#it's angst o clock

[rottenrascalart]

Lasso fill is my new best friend

reference below the cut

[clickety-clacker]

Keep it together, body!

[flamie-42]

I want out…

Soukoku (Dazai x Chuuya) - alternate Beast AU

Tags: slight angst with a happy ending, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (I promise), fluff, cannon typical suicidal ideation from Dazai, nothing more graphic than the cannon, Dazai and Chuuya being stupidly in love

Content Warnings: slight gore, suicidal ideation, typical Dazai CWs,

A little skk mini fic, while I gain the mental capacity to update my actual fics

Dazai is tired.

Every morning he wakes up. Goes to a meeting. The meeting is boring. Someone probably died. Or supplies aren’t getting past law enforcement. Or someone is mad at him. He can’t really bring himself to himself to care.

No one has noticed this shift in his attitude, to them the boss has always been a cold piece of shit with no emotion. “The demon prodigy is as cold as ice” he hears whispers in the halls of the Port Mafia building. He doesn’t bother to try and change his way, they are mostly correct.

Mostly…

Osamu sighs as he opens the door to his penthouse suite. He would have rather just slept in his office if it wasn’t for a certain … someone.

“Osamu you’re fucking late!” A familiar voice calls from the kitchen. He sighs as the cold mask he is so tired of falls off in the comfort of the warm inviting suite.

Most of the Mafia assumes that a man like him lives in a dark cold flat. That he only sleeps and eats there. Little do they know that the lively ginger that remains at his side most days lives there too, brining his noise and color.

A flurry of reds envelops him as he sheds his coat and tight suite shirt. The smell of spice and wine takes over his senses as he melts into Chuuya’s arms.

“Long day, huh” his partner only slightly mocks him as he leads the exhausted man into the kitchen.

“I don’t know how you’re not, Chuu” osamu sighs as he collapses onto a stool to watch his love cook. Long ago Chuuya had taken on the job of cooking for the both of them. One, so Dazai would eat and two, so he wouldn’t burn down their place. Now he was cooking up some ramen for the two of them.

“I’m not running the whole operation, I just gotta follow orders” Chuuya winks at his boss as he serves up the food.

“We both know how much you *love* following orders” Osamu smirks at his partner as the redhead laughs deeply.

Later as they lay in bed, limbs tangled together, Osamu sighs deeply and quietly states,

“I want out, Chuu”

It wasn’t a question, just a soft firm statement shared between lovers.

“You sure?” The sleepy response came from the redhead.

“Absolutely”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Chuuya pulled him closer and softly kissed his hair, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do that for a long time.

Atsushi walked into his Boss’ office for the early morning meeting they had scheduled. The office was empty but Atsushi assumed the man would be in soon enough. After a few minutes without the dark haired man arriving he noticed a letter on the desk with his name scrawled on the front.

Atsushi,

I’m sorry it had to happen like this, you know how the mafia is about deserters. Hirotsu will take over in my stead and Kouyou and you will be his seconds.

You’ll do great.

The weretiger looked terrified at his partner who was standing quietly behind him. A commotion drew their attention to the large windows in time to see a flash of black and red falling.

Reaching the ground floor they were in time to hear the rumble of gravity breaking concrete. This only confirmed the suspicions of the two. As they walked out the front doors of the Mori Corp. they were just in time to see the red headed exectutive collapse the sidewalk.

It had been a long suspicion that the boss and his prized executive had a relationship more intimate than the partners they claims to be, though no one dared voice those rumors. Both members of Double Black were ruthless and violent if provoked. Though in most eyes the display in front of their eyes confirmed how close the duo was.

Red markings creep onto Chuuyas skin as he feels the weight of gravity bend to his will. The concrete he stands on cracks and buckles. Rebar screeches and snaps as immeasurable stress is placed upon it. His eyes blur as he sees the body beneath him, laying much too still.

The body is mangled and bloody, its dark coat crumpled as it hit the pavement. But what hit Chuuya the hardest was the scarf. The blood red scarf that Chuuya has given Dazai so many years ago.

It was a cold night when Chuuya had gotten a call from his new partner to meet on the roof of the skyscraper the Mafia called home.

On that rooftop the two of them had made a pact to remain loyal to eachother, above all else.

Dazai had given him the leather choker that still lay on his neck. A “collar for my faithful dog” the brunette had said. And despite chuuyas chagrin he had been a faithful dog to Dazai since that day. Not that Osamu had made him do anything he would have protested (much) to.

In return Chuuya had given him a blood red scarf that adorned his bandaged neck since that day. “A reminder of your job” Chuuya had said bitterly, referring to Corruption. But since that day Osamu had always been there to bring him back.

The concrete finally collapsed and Chuuya floated down with the rubble. Each progressive story of the underground the gravity punched through. Corruption had fully taken over Chuuyas body and there was no stopping it…not anymore.

He knew what people would say, the rumors he had confirmed by this but he didn’t care anymore. There was no point to continue like this, without him there.

His consciousness fell away until there was only red, Arahabiki fully taking over his mind and body until Chuuya was shut in a little corner.

He sat in an empty room, looking through his own eyes and watching the chaos that the god inside him was inflicting on the world. It appeared Arahabiki wanted to take both him and the body beneath them to a deep grave where no one would find them.

We must be deep at this point

I wonder how much father we need to go

Arahabiki will find him

The windows closed and the room fell dark around him. Chuuya laid down and closed his eyes, simply waiting.

And waiting…

And waiting…

And finally a soft blue light enveloped the room. It was a comforting, familiar light. He had felt it many times before… and at this point it felt like home.

Chuuya opened his eyes, his real eyes, and saw a pair of bright brown eyes waiting for him. A hand held his cheek tenderly.

“Did you have a fun time princess” Osamu’s mocking tone flowed into his ears.

“You asshole, you put your scarf on the body” Chuuyas bit back, his voice rasping.

