybe a dry heave. Whether or not he’s in love with Logan (most signs point to yes but there’s no way Declan’s addressing that) he still loves Logan, he loves being with him and talking to him and ordering his ice cream before Logan gets there to see the surprised and fond expression cross his face. 

Two weeks? 

To say goodbye to his best friend? 

Before moving, before picking up his entire life and his family (just -- Patton. Just Patton) and going somewhere Else?

Declan doesn’t feel like an adult. 

He doesn’t want to be an adult, either. 

Even if the world is asking him to be one. 

--

“You’re acting strange,” Logan observes. 

Declan shrugs. “I’m always strange.” He takes advantage of shoving fries in his face to avoid expounding. 

Logan sighs and puts down his burger. “Declan. Something’s going on.” 

Several somethings are going on, actually, but thanks. Declan shrugs again. “Haven’t been getting much sleep.” Which is a true statement. He’s written about ten different ways to tell Logan he’s leaving, nine of which are ripped up in the trash, one of which Declan just burned because he doesn’t want even scraps of that disaster to exist. 

Five days to go and Declan still hasn’t told him. Five days.  They don’t have many classes together, otherwise Logan would have pieced together the weird treatment from the teachers. Declan wonders if just disappearing into the void is an alright way to go, but a little Patton in his head chastises him for even considering it. 

Then again, at this rate…

“Hm,” Logan says. He has a thoughtful look on his face that’s absolutely devastating to Declan’s heart and general health and coherence of thought, let alone considering what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Is there a reason?” 

Declan considers, eyes narrowing as he stares at nothing. “I neglect to answer that question.” 

“So yes,” Logan says. The words fall from his lips with crushing sorrow. He takes a breath. “Why aren’t you telling me?” 

“Telling you what?” Declan says, internally wincing at the hurt flickering through Logan’s eyes.  

“Okay,” Logan says instead. He turns back to his food. 

They eat the rest of the meal in silence. 

-- 

Declan watches absentmindedly as Logan attempts to make a tower out of pens and pencils. With the addition of Roman’s copious amounts of colored pens, the tower is quite impressive. 

Two days. 

(Two Days).

Declan’s all packed. Sorta. Not really. He’s going to skip some classes in the future and pack all at once, throwing everything into the boxes (the empty boxes lining his room), not caring if anything breaks. 

He… 

He hasn’t told Logan yet. 

Or anyone, really, but Logan’s the one that -- the one that matters the most. 

Logan did, however, ask him if he was okay three times before leaving him be, because Logan knows that Declan becomes testy if asked the same question consistently. 

So basically, as far as Declan can figure, Declan’s a tool. Logan is trying, and Declan is giving him jack shit to work with. 

Patton has told all his friends, which means it’s only a matter of time before Logan finds out, right? Patton’s a sophomore, they’re seniors, and the school is large, but it’s also not as big as it seems. 

Roman, sitting next to him, hums under his breath as he types. He’s editing his college essay, which Declan would be doing if he had a college essay to edit and also cared enough. The atmosphere is strikingly calm, which leads to an anxious buzzing under Declan’s skin. 

Tell him. Just tell him. Just open your mouth and tell him. You’re in a library, he can’t get loud and yell. 

Declan wonders if yelling would be better, actually, than wide eyed stares and wounded expressions. 

He’s contemplating the merits of writing a letter (absolutely not, he doesn’t know why he’s even considering it) when he spots Patton out of the corner of his eye. 

Patton in and of himself does not scare Declan. 

The fact that he’s bee-lining for Declan and his friends does make him a bit nervous, though. 

“Cici,” Patton hisses. The cutesy play on Declan’s middle name sounds odd in such a harsh tone of voice. He glances at Logan before staring at Declan. 

Declan’s starkly aware of Roman and Logan’s attention when he says, “yeah?” 

“You told them?” Patton says, and Declan--

Well. 

A combination of fear and fury and regret zip through his veins at warp speed.

But Declan’s well trained in the art of deception. 

He schools his expression into one of cool indifference. “That I’m taking you for ice cream? Nah. I didn’t think they’d care. You wanna go right now?” 

Roman huffs a laugh, turning his attention back to his computer. Logan doesn’t look away, though, hand resting on a bright yellow flair pen. 

Patton’s brow furrows. “I mean the--”

“Man, if you were that impatient you could’ve texted me,” Declan interrupts with a long, drawn-out sigh. He stands, swinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll see you guys later.” 

“Get me some ice cream next time,” Roman says, grinning. His gaze doesn’t leave his screen. “Bye, loser.” 

“Bye,” Logan echoes. 

Something registers in Declan’s brain-dead skull that Logan sounds lifeless because his best friend has been distant (Declan. Declan is Logan’s best friend). 

Declan pauses, sighs. Patton looks outraged and about two seconds from outing Declan. 

“I’m sorry,” Declan says. Logan looks up at him. “It’s not your fault. Just… I’m going through some things. You deserve to know. I shouldn’t shadow you without any info.” 

Patton looks even angrier, if possible, but then Logan’s talking and Patton hates interrupting people. 

“Okay,” Logan says, soft as ever. “I’ll wait for you.” 

And if that doesn’t make Declan feel like the nastiest motherfucker. 

“Let’s go,” Declan says, pulling Patton along before Patton lets loose. 

He opens his mouth, but Declan beats him to it, whispering, “Shh, we’re in a library.” 

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Patton hisses instead. 

“Language.” 

“You haven’t told them?” Patton exclaims. He yanks his wrist from Declan’s grip but continues following him, arms gesturing wildly. “You’re the worst.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Declan mutters. 

“You better get me ice cream now,” Patton says, crossing his arms. “After making me watch that.” 

“That’s fair,” Declan concedes, and then realizes he’s going to have to spent the next thirty minutes listening to Patton chastise him and -- 

Honestly, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want it, but before he can say anything, Patton says, “don’t even think about escaping this.” 

So he’s stuck listening to Patton chastise him for the next thirty minutes until their next class starts. 

But he gets a turtle sundae out of it, so it’s like, at least 20% a win. 

--

“CICI,” Patton screams from the living room. 

Declan shoots to his feet, tripping and slamming his knee into the doorframe, scrambling to reach Patton as swiftly as possible. He appears at the edge of the living room, hand pressed against the wall, chest heaving, eyes blown wide. “What? What is it?” 

He assesses Patton for damage, but Patton’s standing with his phone clutched between his fingers, shaking ever so slightly but appearing physically fine. He’s staring at Declan, lip trembling. 

“Patton?” Declan says. 

Patton opens his mouth, tears dripping down his cheeks. He sniffs, making an angry noise in the back of his throat as he wipes at his face. “I shouldn’t tell you! I should let you suffer because you’re mean.” 

“Patton,” Declan says, approaching his brother like one might a wild animal. 

Patton shakes his head and Declan stops. 

“I’m upset!” Patton says. Then he lets out a laugh, choked. “But I’m so relieved.”

Declan doesn’t say anything. 

Patton sniffles a few more times, then peeks at Declan through his fingers. Declan tries for a smile, sheepish. Patton smiles back, watery and soft. His shoulders shake as he laughs softly, his phone pressed against his cheek. “I was so scared.” 

“Me too,” Declan says. 

“I’m sorry,” Patton says, the anger draining from his face and leaving a wide-eyed pile of nerves. “I didn’t mean it. You’re not mean. You’re just scared.” 

“It’s okay,” Declan says. His arms hand limply by his sides. He wants to do something with them, to cross his arms or put them in his hoodie pockets or something, but he also wants to leave them available for when Patton wants a hug, so he stands awkwardly instead. “I forgive you.” 

“I’ve been calling Uncle Thomas,” Patton says. 

Declan’s heart does something funny in his chest. 

Patton pulls his hands away from his face, rubbing his cheeks clean, staring at his phone for a few moments before his hand drops, dangling at his side. “He’s -- he said he’s coming here. His job can be done online and the stuff he can’t do online he’ll fly back for which won’t be often, he said it’s important to him that we -- have a support system throughout highschool, and he wants us to finish here before doing anything else.” 

The information barely filters through Declan’s mind because when Patton exhales another sob Declan steps forward and envelops him in his arms on instinct. Patton’s legs go weak. Declan sinks to the ground, Patton pressing his face into Declan’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Patton mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is good. This is good.” 

“Sometimes emotions have a funny way of showing,” Declan says. He runs his fingers through Patton’s hair, untangling the curls. “You’ve been stressed. It’s okay.” 

“Why aren’t you crying?” Patton says. He taps his palm against Declan’s chest, reminiscent of a smack without any of the power. “It’s not fair.”

Declan laughs, sort of. “I might later. I don’t know. Emotions are weird.” 

“You never told your friends you were moving,” Patton says. “Will they ever find out?” 

“Probably,” Declan says. He squeezes Patton. “I know you told your friends. It’s better your way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.” 

“Mm.” 

Declan can feel the rise and fall of Patton’s chest. It slows as Patton calms down. “We don’t have to move,” Patton murmurs. 

“We don’t have to move,” Declan agrees, and Patton presses even closer. 

--

Declan doesn’t know how he finds his way to the beach but at one point he’s baking Patton cookies and the next he’s sitting on a slab of concrete overlooking the pitch dark waves. He knows Patton is sleeping, or is at least pretending to sleep. He vaguely remembers writing a note in case Patton looks for him. 

It’s been three days since Patton discovered Uncle Thomas’s moving plans. Discovered? Convinced? Declan isn’t sure. 

And he doesn’t really know how to react. He’s been moving on autopilot, making dinner, doing homework, putting in minimal effort into his friendships so they don’t abandon him on the side of the road -- 

No. Declan shakes his head. Putting minimal effort into his friendships because his friends don’t deserve to be cut off without a word. 

Nothing feels right. 

(Something is off). 

He hears footsteps and before he can whip around, before fear has the chance to truly take over his body, he hears, “this seat taken?” 

“No,” Declan says, and Logan sits next to him on the concrete. They’re quiet for a few moments, watching the reflection of the moon, tasting salt on their tongues. 

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Logan says finally. 

Declan closes his eyes, breathes. His emotions are all tangled up in his chest and he doesn’t want to tap into it for fear that if he lets out a little he’ll let out everything. 

But Logan deserves to know. 

(He deserves someone better.)

“My mom lost,” Declan says, which sounds nicer than it did in his head. “She’s unfit to care for us, anyway, but now she’s officially calling prison her new home.” 

Logan’s quiet. Declan listens to his breathing. He spies Logan’s hand against the concrete and longs to close the distance and entangle their fingers, just for a modicum of physical comfort. The slightest hint of warmth permeates the air around Logan and Declan wants to lean closer, to press their arms together. 

“My Uncle, on my dad’s side, is taking care of us. He… wasn’t originally going to move here, but Patton talked to him and he decided moving here is the best course of action.” Declan shifts. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how to explain. 

Logan stops breathing. 

“I almost lost you,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper. 

Declan glances at him and can barely comprehend the amount of horror shining in Logan’s eyes. Logan’s staring at him, expression open and terrified. “I almost…” He exhales, shaking. Declan watches him so closely he can see the sticking of his chest as he breathes, the tremor of his shoulders. 

Declan’s heart stutters and he wants to tear his gaze away but he owes, he owes Logan this. Even though the only thing he wants to do is run away, to preserve himself. “I -- I never told you,” Declan says, more scared than he has been in a long time. He opens his mouth and stops, shrinking away. He looks over Logan’s shoulder, unable to maintain eye contact. “We were supposed to leave two days ago. I was going to tell you and then…” 

Then I found out that I’m in love with you, and it freaked me out so much I closed myself off. 

Logan’s truly shaking, and Declan doesn’t know what to do. You caused this. This is your fault. 

“Ugh! I’m sorry,” Declan exclaims. He can’t stand this, these tentative moments, fragile as glass. He wants to take a hammer to the whole affair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much but I was scared, and it’s not a valid excuse, but I was terrified, Logan, I couldn’t leave you! You mean too much to me!” 

“You mean a lot to me too,” Logan says, but Declan’s on a roll, now, there’s no stopping the hurricane in his heart. 

He moves his gaze to the waves, finding solace and energy in the constancy. “I was going to tell you when we were hanging out a few weeks ago in your room, and then I freaked out because -- and then I left, and haven’t been able to figure out how to word it since, and Patton’s better than I am, he told his friends almost immediately, imagine, having worse emotional competency than a fifteen year old--”

“Roman found out,” Logan says, grinding Declan’s tangent to a halt. “He mentioned something to me but I needed to hear it from you.” 

Declan stares at him. 

“I asked Patton if you were at home,” Logan explains. Declan can barely tell in the shadows, but Logan’s face seems to darken. “When he said no, I knew there was one other place you would go. Probably.” 

Declan worries his lip. He’s that predictable? 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Logan asks, quiet. 

“Because…” Liquid anxiety slogs through his veins. His voice drops, quiet, quieter than the sound of waves. “Because I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.” 

For a second all he can hear is the crash of the sea and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know why the moon isn’t falling from the sky, why the stars haven’t combusted, because his world feels like it’s falling apart at the seams. 

“I discovered that,” Declan continues, the words slipping between his lips before his mind has any say in the matter, “and didn’t know what to do, and then I needed to tell you I was leaving, and I love you, and I couldn’t. Because I’m a coward.” 