“I thought it would sell it more” Osamu had now picked up Chuuya, who was in no condition to walk, and began to walk towards a tunnel that was poking into the hole they stood in.

“Asshole” came a quiet response from the redhead.

“Sorry Chuu” he whispered back, he knew Chuuya had a much harder role in this to play but he did it beautifully as always.

Chuuya awoke in a soft, clean smelling bed. He stretched, feeling his bones pop as he looked around him.

Dazai sat a few feet away, drinking something and looking out the open door of a shipping container. Beyond him was the vast blue ocean, now a new shade of teal that he knew belonged to the tropics of Oceania.

He stood up and stumbled over to his partner who looked up at him, a happy smile plastered on his face. Chuuya had waited years to see that smile grace his lips again.

“Welcome to our new life, love” Osamu whispered as he pressed a kiss to Chuuya’s lips.

“Thank goodness it worked” Chuuya slumped into his arms, body still exhausted.

“You should have seen the explosion! It was magnificent” Osamu smiled as he wrapped his arms around the redhead. “Could have fooled me that Arahabiki imploded deep underground”

So everything had gone to plan

The mafia would think them dead and they could live out their lives, far away from the violence and destruction.

Just them on an island Dazai had bought years ago and spent days untying it from both their names.

“I think you should go blonde” Chuuya mumbled, combing his fingers through his partners hair

“Only if you go brunette” came the laughing response

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Some Fluff, Talk of Death/Afterlife, Suggested Depression, Suggested Self-Harm, Suggested Breakdown, Suggested Anxiety, Light Smut

Word Count: 3.7K

“I recognized you instantly. All of our lives flashed through my mind in a split second. I felt a pull so strongly towards you that I almost couldn't stop it.” ― J. Sterling

It was a hot and humid day. The type of days Miguel hates the most in September because the heat made him uncomfortable and the humidity made his hair frizzy and lose its shape. It was even worse while sitting in a stuffy classroom with ACs that never worked. The rooms were always filled with the strong smell of teenage bodies and dust from janitorial neglection over the summer months. In addition, the beginning weeks of school were a bore with nothing to actually do but sit there and listen to underpaid teachers repeat the same school rules they hear in the beginning of every school semester. 

He was sure he was about to fall asleep at that moment. The heat made him drowsy and the monotone voice of his teacher morphed into white noise. It was nearing the end of the day anyways, and too early into the school year for any teachers to give enough of a shit to write anyone up. He couldn’t take another second of school expectations and the disgusting mix of AXE body spray and floral perfume. But, now when he thinks back on that boring class, he can’t take it on himself to fully hate it. Because, in the same second that he looked toward the clock above the door to check the time, his life changed forever. 

It was instant. Maybe not instant instant, but it was just quick enough to call it instant. She had come in late. Very late with a chest that heaved and tried to keep her rapidly beating heart in her body. Sweat made the front pieces of her hair stick to her face, flushed from the way she had run down the hall to make it to class. Of course, in that moment Miguel found her less than ideal, but he knows now that even in that stuffy school uniform the academy mandated every student to wear, she was the most beautiful goddamn thing that walked the entire earth. And when she spoke to give her name for attendance, a voice and name that will haunt Miguel until he takes his last breath, he knew their lives would be forever intertwined. 

That thought was concrete the second you had walked down the same row of desks as him, stopping at the desk directly in front of him. The smell of sweetness and a bit of sweat, a smell that only comes to him in the early mornings when he isn’t really awake or asleep, instantly overpowered any other smell in the room. If he skips ahead, he can remember nearly every instance in which he leaned his stomach against the hard edge of the desk to get a stronger smell, everytime he held up a piece of your hair to his face, everytime he snuck out of your bedroom window smelling like you after spending the night making love. But, Miguel is a man who follows a strict timeline, who revels in the chronological order of things. 

Instead, he focuses on the first time he had the chance to talk to you. Despite you being only a desk away, it took a few months to hold an actual conversation that was more than, “Do you have an extra pencil?” or “Did you write down the last bullet of that slide?” Despite the lack of communication, the younger Miguel had developed a slight crush on you. He had seen you in the halls between classes and he focused more on you than on the board in class. In all honesty, the delay in conversation was purely your fault. You were an energetic girl, not popular but well known. Someone was always talking to you at your desk in the beginning and end of class. Always laughing with you about something stupid that happened early that day, always asking for help for an upcoming test or assignment, always taking up your time. He could never be mad about it, though. Even if it meant he had lost an extra few months with you. It was okay because even if those months weren’t with you, they were of you. Months filled with the sound of your voice, the addicting sound of your laugh, the glimpses of your smile and shiny eyes. Moments that fill his head when he sleeps at night and when he gets lost in a daydream. 

You had turned to him, asking him about some party one of his friends at the time was planning because he had turned 18. They’re simple, small questions: “What was the address again?”, “Anyone is invited, right?”, “What’s the dress code? Is there a theme?”, “Are you going?”. He had to bite his tongue to stop from scaring you off with manic answers. Yes, anyone is invited but don’t bring some random guy with you. Bring me with you instead. The dress code doesn’t matter because you’ll look stunning in anything you wear. I only want to go if you go. 

“You… only want to go if I go?” You had asked. Your voice was decorated with a confused giggle and your ears had glowed pink. 

Miguel blinked up at you with his own confusion. He had yet to realize his last words had bubbled out of his chest until you were giggling and eyeing him shyly. He was quick to cover his face as it grew warm, and he let out a groan while cursing himself. You had laughed harder then, eyes shining with a build-up of tears as you clutched your stomach. Miguel had spread his fingers slightly so he could peak through them. You were a sight to behold with that enchanting laughter and infatuating smile. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling against his palms. When you had finally reduced your amusement to a toothy smile, you had gently pried Miguel’s hands off his face just enough to see him. 

He was sure he looked stupid, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide over the fact you were touching him. Your hands were warm and small against his and he swore his heart was trying to rip open his chest so it could run to you. He almost went dizzy when your thumb stroked his hands in a comforting manner in hopes of easing his embarrassment. He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. Would you have minded? God he really hoped you wouldn’t.

“Miguel?” You sang, a teasing smile on your face as you looked at him, “Are you there?”

Say it again. Say my name again, please. You’re the only person ever allowed to say it ever again. God, he was losing his mind. He still is losing it over you. Every goddamn day. Miguel doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. You took it from him. His mind, his body, his soul. You took everything from him. It’s yours. It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

Please, give it back to me.

When he had finally responded to you, your smile had shone brighter and you asked him a question that still leaves his mind dumbstruck when he thinks back on it: What time do you want to pick me up? He remembers the way his breath flew out of his lungs, how his heart had paused and then started running again. Remembers the way your throat bobbed slightly, probably because you had regretted asking the question or maybe, he hopes this is why because he never thought to ask you, maybe because you were nervous too. Just maybe you had wanted to talk to him before this life altering moment. Maybe, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were tied to this fool of a boy too. 

He had stuttered out a pathetic ‘what?’ and you had rolled your eyes playfully in response. You ditched repeating the question and had instead given him a time and your address before getting up as the bell rang. While you walked out the door with a small wave and big smile, Miguel sat there in an astonished daze blinking at the board. Time seemed to stop as everyone else around him started walking past him to their next classes. It wasn’t until his friend walked past, jolting him with a slap on the back and a whispered, ‘good work, dude’ before walking out the door that he came back to his senses. It was only then that the conversation finally registered in Miguel’s dazzled brain. He leaned forward and hid his face in his hands again as he closed his eyes and his mouth formed a large smile. 

He had a date. He had a date with you.

His shoulders shook with a silent, delirious laugh.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

Miguel knew he was in love. Or, he knew he was going to be in love. It’s complicated to describe, that nagging feeling that wasn’t exactly scary but wasn’t completely comforting either. It’s even weirder feeling it. Having your mind constantly crying out go home, go home, go home but your body pulls you away from every building and straight towards another body like you’re tethered together. Like he’s tethered to you. Sometimes, when Miguel closes his eyes and really concentrates, he can still feel that sharp tug at the center of his chest that tries to bring him somewhere that he tries to get further and further away from. 

He can’t lie and say it wasn’t the big things that made him think, know, he was in love. Because it was. But it was also the small things. Like when you found out what his favorite color was, yellow despite popular belief, and how you had come into school the next week with your nails done in the exact shade you had made him show you on his phone. Or that time he had seen your phone light up in class and your display had revealed that you were listening to the same song he was mumbling under his breath the day before on repeat. It was the collection of those small details that made his heart beat a bit faster and for his smile to tick up behind his hand.

And it was that first kiss. That damned first kiss that Miguel can still feel ghosting against his lips. That he feels on his bad days like some sort of silent encouragement that he will get through it. Swears those phantom lips are what pulls him out of his night terrors as if to protect him as he pants and cries in those late hours. The same kiss that he wishes he could feel forever and ever and simultaneously burn from memory. Sometimes, he thinks about pulling some poor, unsuspecting stranger off the street and kissing them to see if it would feel the same. When he thinks like that, he instantly goes to the bathroom and dry heaves until his throat hurts. Of course it would never feel the same, what a silly idea. What a betrayal and discourtesy towards you to even entertain the idea. 

The kiss had happened weeks after the party. In between those two moments had been brushed hands, glances in the hallways, and not so subtle flirting whispered during lessons. Each moment had Miguel’s face flushing and heart racing. It left him with a craving for you. So, when you had invited him to study with you in the library, he had eagerly nodded despite knowing he would ace the test without looking over any of his notes. He would be too busy looking at you either way to focus on his chicken scratch. 

You hadn’t gotten much studying done that day either. Instead, Miguel had distracted you with whispered words in your ears that caused you to quietly giggle and smile up at him. He can remember every detail. From the way your cheeks grew to match the pink of your lips, how you had fiddled with the mechanical pencil in your hand, how your eyes had twinkled as you leaned towards him. He remembers how you had grabbed his hand, a soft and gentle touch, asking him to come with you to find a book you needed. Remembers how you had pulled him towards the back shelves filled with encyclopedias with bug-bitten pages. Can still remember the slight dizzy feeling he had when you pulled him around one of the old bookshelves and pressed him into it. Can still feel the hands pressed against his chest to hold him in place as you peaked around the corner in case anyone was coming over. He remembers the notes he chuckled as he asked you what you were doing. Can see the smile you gave him before you pulled him down for the only kiss that will ever matter in his entire life. 

Your lips were soft and tasted like the cherry lip gloss you wore. He had furrowed his brows as his hands came to squeeze your waist while he moved his mouth over yours. He memorized the trail your hands took as they traveled up his chest and tangled in his hair. He can replicate the way his vocal cords shifted as he let out that satisfied groan when you allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth. If he were to look down at his hand right now, he could swear the creases of his palms still have your sticky gloss stuck in them from when he had turned you around to press you against the shelves, but his desperation caused books to fall and his hand went to cover your mouth as you pulled away and started laughing. He had smiled down at you and buried his head in the crook of your neck to muffle his own laughter. He never regretted getting detention for the next few days when the librarian had found the both of you. It just gave him more chances to kiss you when the detention instructor fell asleep. 

It was during one of those detention kisses that he had whispered against your lips to be his girlfriend. You had answered with another kiss and a delighted yes.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

It had been a month or two after the one year anniversary that he finally made love to you. It was sometime in the later months of senior year. Another hot and humid day. But instead of being in a classroom, he had been in your room. Miguel remembers that your sheets had been white with a small flower print, throw pillows and blankets making up for the lack of color. They were soft under the material of his jeans as he held you while you cried. 