Another beat. Declan takes a long breath. “I still love you. And I’m no longer leaving.” 

“I suppose… now would be a bad time to bring up demiromanticism?” Logan tries. 

“It would be a terrible time, but thank you,” Declan says, and he can’t help the small puff of laughter that escapes. 

“I love you too,” Logan says, then, and Declan can’t breathe. 

He turns to Logan without thinking, searching his sapphire blue eyes for deception even though Logan has never, ever lied to him. He can’t hope, he can’t dare to hope, the world would never give him two miracles. “Don’t trick me.” 

“I’m in love with you,” Logan clarifies, nervous. His hands are wringing together and he’s biting his lip. 

Declan reaches out, fingers trembling, to brush against Logan’s cheek. “You…”

“I’ve been in love with you,” Logan says. He’s looking down, away from Declan’s gaze, but he leans into his touch. “For awhile. I never wanted to bring it up because… you were so adamant about being separate from romance…”

“I thought I was,” Declan says honestly. “Which is why this is a real fucking trip, let me tell you.” 

Logan laughs, and some of the tension in the air dissolves. “I can imagine.” 

“God, I love you,” Declan says. He brushes his thumb underneath Logan’s eye. 

“I love you too,” Logan says, eyes wide and sparkling, then he moves forward and cradles Declan’s head in his hands and Declan short circuits because he’s right there he’s RIGHT THERE and he’s touching him he loves him he loves him--

“You’re gorgeous,” Logan says, and Declan just stares at him dumbly because his mouth stops working. His heart is barely going, the only reason he’s not dead is because his body has some sort of instinctive survival instinct, or something. 

Emotion clog his throat and Declan doesn’t know how he’s not sobbing already so he’s unsurprised when the smallest tear slips out of his eye. 

“Oh,” Logan says, wiping the tear away. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s -- it’s not -- it’s not you,” Declan chokes out. “God. This is so embarrassing.” 

“I don’t care,” Logan says. He leans closer, pressing their foreheads together and staring into Declan’s eyes. “It’s okay to cry.” 

Declan smiles thinly, blinking away tears. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Logan stares at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Declan says. His trembling hands hold Logan’s jaw. “And you’re so smart and passionate, and you have the most wicked sense of humor, and you’re my best friend.” 

“No,” Logan shakes his head. “I mean, I am your best friend, but there’s no deserve in a relationship. We’re just people. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. Please don’t sell yourself short.” 

Declan wants to say that only proves how good Logan truly is, but he settles for a simple, “Okay.” 

Logan brushes hair out of Declan’s eyes, then sighs, dropping his head to Declan’s shoulder. Declan’s hands slide down to Logan’s upper back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Declan says. 

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Logan replies, muffled. He pulls away for a split second, eyes blurry and a crease already showing from his glasses pressing into his skin. “But if you withhold life-altering information like that from me again there will be issues.” 

“I won’t,” Declan says. He swallows. He hates promises. He hates them, because he never feels like he can maintain them. “I’ll… I’ll try my hardest.” 

Logan searches his gaze, nods, and then presses fully into Declan. 

“Woah, okay.” Declan shifts as Logan clings to him like a koala bear. Logan’s basically in his lap and Declan, well. Declan has no complaints. 

“I can do this as much as I want because we’re in love with each other,” Logan mutters, and wow, if that doesn’t send a thousand vibrations across his skin. In love with each other. 

Declan grins. He likes the sound of that. 

“You know,” Logan says conversationally. His fingers trail up to press against Declan’s face, outlining his lips. “I love it when you smile.” 

Declan hums, his smile broadening. Me too, Logan. 

Me too.

[fifteenskies15]

Twisted Kaguya Hime

(Tokito Muichiro x Demon! Reader)

Summary: Demons and humans never belong together, so does demon slayer and their enemy

Admin's Note: Wow, clearly I'm on roll today, I published two stories in one day, anyways, I have come back with Muichiro's content to feed to you all Muichiro stans, this might be kinda angst since reader will be a demon unde Kokushibo control but they manage to develop a feelings for Muichiro, but let's pretend that Koku had met Mui and that Muichiro have grown up now (approximately 18-20 y/o) here, as per usual, this story is gender neutral

Also, Muichiro might be a bit lovestruck here

"Muichiro...let me tell you a little story..."

"What is it mom?"

"This is a tale of a beautiful princess called, princess Kaguya... Once upon a time... There was an old and poor bamboo cutter called Taketori no Okina, he and his wife didn't have a child and they live in poverty..."

"One day, the old man Taketori found a shining bamboo stalk he cutted it and do you know what he saw? It's a baby girl in size of his thumb, old man Taketori was so elated, he and his wife raised her like she was their daughter and not only that, there's a small gold nugget inside, so... Taketori and his wife is no longer live in poverty, and their daughter, Kaguya has grown up into a woman with an extraordinary beauty..."

"This is the part where Kaguya get her lover, right mom?"

"Many hopeful youngsters did wanted to take Kaguya as their wife, but alas she rejected them all, even with five princes lined up to offer her hand of marriage, she rejected them all regardless, the emperor Mikado is also fell in love with the beautiful princess Kaguya, but alas she's also rejected him, saying that she cannot stay in the palace, but they stay in contact together"

"But do you know, Muichiro? Every summer night when it's full moon, Princess Kaguya is always crying, her adoptive parents were greatly concerned about her, but she was unable to say what's wrong to them, until she revealed that she was not of this world and must return to her people on the Moon..."

"So that means she had to left her parents?"

"Sadly yes... Kaguya hime loves her parents and her friends in earthly being friends, she was very sad but this has to be done...the Earth is not where she belongs, however, the capital of the moon is where she belongs..."

"Even so... Kaguya always missed the protectorate and the kind humans that see her of who she is..."

------

"Muichiro..."

...

"Muichiro..."

...

"Muichiro, my dear...are you okay?"

Muichiro tear his gaze away from the moon and turn his attention to you.

A demon...

But you're more than just a demon to him and he's more than just a human to you, even though you're a demon, a being he should be hated, obliterated and sent to hell, you manage to develop a feeling towards him

...Somehow...

Somehow he manage to grow something inside you, inside your soulless and supposed to be numb body

It's none other than love...

It's been quite a while since you feel something like this, or maybe because it's the first time you feel this, all emotions you could ever remember is sadness and rage especially what your family had done to you back then...

"Fufu... You have been gazing upon the full moon, is everything okay?"

Muichiro just give you a smile "Ah, just remembered the tale my mom used to tell when I was a kid..."

"Enlighten me..."

Muichiro rest his chin on his hand, smiling at you "The tale of Princess Kaguya"

A warm smile spread on your face "Ah, I have heard that story from an old couple I met once, it's sad that Princess Kaguya had to go back to the moon to join her people..."