On that day, your usually clean room was in shatters. Things ripped from your walls, notebooks and papers shoved off your desk, clothes taken off hangers and thrown on the floor. The only things that had survived had been pictures of the two of you and your bed. He had gotten a call from your frantic mother, begging him to come calm you down. That he was the only one that can get through the fog in your mind. He had rushed over, your mother opening the door for him so he could run up the stairs to your room. When he had thrown open the door, his chest broke in a way that made it almost impossible to breathe. He rubs his chest whenever he thinks back to it, like the heartbreak is still there.  

You had thrown yourself in a corner, sobbing and rocking yourself back and forth in a way to seek comfort. The mess of your room had surrounded you, barricading you from everything else. When the door knocked into the wall, your face had left your arms and tear-beaded lashes blinked up at him. You had cried harder when you had seen him. He had strived towards you, picking you up easily off the ground and away from the chaos on your floor. He cradled you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his hips as you cried tears into his T-shirt. He had whispered soft, caring words into your ear, an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand in your hair. 

You had cried for another hour, hiccuping watery words about a scary future. A life of uncertainties and insecurities. A life where you ended up alone and scared and desperate to get by. A world where dreams don’t exist and your greatest fears consume you. Days where you don’t know how to get out of bed and shut up the nasty voices in your head. Minutes where you’re tempted to listen to them and then the hours that follow where you hate yourself for contemplating it. If Miguel were to go into his closet right now, he can find the same shirt he wore. A single shoulder lingering with black splotches of mascara that never fully washed away. Each splotch represents a worry you had trusted him with. 

He had pressed you closer to him, whispering ‘it’s not your fault’, over and over and over again until his throat ached and your cries had died down to soft trembling. Another hour was spent in silence as he had just held you. His hands playing mindlessly with your hair and your breath tickling his neck. The sun had begun to set and a golden glow had lit up your bed in a yellow color.

“It’s your favorite shade,” You had whispered in a broken voice. It was scratchy and rough. Miguel thought it sounded just as lovely as it always has. It reminds him of a pipe organ, beautiful but sad. 

He had to turn around to see what you were talking about. He turned his head slightly to see your hand outstretched, fingers playing as the light spilled from them. He can’t remember a time where you looked so peaceful. He had watched your hand, before nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, it is.”

He reached his hand out, taking a hold of yours gently and connecting his fingers with yours like a puzzle. He brought his hands back towards the both of you, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. He watched your eyes, red and puffy from crying. He held your hand to his mouth for a while, his thumb stroking the skin. When he had finally dropped your hand, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, just staring into his eyes. Your scent instantly filled his nose. It is the same smell that he has stored in his bedside drawer in a glass bottle. He never sprays it in his room, just holds it to his nose with closed eyes and pretends you’re right next to him again.

“I love you.” The words were sweet and poured warmth onto his skin. He closed his eyes and sat there, letting your words echo in his head until he memorized how each letter and syllable sounded when it left your lips. 

Miguel remembers the strength he used to grab your waist as he connected your lips to his. Remembers that the kiss was different from any other kiss the two of you had shared before this. He still can’t describe why it was different, but he can still feel it in his bones. He remembers pushing his body into yours and you pushing back. Even though his eyes were closed in the moment, he can see everything clearly in his mind, as if he were a phantom watching it. Can see the exact placement of your hands on his shoulders, can see the way your lips parted and the soft noise you made when he had flipped the two of you over and laid you on your back. 

Those soft, soft noises that split his chest open so his heart can absorb them and keep them safe. He remembers every soft pant and plead you had whispered into the air of your room as he stripped you of your clothes, kissing trails down your body. The giggle you had let out when he almost tripped taking off his pants is still trapped between those plaster walls. The soft feeling of your skin under his was like a cloud, your body warmth the sun. He remembers the halo your hair made as the dying sunlight bathed your face and caused your eyes to shine and for your skin to glow. He remembers the light dimming from your face as he slid slowly into you. He had immediately apologized as you whimpered in temporary pain. 

He had slowly moved inside you, taking his time as you held him close to your body. The soft moans of his name traveled through shivers that rode down his spine, the sounds quiet to not alert your parents. His response was the repeated saying of I love you, over and over again. He repeated it, looking down at your face, into your eyes, so you could see the realness and vulnerability of the words. He made sure you felt it as he grabbed onto your skin and buried his head into your neck as he thrusted. He felt the love you had for him in every scratch down his back and tightening of your walls around him. 

He remembers trying to hold on to his pleasure before it exploded right after yours. He had panted as he looked down at you, your breaths mixing together. He had kissed you softly as he pulled his softening member out of you and you smiled against his lips. He had laid with you for a while before getting up, grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping you down before taking you into his arms again and falling asleep. He held you close to his chest, both of you naked under your blankets as the moonlight glowed against the two of you. 

The next morning, he drove you to the closest drug store. The both of you walked to the counter smelling like each other as he paid for a Plan B pill and snacks. It was a story you and him laughed about on the rooftop of your house the night you both graduated from Pym Academy.

CHAPTER 2- THEN: THE CANON

[bucksboobs]

Think about tommy thinking about bucks fingers in him. He misses it. Nothing will ever fill him so good. He tried to find something but nothing is like buck.

Tommy crying while fingering himself because not even he can do it like Buck could, Buck just knew him and even as he tries to copy it the angle is all wrong. He needs Buck to be there with him but he cut the best thing he’s ever had out of his life and now he has to suffer for it, to save himself, or so he keeps telling himself.

[spextr1m]

Enemies to Lovers with... Joker aka Ren Amamiya!!

A/n: I wrote this at 6 AM yall

Contains: MASSIVE spoilers, ew Kamoshida, Shido's a shit, Reader being dense ANNND a simp

GN! Reader (Referred as "You" later "They/them")

-You're confused.

-When they gossiped about the new kid and referred him as "Punk kid" you imagine him being more scarier only you've met a timid dude with a criminal record, you like the rest would've get intimidated and stay away from him.

-Not to mention, Kamoshida gives you an ick especially what he did to girls

-Everytime Ren tries to approach you, you either flinched or ran away because you're worried that he'll rat you out to Kamoshida.

-After Kamoshida's heart changed, you're also 100% confused about Kamoshida so you'd think that it has to be a joke that there's no way someone is capable of changing hearts like admitting the crimes.

-The more Phantom Thieves have more members the more you're even more surprised (Although you secretly envies that you want to be part of them).

-You got this thinking, does Ren felt the same as you or...

-Nope, it's definitely one sided while you're scared of his reputation but he just teases the hell out of you.

-When he approaches only you squeaked which he finds it amusing.

-Of course, Ann will knock your sense out that Ren's more than the criminal

-"How am I supposed to know??" "He didn't do wrong!"

-You're also type of person who freaked out when Ren's gaze is so intense that your soul exits your body which also freaks out others about your shenanigans.

-But why's your heart beats so fast when it comes to him?

-Guess Ann's words struck on you.

-Ren will spend his time with you if you let him and show who he really is, so you accepted it bit reluctant. However you're shocked that he shows his different side to you, you're now convinced that he's innocent and Ann's influence cause you to become more opening to him.

-The more you spent your times with him, the more your heart beats so faster so bad that you want to kiss his grinning face but worries that he's not gonna like you back.

-But if you're in Metaverse, of course the dude will PROTECT you like a knight.

-Ironically Phantom Thieves adopt you and you're closest to Ann

-Of course you confess your confusing feelings to Ann that when you like his voice because it's soothing to hear unlike Morgana Crowds blocking their own thoughts then you wish that you want to help him so sooner if it weren't for Shido.

-Of course, Ann will help you out and now proud that you're accepting him as a person.

-Only you accidentally blunder that Ren is so pretty and looks handsome especially his grinning face to wipe it out to your other friend yk what's funnier

-He actually heard it.

-"I knew you like me so sooner." You notice a shadow towering you which makes your other friend nudging you out of "Way to go dude, you confessed your love to him" which you look at him with a biggest grin you've ever seen in your life.

"Damn it I thought I was sneaky!" Their face now have red dusting and their hands lightly balled fist, oh boy you're now redder than the usual.

-And yes, you two are now a thing because he stole your first kiss by kissing your lips (with consent ofc)

-You ended up defending him when someone threatens you about you dating a criminal.

-When you see him being badly beaten up, you're so worried that you want to punch someone in the face.

-Ever since Shido's now in bars, he's now freed man which you can't help but to cry in tears with happiness that your wishes.

[sid3buns]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Aɴʏ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ ɪs ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴀ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇss, ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[tyunniebbang]

pretty people downtown | k.sn

pick your poison — love, lust, passion. who knows what i did it for?

a/n: this is my take on the stereotypical femme fatale role for sunoo <3. i don't really see anyone writing him with such a character yet it fits him so well! manipulative sexy sunoo should be something we explore more ;)

wc: ~800

warnings/notes: gender neutral!reader, extremely flirty sunoo, lots of nicknaming (sweetheart, honey, etc.), discussion about crimes, slightly suggestive

"kim sunoo, age 21. born in south korea, moved to LA when he was 10. his family history is largely unknown. he's listed as unemployed, but he's been seen around many bars downtown with men and women alike."

god, you might have a big case on your hands right now. and it all came wrapped with a ribbon nicely for you, in the form a blonde young man, sitting elegantly in the interrogation room.

you huff, trying to amp yourself up for a tough mental fight coming ahead. there's no saying on how much he'll talk, so you might end up in there for a long time. nothing rousing in this line of work, you suppose.

checking all your files are present, everything in place, you walk towards the door and get interrupted right before that knob tweaks open. "detective, you know he might be just the one we're looking for." you glance back at your colleague. "be careful, y/n. he's not gentle as you think he is."

_

"kim sunoo. do you know why you're here today?"

the blank face finally turns to you, perhaps getting some interest in you and your words. those eyes, they bore into you relentlessly and glisten with intrigue.

and he slumps back into the chair.

seriously, is he going to play the silent game?

you had to get something out of this beauty today, no matter what it took. so you continued, "sunoo-ssi. this isn't a laughing matter. you've been accused as a suspect for multiple connected murders. you could end up behind bars for decades."

he immediately shoots his arrow: "the only place i'll like to end up is in someone's bed, preferably yours."

"e-excuse me?" saving yourself from choking from his bold words, you would've never expected this pretty boy's first words to be like this.

what are you thinking, he isn't pretty! he's a suspect for god's sake, get your head in the game...

well, his outfit doesn't help his case. he's in an all black ensemble: a tight fitting turtle neck, a black skirt and fish nets. his earlobes, neck, fingers all adorned with various silver accessories. who dresses like this anymore? it's 2pm for heaven's sake, you think it's more likely to see someone like this at 2am.

sunoo hums, inching closer and closer to you. even if he looks slightly cute with his chubby cheeks and pale skin, you can't shake off the constant uneasiness that he gives you. this man is dangerous - you conclude, why does one singular person give you such the creeps that gnaws at you consistently?

"you can stop trying to read me sugar, it won't work."

"i wasn't—"

"shhh. honey, sometimes beautiful people look the prettiest when they don't open their mouth, hm?"

immediately, your body betrays itself as you feel your cheeks heating up to a crimson red. you hesitate at the finger pressed on your lips right now, mouth sealed shut. is it even normal to feel this flustered when you get complimented by a criminal?

he doesn't even care. he doesn't care that he's sitting in an investigation room, with possibly heaps of crimes stacked up against him. that he may very well end up in jail, with a criminal record, guilty of all the most heinous crimes. he doesn't care — and that annoys you to no end.

all kim sunoo cares about is getting into your pants?

this sly, seductive son of a bitc—

"tell me, y/n. what makes you think i came here to confess a crime?"