Muichiro nodded, looking wistful "If she's real, I wonder what she's thinking about the humanity now..."

You didn't care much about humans (except for him, of course) but you know exactly what he meant "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but she could be weeping at how humanity change in a terrible way..."

Muichiro nodded and sighed "either it demons and people the Earth is not the same as she remembered, it's quite sad when you think about it..."

"Mmh... My so called parents are one of those people," you said laying down on the grass while looking at the moon "Poor Kaguya had to face the reality of how this world is soiled"

Muichiro lay down next to you, his mint colored eyes find your (E/C) ones "Say (name) if you are Princess Kaguya and I'm the lucky man who manage to have you as my wife/husband, but you're still had to go to the moon what will you say or do?"

You looked at him with a smile and looked at the moon "even if the heavenly beings told me to stay with them, I will not listen to them, that's probably sounds bold and too forward, but what can I say?" You grabbed his hand as your fingers intertwined.

"I'm head over heels for you, and if I'm being forced to go to the moon, I will make my way just to see you even if it means I had to rope the Earth closer to the moon"

Muichiro smiled warmly at you as he gripped your hand tighter "I would too... I know you're a demon but I can't help but having strong feelings towards you..."

He sighed and looked at the moon again "It as if it was yesterday I almost killed you, I mean, well, you did almost slaughter entire village, I don't even know what came into me and... Well... Here we are, being closer and didn't care about who we are..." He said, his face illuminated by the moon.

"If...if there is a chance you could become a human again...(Name)...will you..."

Muichiro stopped, he seems unsure about continuing his word and this is so not like him, is he...being nervous? Agitated even?

"Will I... what, Muichiro?"

He took a deep breath, he sat up then look at you, directly into your eyes "I know it's been a half of year since we met but... I have been thinking... I don't want to lose you just yet, so...will you marry me?"

You widen your eyes, and you have strange feeling inside your chest...

Was it your heart beating?

...How?

How is it possible?

But you couldn't help it and you smiled...

"Muichiro..."

"Well, isn't that sickeningly sweet?"

All too familiar voice cutted you before you could say yes, and to see upper moon one.

Your creator, Kokushibo.

"Kokushibo-sama!" Your body went autopilot and bowed at him, Muichiro just froze, but it's obvious his eyes are gleaming with rage

"Now it's clear why you have been disappearing lately" his eyes looked at Muichiro who looked like he's veins about to pop, Muichiro gritted his teeth as he saw an upper moon in front of his eyes "You have been doing some disgusting thing with my descendant, I see... That behavior is clearly not something to be forgiven"

Kokushibo slowly unsheathed his sword and glaring down at you "You're awfully aware that his Lordship is not pleased with your tomfoolery, (name)..."

You gulped and freeze in fear, you have once got the taste of a punishment from your Creator and you can't imagine when his master knows about what have you been doing behind his back, before you know it, his grotesque looking sword were swung towards your head and to be blocked by Muichiro.

"Like hell I would let you touch her/him, I don't care if you're an upper moon, but if you touch her/him, I won't hesitate to fight you here and now..."

"M-Muichiro..."

Kokushibo looked at his descendant in amusement, he manage to parry his attack, causing Muichiro backed away from the impact.

"How valiant, you think you have what it takes to defeat me?"

Muichiro disregard him and looked at you "(name), are you alright, my dear?" You just nod, a warm tears trickle down from your (E/C) eyes, Kokushibo just clicked his tongue and hit Muichiro's pulse point

"Muichiro!!"

He nonchalantly stepped over him and grabbed you by your collar, as he glared at you

"(Name), I'm sure you're aware that this place is not for you and no longer your home, and on the note, humans and demons doesn't belong together..." He said as he glowered at you, you swore you could hear venom dripping from his words "...and whether you like it or not, you don't belong to him" Kokushibo said pointing at the unconscious Muichiro, and pointed his sword on his chest.

"Even though he's my descendant, my kin, he's the enemy of his Lordship, I won't hesitate to kill him right in the spot" he pressed the tip of his sword as if he was going to pierce his sword through Muichiro's beating heart.

"I'm still merciful enough because I like you (name), it's your choice... Come with me and I'll let him live... For now...or..." He pressed his blade slightly harder that blood sapping out, slowly tainted his uniform "No, no, no!! Don't kill him, please!! I will come with you, but please spare him, Kokushibo-sama!"

Kokushibo looked at you then put his sword back to his sheath, walking towards you with a smile, it's rather mocking... "It wasn't so hard now wasn't it?" He said as he put his hand on your cheek

"And I am a man of my word, I won't kill him, at least for now, and you..." He paused for a bit "...you will stay with me till that day comes" he turn his heel and looked at the sky, "The moon is beautiful, but as beautiful as it is, in few hours the moon will sink and the sun will rise, we better go unless you wanted a worse death than being killed by his Lordship"

Honestly you would rather die because of the sunshine than come with him (despite the fact he's your creator) but if it means he kept Muichiro stay alive...

Then you had no choice

You looked back at Muichiro's unconscious form and teared up slightly, and dropped something in purpose as you followed Kokushibo to fortress of infinity...

"I'm sorry, Muichiro..."

----

Few hours pass, Muichiro came back to his senses, he jolted awake and looked around "(Name)?! (name)!! Where are you?!" He winced when he felt sting on his chest.

"That bastard..."

He looked around for you and to see something gleaming under the moonlight

It's your amulet necklace...

He took it and looked at it, it has (F/F), hollyhock and ginko leaves symbol on it, he remembered the day you showed it to him

"See this amulet, Muichiro? I made it myself, I added the ginko leaves because for some reason it reminded me of you..."

"Oh really? And I could guess that (F/F) is your favorite flower... Is that supposed to be the symbol of our unification?"

"Maybe? Okay, yeah, maybe it is..."

Somehow he could feel sadness radiating off the inanimate object he's currently holding.

He knows...

He knows that you won't see each other from now on.

"(Name), my love..."

A single tear fell on the amulet as he gripped on it, sadness replaced with rage as he gaze upon the imposing, full moon

"Just like princess Kaguya, you left me to be somewhere you belong to..."

He looked at the amulet as he remembered that tonight is the last night he see you

"Just like princess Kaguya, someone take me away from you just like how they separate her from the emperor..."

He put the amulet around his neck and gripped his sword

"Of all the things had happened, I will twist the tale, just you wait, my dear..."

His once full of life mint eyes turn back into his lifeless one but it gleamed with desire and vengeance

"I will came to you, and make sure you fall into my arms once again..."

----

Admin 15: Oh damn, Mui is a lovestruck yandere in the end,....and I kinda live for it, maybe I should make something with yandere trope for my next story, hehe

Anyways, I'm so sorry that this story make no sense, I might be on roll but I guess I'm being overexcited about it

[malereaderinsert]

Second Chance - Part One

Fandom: DC - Aquaman

Pairing: Orm Marius x Male Atlantean Reader

Warnings: Discrimination and that’s it.