...he knows your name.

creepy, you admit. most people who sit in that chair usually want nothing to deal with you, and yet sunoo himself has defied all expectations in the first 10 minutes of meeting him.

"y-you... you think you're innocent? don't lie, sunoo-ssi. it's not a good track record."

"oh but i have a clear one. you have nothing on me, don't you? don't fool me with those thick files. i know the laws inside out, y/n." he spits.

"you've clearly been looking everywhere for your suspect, and suddenly one shows up at your doorstep? come on sweetheart, i know you're smarter than this. i've only appeared because i wanted to." he scoffs, gazing into the one way glass behind you. "it's just amusing watching your team run around in circles before you closed this case cold."

this man's domineering aura is glowing brighter and brighter every second, even though you thought he was already intimidating when you first walked in. it feels like a prey getting trapped in their own trap. you've made one for kim sunoo, so why does it feel like you're the one losing and drowning?

you drop speechless on your seat, unable to find an answer for his little monologue.

"though... you're a fairly beautiful person, love. i wouldn't mind talking to you afterwards, hm? wouldn't you love to know what happens when i mingle with pretty people downtown?"

[xylathesilkwing]

Alan Wake 1 enemies: spooky! occasional jumpscare! Just gotta shine them with my light and take them down do do do

Alan Wake 2: why do they bleed.

[heartscfvalor]

The fact that Lilith still has nightmares of the Fall.

She didn't do anything wrong. All she did was fall in love with Lucifer. The Garden depressed her, she hated herself, she was depressed, and try as he might, Adam couldn't make her happy. She was wasting away in the Garden before Lucifer came. Before Lucifer gave her a reason to keep going.

Lilith didn't know physical pain until the day the angels dragged her from the Garden and threw her out, and forced her to miscarry. She didn't understand why she was forced to lose her and Adam's only child. She had done what they wanted, hadn't she? And this was her reward, to scream and wail and bleed, to be left to die in the wilderness?

The apple was an accident. She had experienced a taste of Heaven's cruelty for not being perfect. All she could think about was Adam, how terrified she was that her brother could be harmed, because of her. She had begged Lucifer for a solution, and he brought a fruit from Heaven itself to grant knowledge and free will. Breaking into the Garden again took so long that Eve had been formed and was already pregnant; how could Lilith grant the apple to her brother and not this sweet innocent girl too? How could she look Eve in the eye and leave her alone in the Garden? So of course she offered the apple to Eve first.

Except...how wrong it went... Not seeing the danger, until it was too late. Not being able to fix it no matter how much she begged. Not being able to do much of anything, except jump after Lucifer after Sera opened the portal to suck him into the Pit, knowing she might die and not caring because she already lost Adam, she couldn't lose Lucifer next.

The agony of the transformation. The way she lost her breath when they made contact. Her skull splitting open as her horns burst from her head. How Lucifer screams echoed in the wasteland when he regained consciousness, his wings broken, golden blood everywhere, and how he kept screaming even as Lilith wept and tried to comfort him. How they held each other in the cold darkness until the red sun started to rise. How they struggled to survive until their supporters Fell next, and the Rings began to form.

All of this...because Lilith wasn't "perfect", no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many times she tried to fix herself without knowing what was wrong in the first place. The pain echoes in her body. Lucifer's screams still echo in her ears.

The Fall will never leave her. Escaping the trauma is impossible.

[modpoppy]

simon ripping the fulbright mask off himself bc it was less the physical literal mask the phantom wore and more the metaphorical mask of his idea of fulbright and how he represented the hope blackquill had for survival (ironically, ripping the mask off frees his eyes to see the Truth, that the phantom was right there, and that he did not really need him for his freedom, it was the tearing of the mask itself he needed)

[ask-albatross-senyuu]

How have you guys been lately? How has the new season been treating you?

If you're referring to F5 then some oxygen would be swell right about now :^)

[flamie-42]

Chuuya wasn’t sad that Dazai left the Port Mafia

In fact he was happy!

He went out drinking to celebrate.

He was happy that bastard didn’t ask him to leave too

It was better without him.

That is until he got home.

Where no one could see.

And he let himself cry into the coat that Dazai had left behind along with Chuuya

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Arguments, Insecurity, Angst/Comfort, Angst, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 6.1k

“I tried to hate you, to forgive you, all just to forget you, but I'm only capable of loving you. You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.” ― Mirella Muffarotto

Part 1

For all the years he shared with you, he knows that there were only three serious fights. 

The rest were playful things, more teasing than argumentative. Tiny jabs that were paired with wide smiles and not-so-subtle giggles. The first fight was the summer after you and he graduated from the academy, weeks before the two of you were about to go off to college. Miguel had chosen to stay in-state, getting a full ride scholarship to a prestigious school and an internship level job at Alchemax. On the other hand, you had gotten accepted to your dream school in a state over. It was a 4 hour drive, 8 hours to and back. The both of you had pushed the subject away during high school, the technicality of it not seeming concrete at the time. Neither of you wanted to think about how you’d go from seeing each other every week to maybe a few times a month. But, the closer and closer summer began to end, the more the unspoken tension grew. 

It had been a burst of insecurity on both of your ends. Miguel was scared that you’d find someone new with your time away, that you’d forget about him between your studies and the new people you’d undoubtedly attract. Meanwhile, you feared holding Miguel back. You had never been as smart as him, and you didn’t want to be a burden for him to worry about with all the distance between the two of you. He was already so much more successful than you, and it pained you to think you’d be the reason he never reached his full potential. The worry and tension built up until it exploded. 

It was a horrible mess of regretful words and sharp jabs. Untrue accusations and yelling that echoed in the small space of Miguel’s beat up car. A combination of Miguel's frustrated slams against the wheel and your aggravated hiccups. When you had stormed out of the car with a harsh slam of the door, Miguel drove off as a newly single man. It was a rough break up that left the both of you depressed and grumpy, unsure how a good year of love could end with one argument. Both of you were young and naive, still thinking love wasn't meant to have these challenges. The thoughts that surely if you fought it wasn't meant to be, that no good, long-lasting relationship would have strong arguments.