Word Count: 2.700

Request: Heey, can I make a request? I saw your post about Orm from Aquaman and I had this idea where the male reader is the royal consort instead of Mera. You are free to do whatever you want with that! Thxx :)

Note: My fingers slipped and this happened. Is up to you guys if I should continue with this story or not, so let me know!!

-

Orm was obsessing over his brother, again. He had always blamed the man for what happened to his mother and he being a half-breed only made the matters worse. Orm's father had raised his son to hate the surface world as much as it's inhabitants. (Y/n) didn't altogether agree with his king's beliefs.

Yes they were savages who only killed and raged war upon each other, polluted their planet and murdered the childrens of the ocean for sport, but Queen Atlanna had seen good in them and (y/n) had to agree with her, they weren't entirely evil as the Atlanteans weren't entirely good either. 

(Y/n) had seen it with his own eyes what the humans are capable off. He walked through the surface world. The atlantean saw injustice, discrimination, oppression and many unspeakable things, but the more he observed the more he saw his own world reflected before him.

The world of men had good traits too. Whenever (y/n) least expected he would be treated with kindness and everlasting compassion, things that he found lacking in Atlantis.

The world of men was only misguided, if only (y/n) could make Orm see that, the imminent blood shed would be prevented. But his future husband was as stubborn as his father before him. And his mind was set on war.

That is why (y/n) offered to help his little sister, Mera. That girl was set to stop her king's crazy plan and nothing would stop her. (y/n) knew it was foolish to try convince her otherwise so he was left with no choice but to help, only if he had known what her plan was. 

She went after the half-breed to convince him of his birth right as king of Atlantis.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind Mera!?” (Y/n) had traveled with his sister to the surface so they could talk without the fear of being watched. “I agreed to whatever you were doing to keep you out of harm's way, but this has gone to far.” The (y/h/c) haired man was trembling with barely concealed anger.

“What was I supposed to do? Orm won't listen to reason (y/n), not even YOU could make him change his mind.” The waves crashing upon the rocky sides of the cliff were almost enough to swallow her last words, but (y/n) still heard them and they cut deep. 

“He is my future husband, my king. What you're doing is high treason Mera. I'm trying to keep you safe, but I won't be dragged into this mess.” 

“So now you'll act like a loyal puppy? For your “king”?” The bitter tone in his sister's voice caught the man him off guard.

“What are you talking about? Yes, OUR king.” (y/n) made a point to emphasize the word. 

“He's not my king, not since he chose you to rule at his side and not me.” The girl was barely able to hold her tears at bay. “You remember, right? When I would spend day and night telling you about how much I dreamed to become queen of Atlantis just to have you take my place in the end.” 

(Y/n) couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mera was jealous of him for taking her place as royal consort. The atlantean thought his sister's obsession with becoming queen was just a child's fantasy. 

Orm didn't chose Mera because the king was already falling for her older brother. And (y/n) being the most skillful warrior in all Atlantis just came as a plus. But his sister wouldn't want to just dethrone Orm for petty jealousy… would her? Then the real reason came to (y/n) like a lightning bolt.

“You want the half-breed to reclaim his birthright just so you can be his queen?” (y/n) saw the way his sister looked down in shame, confirming his suspicion. “You would betray everything, your people, our father and me just so you could have a crown over your head?!” Just thinking about made (y/n) churn, the ideia that his sister could be so naive and irresponsible.

“It's not just the crown. It's the power that comes with it. I could finally be what I was always meant to be.” Mera said those words with a conviction of a mad woman, hungry for power and influence.

“Saving the people of the surface world was never your priority was it? How could I be so blind. I never wanted to take your place Mera. Me and Orm fell in love with each other, that is why I accepted. You know I never wanted this responsibility.” It pained (y/n) to say the next words but he knew with who his heart and loyalty belonged to, and it wasn't to some half-breed he never met. “I thought your heart and mind were in the right place, but I was wrong. If you continue with your crazy plan I won't support you at all. You'll be on your own. And tell your friend that if he ever try to harm my king in anyway, blood will be spilled. And you know I always win. Always.”

With that (y/n) looked at his sister one last time before jumping into the ocean and making his way back to Atlantis.

That same night (y/n) found his king in their shared royal bedroom, pacing, swimming in circles to be more precise. The man had his armor off, with just a purple almost transparent robe covering his body and his blond hair was lose, floating around his head. A sight that only his Royal consort was allowed to see, a fact that (y/n) was rather proud of.

When Orm heard someone at the door he turned around briskly as if expecting a threat. His worry lines softened and a half smile puled at his lips at the sight of his soon to be king.

“(Y/n), my dearest, where were you? I've been worrying sick.” The blond was at his lover's side in a second, giving him a soft kiss in the temple that (y/n) gladly accepted and returned.

“Don't treat me like a damsel in distress my king, we both know I'm very capable of protecting myself.” Orm knew how a ruthless warrior (y/n) could be, the best in all Atlantis, but the blonde still worried. Those were troubled times and the enemy could be lurking anywhere.

“I know you can protect yourself dear, but I can shake the feeling that something bad will happen.” The worry lines were back and the man's expression became haunted. “I feel lost, like I'm drifting through the open sea, without a direction. Except when I'm with you.” The half smile was back but it was somewhat dulled by the heavy subject. “I don't know what I would do if I lost you.”

“You won't. You're stuck with me, for better or worse.” (y/n) knew better than make a promise he had no control over, but he could at least lessen a few worries that plagued the king's heart. “And in a few weeks we will be tied together by Poseidon's blessing. So you better start getting used to the idea of having to look at this beautiful face for all eternity.” That last statement definitely drew a laugh from his king, and (y/n) was glad to ease the tension Orm was under even if a little bit.

“Only you to make me laugh at a time like this.” The king finally gave a real smile, with white teeth, dimples and blue eyes full of admiration. (Y/n) couldn't look at those ocean blue eyes for long without blushing like a teenager, so he turned away at the pretence of removing his armor. “Where were you anyway. It's unlike you to arrive so late.” The king asked while helping (y/n) remove the more complicated pieces of armor.

“I was just taking a walk above sea. I missed the stars.” Technically that wasn't a lie. (Y/n) did miss the sight of the night sky, sparkling with celestial life. Below sea was beautiful, it was his home after all, but the surface had it's own beauties to. He wanted to show all of them to Orm, but he never dared to ask the blonde to go with him. And he definitely wouldn't tell his king the real reason for his late night walk.

(Y/n) could feel the hand in his shoulder freeze, then the hold became a little tighter and suddenly it was gone. Orm had turned his back, his eyes were focused on his city that could be seen through the enormous window in the far side wall.

“We already had this conversation (y/n). I don't like when you go up there. That filthy place it's not worthy of your time or your presence.” The blonde's gaze didn't move from the window so the man behind him couldn't see his face.

“Our last conversation about this subject ended with you storming off and don't speaking with me for three days.” (y/n) left the last piece of his armor float to the floor before swimming towards his king and stopping in front of him, blocking the image of the city.

“Your infatuation with that place is insane.” The man's voice raised while he tried to control his irritation at the topic.

“Insane is your hatred towards an entire race just because of ONE man.” (y/n)'s voice raised to match Orm's, that was growing increasingly upset by the second, but the (y/h/c) haired man didn't stop, he couldn't. “Your brother didn't have anything to do with your mother's death, her choices were her own and if she was here today I'm sure she would agree with me. Atlanna's only dream was to prove to our people that we can coexist with the surface world. Which is exactly the opposite of what you're trying to do. Your mother…”

“My mother is dead!” The scream caught (y/n) by surprise, shocking him to silence. Eyes wide and red. Lips trembling and bared teeth. The king was crying, but the ocean was carrying away his tears.

“Yes she's dead.” (y/n) cupped the king's face with his hands while looking directly into those ocean blue eyes. “And you had to grow up with a man that only knew hatred. You were misguided, my love. War isn't always the answer. They'll only reply with more war and then the vicious cycle will never end. And if it ends someday, the winner would only be left standing in a pile of ashes.” At some point (y/n) had started crying to. It pained him to see Orm that way, helpless.

“What can I do? It's in their blood. They will never change.” The future king could see an opportunity to show Orm that not all men were savages. He needed to show the king how humans really lived, above sea level.

“Then let me show you what I see. Let me prove to you that they deserve a chance. And if I'm not successful in changing your mind, i'll support you and your war.” (y/n) didn't dare look away from his lover's gaze. If he had any chance to stop this conflict and the rise of a new half-breed king, he needed Orm to see reason, it was the only way.

But whatever his king decided to do, (y/n) would never live his side.

“Alright my dearest, I'll give this a chance. You're the only one I trust.” (y/n) sagged with relief as he hugged his king, the man he loved.

“You won't regret this, I promise.” Orm buried his face in the crook of his soon to be king and practically melted when (y/n) begun running his fingers through his hair, in the same way his mother used to do. They stayed like this for a few minutes untill the blonde broke the silence. 

“You look like her. My mother I mean.” Orm's whispered from where his face was still hidden in his lover's neck.

“How so?” (y/n) replied quietly, fingers never stoping their ministrations on the strands of blonde hair.

“You're fierce. I mean, you know hundreds of ways to kill a man. You probably could take down an army armed only with your Trident.” (y/n) could only listen to his king, trying to understand from where all of that was coming from. “But you have a heart. You can still be compassionate and benevolent, like her. She always saw the best in people, even when no one treated her with kindness.”

“I remember. She used to say that our people grew cold hearted from the lack of sunlight. And I agreed with her, and still do.” (y/n) gently cupped Orm's cheek, causing the man to look him in the eye. “Let me show you what your mother and I believe in. There's so much beautie up there. The sun, the sky and my favorite, the stars. And so much more. I've never seen so much kindness in one place. Our people can learn from them as much as they can learn from us.” (Y/n) had such an excited expression that Orm couldn't help but mirror it. “You won't have to do anything, I'll make the preparations, but don't worry we'll take it slow, it can be pretty distressing on your first time.” The king had a devilish smile when his lover finished talking.

“Are we still talking about going to the surface right? Or are you getting second intentions, dear?” (y/n)'s only answer for a while was furrowed brows and a look of confusion, and then his eyes lit up and his entire face turned red, making the king even more amused.

“I-I didn't mean to make it sound like that. It's not that I wouldn't be happy to do THAT with you, it's just… we-we should wait untill after the blessing, n-not that… Oh Poseidon help me.” (Y/n) finally got a hold of himself and stopped talking, but he couldn't look into Orm's eyes so he focused on a very interesting bubble by his feet.

His face was burning from embarrassment, if only his father could see him now. The most ruthless warrior in all Atlantis, blushing at the prospect of making love with his king.

“My dear look at me.” The king said while guiding the man's face with a finger under his chin, ever so gentle. (Y/n) couldn't do anything but obey, he let their eyes meet and those ocean blue orbs were shining with such intense adoration that almost brought (Y/n) to tears, again. “I was just teasing. We'll have a lot of time to get to know each other after the blessing, I'm sure. There's nothing I would want more.”

(Y/n) released a water he didn't know he was holding. He wasn't afraid that his king wouldn't feel that way towards him, if Orm never wanted to have sex so be it, but it was good to feel desired. And something in the king's eyes told him he would prove his point very soon.

(Y/n) cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the last bit of embarrassment before speaking. “So if that's settled, I'll talk with Vulko tomorrow about everything we will need for the journey. I think it's best if the whole thing remains a secret, no need to cause unnecessary speculations among the people.”

“Yes, of course. I trust you to get it done, but for now I think we should get some sleep. You look ready to pass out my dear.” Orm gently guided (y/n) towards the bed while the man mumbled about the things he needed to show his King when they got to the surface.

Once (y/n) was laid in bed and almost sleeping the king joined him. Orm hugged his soon to be king close to his chest, giving him a lingering kiss in the nape of the neck. (Y/n) was the only person he trusted in this world, and if he believed the surface dwellers could be redeemed than Orm would give him a chance to prove it.

If they were truly the scum of this world, like his father told him about then they would be destroyed once and for all, and his brother with them.

[writersperpetualblock]

S/O reacts to their heroes turning into villains. Pt I

You either die a hero, or live long enough to watch yourself become the villain.

Pt2 !

Warnings: Foul language, death, slightly nsfw ones are marked with "**".

He hovered above you, making your heart beat in all directions. His clothes were all black, and he wore some sort of mask that only covered his hair line and down to his jaw.

"You're scared of me."

"Shinsou baby please. You are so much more than this."

"Your tears won't change my mind. Everybody knew it, it was just a matter of time before I realized it too. I'm not cut out to be a hero." With a finger he wipes your cheeks.

"You are not a villain, this isn't right. You want to help people, not hurt them. I know that."

"Oh but you're wrong, hurting them is so much more fun. For the first time ever, I feel alive!"

A finger dragged up from your stomach to your collarbone. He dug there with a razor blade, drawing out blood. Earning a scream from you.

"I want you to be with me. You said you'd support me no matter what, remember?"

His eyes weren't in yours anymore, but in the place where he was inflicting pain.

"No, not like this." you swallowed hard "I would rather die."

He frowned, sending shiver down your spine. His finger kept going up, until it reached the side of your neck.