When the two of you went off to college, the remains of the argument was pushed to the back of your minds. It was hidden behind after-lecture hangouts and time consuming assignments. But in the late nights stuck in dorm rooms or when both of you needed someone to talk to and rant about your frustrations, the loneliness and emptiness of each other burned strong. Miguel spent those lonely moments on his phone, smiling sadly at old videos of the two of you, fingers zooming in to catch all the small details frozen in time through pictures. But those peaceful reminiscences would not last long, that sharp twist of his heart resurfacing and he would feel your absence stronger. 

Even with all that hurt, he could not bring himself to try to get rid of it. He clutched onto it like a lifeline, clinging onto it like a child refusing to give up his favorite toy. It was the only real reminder he had of you with you so far away. Even if he did want to get rid of it, he physically and mentally couldn't. The mere thought of him touching someone, of trying to connect to someone the same way you connected with him, made him sick. It made bile burn at his throat and forced him to spend hours in his shitty apartment with his annoying roommate. His friends practically joked that he was a nun, refusing to flirt with girls at parties and got disgusted at the talk of porn. In reality, you had consumed his mind, altered the way he perceived the world so strongly, that he found anything not involving you unworthy of his time. 

How could he indulge in those things when you had shown him how much better they could be. How could he like the way some random bar girl brushed against his arm when your touch made his skin glow and for electricity to shoot up his arm? How could he want to spend a single night with any girls when he had spent thousands with you in the comfort of your room. When you offered him more than nights of love making, giving him someplace warm to rest and be cared for. How could he find enjoyment in staged videos when you had given him the real sensations of pleasure and the beauty of your noises? Any free moment on his mind was you. You, and you, and you, and you again. 

It was the biggest relief for Miguel, and the rest of his friends and family, when you had returned home for the summer. He had found out from a mutual friend and he took the chance to see you during a group hangout. It was no surprise to the rest of his friends when the two of you instantly reconnected again. Miguel couldn’t help but be sucked into your orbit again, gravitating to your side at every opportunity and desperately trying to spark conversation. The longing and happiness radiated off the both of you so strongly that he was sure the whole establishment felt it. It wasn’t much of a surprise when the two of you went missing sometime later, escaping into an empty alleyway where the faintest noises echoed off the brick walls.

The both of you agreed it would be a summer fling, a way to get rid of any lingering feelings for each other. The summer fling turned into an off-and-on relationship during the school year, until Miguel showed up to your college sometime during the 3rd year and called it quits. He had pushed you into your apartment in a fiery kiss, begging you between desperate kisses to take him back fully, to stop giving him his heart back because it only ever belonged to you. That night both of you were thankful that your roommate was studying abroad. He had you pinned to the bed until the both of you were too sore to move, blissfulness covering your bodies as he clung tightly to you. He never knew a greater peace than being in your arms, your soft hands delicately ruining his hair even more. Late into the night, he had apologized into your neck, saying everything he wished he said on the night of the argument. You had done the same, giving him soft kisses over his face and pulling him more into you. 

When Miguel finally went to sleep that night, he vowed to himself that he would never argue with you like that again. He wouldn’t lose you. Not again.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

The second fight was years later. 

Miguel had been acting differently, more distant. He came home later, was hesitant to touch you when he used to go crazy if he wasn’t glued to your side. He never really looked at you anymore, not being able to handle eye contact for more than a few seconds before turning away from you. Miguel knew it was suspicious, too sudden to not be. One day he was the loving, doting man you had known for years, and then the next he was practically a stranger living with you. And every time, every goddamn time you tried to help, to reach out to him, to remind him you were there to share his troubles; he would lash out. He would get angry, push away from you and isolate himself more. It hurt. It hurt that he was hurting. It hurt that he knew you were hurting. It hurt that you also felt like he was gone even though he was in the same home. 

A month of this behavior had you fed up. This time, you told yourself you would push. You didn’t try your resigned smiles and hoped giving him more space would bring him closer. You would push, and push, and push. You had stayed up that night, nursing a cup of wine as you stared at the TV. Miguel doesn’t think you were really paying attention to what was on, just watching a collection of colors shift until the sound of his key in the knob broke through the low volume. You hadn’t turned to him when he entered, you had sat silently as he placed his things away. He was aware of your presence, even from outside the front door, but he still was surprised to find you awake. His darling angel, a woman he has never deserved, searching for the answers to his behavior in the late hours between burgundy sips. He stood there, keeping his distance before sighing and moving towards the bathroom.  

You had gotten up to follow him when he tried to walk away, the wine glass long forgotten on the coffee table. As you chased him, you let all the words and feelings you had bottle up flow from your mouth. You had questions on questions for him: Why won’t you talk to me? Why are you acting like this? Why are you always out so late? Why won’t you just look at me? The questions stabbed at Miguel and he walked faster to get away from the sound of your voice. He could feel a headache forming, everything was becoming too loud: your voice, the noise of cars, the sound of his own fucking steps. 

He didn’t realize what he was doing in the moment, the tingling awareness and sensations blending into one. He didn’t realize the sound and the spike running through his body was you. He didn’t realize how hard he gripped your wrist when you had moved your hand out to stop his fast walking. Didn’t know how powerful he was when he pushed you into the wall in the hallway. Not until the loud thud multiplied in his ears. Not until he felt the awful warmth of your skin under his bruising fingers. Not until his eyes fully focused on your face. Not until that awful sob tore through your throat. 