"That won't be a problem either, angel."

"Y/N-chan" he spoke in a sweet tone and took your hand "Why don't you see? Nobody can hurt me this way."

A sob escaped your lips. "Izuku... what happened to you?" Your hands go to his face.

Covered in blood. His face was covered in blood.

"No no, not Izuku. It's Deku now."

"Did Kachaan did this?" you sob, "I will kill him."

"He was right after all, I couldn't be a hero. Not without a quirk."

You started to become dizzy, and Izuku held you, dropping you gently on your knees and he got to your level.

"So I recurred to other ways, my good friend Tomura showed me. You're going to love him."

He held you lovingly, and you were trying hard to stay conscious. What had happened to your sweet Izuku?

"What did you do?" you whisper.

"What I had to, for them to respect me."

"What? Izuku I don't understand anything. This isn't you." He held you like a baby now, pressing you agaisnt his chest.

"It's alright sweetheart, you'll see. Now sleep, I'll take good care of you. I promise, I'm better than ever."

"Let go of this one ... she's mine."

That voice, it couldn't be. The villain let go of your neck, having you fall to the floor, coughing for air.

"What a brute, look at how he treats my girl." He crouches down and cups your face.

"You're nothing to me." you snarl, pulling your face away.

"That is a lie, your heart belongs to me."

"That changed when you turned into.... this" your voice threatens to break, but you won't let it.

This was the first time you'd ever seen him, like this. You had been avoiding all of the news, not wanting to face the truth. But here he was, real as ever.

You looked him in the eye, this wasn't the man you loved. He got close to your face, and all you felt was cold.

"I'll give you one chance, join me, I'll give you everything you could ever want."

Your lip quivered.

"I'm sorry, I should've helped Shouto" you face the ground and a sob shakes your entire frame.

"Don't be stupid." his voice is harsh "There was no helping me. This, is the only way to get back at him, for everything he put me through." he spoke through grutted teeth.

You cried harder.

"I guess I only thought you how to make girls cry."

You looked up at Shouto, his face frozen somewhere between fear, shock and betrayal. His eyes pierced through you and he grabbed your neck lifting you from the floor, slowly freezing the delicate skin.

He turned to meet his fathers gaze.

"Let go of the girl Todoroki."

"Or what? You'll beat me up? I'll freeze her neck off if you don't back off."

"You love her too much."

He pressed harder and you gagged, he left you with no choice.

"I'm sorry Shouto" you spoke in a raspy voice, he looked at you for a second and that was all it took to end him.

You cried out loud as the metal pierced through his chest, both of your bodies hitting the floor instantly. Empty eyes stared at you, there was blood everywhere.

He was dead, and so was your heart.

**

He turned around, as though he had been waiting for you.

"You're always one step ahead of the others aren't you." he asks.

"So I was right." you wished he would say no, you wished you were wrong. But there was no denying it.

Aizawa was the traitor.

"You weren't a part of my plan." he admits.

"You used me."

"No. That was real, all of it... I need you" his eyes inspected yours "You can be very helpful to us."

"Those kids were your responsability, they trusted you."

"Are you upset?" He walks closer, and despite your every instinct telling you to walk away you don't.

"Ofcourse I'm upset! They're going to be so hurt."

"Do you really care?..." he caresses your arm.

"Why did you do it? You're a hero Shouta."

He shrugs "It wasn't enough."

In a stupid attempt you try to use your quirk on him, but he just grabs your arms and turns you around. He pins your back agaisnt his chest tightly and leans on your ear.

"I know you want more too, dont deny it Y/N. You crave action, you want blood."

You clench your teeth and try to break free from his hold. Unsuccessfully. "Not the blood of inocents."

"Mmm I see, you think you're so high and migthy don't you?" his lips caress the skin of your ear and you sigh, unable to help it. Aizawa made you feel things, things you had never felt before.

"Fuck you."

"I hate to break it to you beautiful but you're not, you've killed, you've broken families. You're just as doomed as I am."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Why do you resist so much? It was you who told me you were bored of living such a simple life."

"Well becoming a villain isn't exactly on my bucket list."

"Admit it, you're intrigued."

You chuckle ironically "What makes you think that?"

"You could've broken out of this hold two minutes ago yet here you are, still in my arms."

You throw your weight backwards, hitting him with your head and spin around once you're loose from his hold. The roof was probably not the best place to fight Aizawa, but you didn't really have a choice.

"You won't make me question my morals Shouta."

He has a hand on his chin, but his eyes are still on you.

"Oh, I think I already did."

You push him with your quirk (Invisible force) and pin him against the door. He quickly erases it but you take a jump on him and kick his face, knocking him to the ground.

Again you use your quirk to keep him on the floor, and walk towards him.

"I didn't want to hurt you, but I have to turn you in."

But before you get a chance he's erased your quirk again and he stands up too quickly. Pushing you against the edge of the building and pulling on your hair so as to have half of your body in the air. You scratch his arms, looking for something to hold on to, put he pulls harder.

You scream in fear, thinking he's going to throw you off and your eyes shut thightly.

There's silence, and the breeze hits you. Cold enough to make you shiver.

You're prepared for him to let you go, you're ready to fall into your death. All because you had discovered him.

But instead, Aizawa places himself between your legs and kisses you ferociously. Pulling you up bit by bit.

You hold on to his neck, securing your safety before returning the kiss. And when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead on yours.

"I would never hurt you." "I'm going with you."

You both say at the same time. Aizawa opens his eyes to find you staring back at him. And a smile creeps on his face before kissing you again.

[curiousdamage]

For the Merry prompts: 37 or 76.

Thank you for the request!

I chose 76: “You’re not alone.”

Fandom: Karate Kid Becca-Verse

Pairing: Terry Silver/Mikey Sullivan

The sound was so soft, Mikey wasn't even sure he had actually heard it. But something had pulled him out of his booze-soaked dreams. Dreams that he probably shouldn't be having anyway.

He stared blearily at the clock on the wall. It was just after one a.m. Surely Terry wasn't still awake, but Mikey was sure he could hear him, mumbling through the thin walls. Probably on the phone with Cori again. Mikey wasn't sure why he'd begged him to come up here if all he was going to do was argue with his wife.

His wife. The reason he shouldn't be having dreams about blue eyes and killer grins. Well, one reason anyway. He put a pillow over his head to block out the sound.

After a few minutes, he decided he'd had enough. He didn't drive 3 hours for this. 

No. He'd driven 3 hours to feel stupid. To torture himself, to be so close to who he wanted and unable to…, well how was that any different than any other trip? Terry had been right at the wedding. He wasn't even able to admit to what he wanted much less act on it.

"Say it, Mickey. Say you want me, and I'll stop it. I'll put a stop to all of it and we’ll be together," Terry looked at him with that possessive look that made him crazy. "Admit it. Admit that you want me."

But he couldn't do it. Not even when everything he'd ever wanted was being held out to him.

“That’s what I thought,” Terry muttered.

What did Terry know anyway? Richie Rich didn't live in the real world.

This was ridiculous. They couldn't be friends, not when one of them wanted more. And one of them would always want more. He was just going to head back to base. It’d be easier that way. He dressed quickly and slung his duffel bag on his shoulder and grabbed his boots. 

He was looking around for his jacket in the sitting room when he noticed the phone was off the hook. Were all the phones in the suite connected? Terry was still mumbling. He grabbed his jacket off a nearby table. His hand was on the door. He could leave. He should leave. A clean break. For both of them.

He had a wife and a kid now, and Mikey…, well mom was always pushing for another General in the family.

"No! No!" He heard Terry moan.

"Shit," he muttered. He dropped his jacket and bag on a nearby chair and set his boots back by the door. He'd just go check on him, then he'd leave.

He crossed the sitting room and tapped lightly on Terry's door. He was probably just arguing with Cori again.

Not getting an answer, he opened the door quietly.

Terry was sound asleep…, Well, it wasn't very sound. He was thrashing

around in the bed.

“Terry. Terry, Terry!"

He jerked awake.

"What? What is it?" Terry sat up and looked at Mikey standing in the door. "Shit. I was doing it again, wasn't I?"

"It happens," he shrugged.

"Thanks for waking me. I'm…," he looked around. "I'm good now. You can go back to bed." He looked at him properly. "Or wherever you were going. Where were you going?"

"For a smoke," he lied, "Been happening a lot?”

"Enough."

"You know, we all have them," he said, softly. Terry didn't look okay. He still looked scared to death. Shit. It really should be easier than this. But he couldn't break that link. He didn't want to. He pulled off his shirt. "Move over."

"Thought you needed a smoke?" Terry reminded him.

"It can wait," he replied. "Besides, nicotine fit me is a lot of fun. Now, it's cold as fuck in this room so move over."

"Get in before I change my mind," Terry said, sliding over in the bed.

Mikey crawled in with him. "Come here, Baby." He put his arms around the younger man, pulling him against his chest. "Damn, you're tall."

"Yeah. It's a genetic thing," he laughed, though he was still shaking. "Only good thing my father gave me."

"Well, that and several billion dollars, and houses, and cars, and…,"

"I sold his cars," Terry interrupted. "They were stupid cars. He had no taste. I bought a plane instead. Know any good pilots?"

"Give me about eight years," he laughed, "Come on, Baby, relax. I got you." He pressed a kiss to the back of the other's neck and snuggled closer. "Damn, why is it so cold in here?”

"I can't sleep when it's hot," Terry said. 

Something in his tone implied that hot usually brought on more nightmares.

"Yeah, well, I don't see how Cori sleeps with you every night, the silicon in her tits is gonna freeze. She'll be able to use them as weapons."

Terry snorted with laughter. "First of all, her tits are real. Second, I’m pretty sure she already does, and third, she doesn't sleep with me."

"Oh." He felt bad that the thought made him a little happy. "Why not?"

"Because rich people don't sleep together. Haven't you ever watched television? Once they have a child, they sleep with their secretaries, gardeners, tennis coaches, whatever blue-collar workers are hanging around," he joked.

“Are pilots on that list?"

"I thought pilots were white-collar," he replied.

"Maybe if you are the top pilot in some corporate firm, but the rest of us just wear pretty uniforms and pretend we don't get dirty," Mikey answered.

"I don't sleep much and when I do, I don't do it well. I have nightmares…, I keep her awake," he muttered.

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment. "We all have problems sleeping. If you weren't there you don't get it. You can't blame her for that." He pulled on Terry's arm to get him to turn to face him. He caressed the younger man’s face. "You’re not alone. If you can’t sleep, chances are, I’m not either.” He paused and smiled. “Especially since I’m normally nine hours ahead of you, you can almost bet on it.  Call me. We’ll get through it together, Baby.”

Baby. There it was again.  He wasn’t hearing things he wanted to hear.  Terry usually couldn’t stand endearments. Fake declarations to fool people into doing what you wanted.  That ridiculous name Cori used when she wanted something did nothing but set his eyes rolling, however, coming from Mikey’s lips it was as much his undoing as his use of the name ‘Mickey’ was Mikey’s. He pressed his lips against Mikey’s, for once not being stopped or pushed away.

The kisses were desperate and needy. Mikey ran his fingers through black curls, grabbing a fistful and pulling Terry back, looking at him for a moment.

“Is…, is this okay?” he panted. 

Mikey nodded slowly, studying the other’s face.  And it was.  The usual fear and panic he felt when he was with another man weren’t there.  Maybe it was because this wasn’t about sex, it was about comfort.  Maybe it was because Terry finally had as much to lose over this as he did.  Or maybe he was just so fucking lonely lately that he no longer gave a damn.  Whatever this was, whatever it could be or cause, had to be better than what he had now, which was a whole lot of nothing.  Hollow, empty, hateful nothing.  He felt safe and wanted and it was better than a whole damn bottle of Jack Daniels could ever be.  

Terry pushed him back on the bed, moving over him, kissing his jaw and down his neck.  He forced himself to relax and just enjoy what was happening for once.  They were hundreds of miles from anyone that knew either of them and half a world away from anyone that really mattered.  

“You’re not alone, either, you know,” Terry said, laying his head on Mikey’s chest.  “This.  What you feel.  What we’re doing.  You’re not alone.  I feel the same way.  It’s not wrong.  You aren’t wrong.  It’s just us.  No one else ever has to know.”

It was on his tongue to ask about Cori, but right then, he just didn’t care.  Besides, their two very different lives gave it a ‘not real’ feeling.  He lay there silently, contemplating what the other man had said.  It was almost too much to be real.  His fingers traced over the lines of the cobra tattoo on Terry’s shoulder.  He wanted him.  He felt the same way. What wasn’t real couldn’t hurt them, could it?

“We…, we would have to be very discrete,” he heard himself saying.  “If anyone ever found out…,”

“I know, Mickey.  You aren’t the first man I’ve been with.  I know the stakes.  I know they’re ten times higher with you because of your family and career and everything, but I care about you.  I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Could it really be that easy?  Could he really have someone he cared about?  

He took a deep breath.  “If I say it’s over, it’s over.”

“Okay.”

“And no one can even suspect….,”

“They won’t.  We will figure this out.  Please, Mickey?”

He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.  “Okay. Yeah. Yes.”  

Whatever this was, whatever it could be, whatever it was going to cause was already a hell of a lot better than the empty, hollow, hateful nothing that was receding from his life.  He just prayed nothing worse would take its place.