Miguel never knew how badly someone would want to kill themselves until that very moment. Seeing the way your tear-filled eyes stared up at him, the way he knew an imprint of his fingers would stain your wrist. Knowing the way he hurt you and had made you cry. A panic seized his chest and he quickly dropped your wrist. His arms had wrapped around you, pushing your face into his shirt to try to dampen the noises of your sobs. His comfort made you cry harder, and he wished he could take his newly developed claws and use them to tear himself to shreds for hurting you. He had whispered in your ear sad apologies, praying that you would forgive him. He had asked, in a voice so broken and so foreign to anything he’d ever spoken, to not be scared of him. You can be anything you want, he had pleaded, just don’t be scared of me.

“This is the first time in a month that you’ve willingly touched me, Miguel.”

His mind had blanked at the hiccup filled response. He almost wished you were scared of him. Wished that whatever he did could be easily fixed and resolved. That he only hurt you in a single moment, not over such a long period of time. He wished that he could turn back time and prevent all of this. Wished that the solution to this problem wasn’t the one thing he feared the most. Wished, with everything in him, that he was someone else. Someone who deserved you and someone who didn’t hurt you the way he’s hurt you. He didn’t hold back the slow mumbles of repeated 'sorry's, petting the soft locks of your hair as you shook against his frame.  His eyes had begun to sting, and he felt the sharp points of his canines digging into his lip. 

“I have to tell you something, cariño.”

You had let out a watery laugh at that, half-heartedly joking that he was going to tell you that he wanted to break up. Miguel didn’t have the energy to fake his own laugh or smile, instead bending down to pick you up. His arms rested under your knees and back as he carried you to the comfort of your bed. His side was unusually cold despite him sleeping in it. Over the month, he was the last to get in and the first to get out. Now, he goes back to the usual routine. He lifts the covers to your side, placing you down before he scoots in besides you. Your arms instantly wrap around him again, a pleased sigh leaving you as his hand rubs up and down the length of your back. He had laid there silently, letting you enjoy the time and touch he selfishly took from you. His body felt lighter than it had in the past month as he held you to him. The smell of you entering his lungs and spreading peace throughout his bloodstream. He doesn’t know how long the two of you laid there before he started talking. Maybe it was 10 minutes, 30, possibly 60?

“Something happened at work a month ago. I… don’t want you to be scared of me.”

He had spoken the words so softly, he wondered if they were only audible to his sensitive ears. But you had turned to face him, an encouraging look in your eyes as you nodded. He had taken a deep breath, one of the many he would take during the conversation. In soft tones, he had recalled the accident. He recalled a neon chemical that caused his skin to burn if he didn't take it. How his thoughts were split between the next time he would get a dose and how to talk to you. His eyes grow distant as he looks back on the memory of a mistake, how the DNA had run through his veins so sharply that he felt like his nerve endings were tearing apart and being reshaped. He hesitantly showed you the new developments on his body, the way he barely talked because his sharpened teeth always catch on his lips, how he’s been so hesitant to touch you because he wasn’t sure if his new claws would retract, showed you the new swirls of red that danced in his brown eyes and glow with emotion. 

You had laid silent and Miguel was more than prepared to leave if you asked him to. He had a bag packed under the bed ever since he found out the extent of his now mixed DNA. He was prepared to leave at any sign of your endangerment or if you asked him to. He didn’t want to leave, never wanted to live a life without you, but if you had asked him to, he would. He would do anything for you. Even if it killed him. His life only revolved around you, and it still would if he left your apartment and never returned. Even if the roles were reversed and you were the one to end up leaving. 

Your soft hand along his cheek took his attention again, his eyes watching you as you studied him. You had gently pulled his lip back, watching the gleaming point of his fangs. He felt the warmth of your touch travel upwards, massaging the skin under his eyes as your other hand grabbed one of his hands. Miguel had choked on his breath when you pulled it from under the sheets, sharp points spiking from the pads of his fingers. He was about to protest when you brought them to your mouth, but watching in fascinated as they retracted one by one as you pressed kisses to his fingers. When you finished, you grabbed his other hand and did the same thing. He felt the sting in his eyes return and he had to close his eyes tightly to will himself to stop. 

“Tell me how to help you. Tell me how you want me to love you so it doesn’t feel like everything has changed.”

Your soft, heartfelt request tore through his heart and he couldn't stop the tear that ran down his cheek. He had held your hand to his face as you brushed away the tear off his face, turning his head to give it a small kiss. He didn’t deserve you. Not like this. Not when you were so caring and lovely and soft. He could never comprehend how lucky he got. How someone was kind enough to drop you amoungst the chaos of his life. Miguel had wrapped his body around your smaller frame, trying to embrace you fully as he felt the remainder of that heavy burden leave his body. 

“Love me the same. I just need you, only you.”

When you had agreed and just held him, Miguel felt his heart sing and the wickedness of his new life temporarily retract. He hadn’t lost you. 

Not yet.

☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:..｡. .｡.:*☆

The cause of the last argument is muddy in his mind. It’s lost in all the other things that happened that night, his mind finding it irrelevant in the face of the bigger picture. He thinks it was something to do with him being Spiderman. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. He’ll never really know. Maybe it’s better that way. 

All he knew was that the both of you were yelling. Knows he was wearing down the wooden floors with his pacing while you stood on the other side of the kitchen island. He knows that both of you were taking turns tugging at your hair, stressed laughs bubbling from each other's throats. He knew the fight was full of interrupted sentences and angered stuttering. He knows whatever the argument was about got you so angry that you stormed out of the house in a huff, grabbing your old coat and boots before slamming the door shut. 

Miguel had thrown his hands up in disbelief, shaking his head with a forced scoff. He nervously gnawed at his bottom lip, continuing to pace as he checked the time over the stove repeatedly. Once five minutes hit, enough time for you to hopefully calm down, Miguel rushed to the door and pulled on his own coat before rapidly locking the door and jogging down the hall to the elevator. He had spammed the down button repeatedly, ruffling his hair impatiently and glancing down at his digital watch every few seconds. When the elevator finally arrived, he had pushed past the person trying to exit, ignoring their grumbles while spamming the close door button after selecting the lobby. 

Once the doors opened again, Miguel rushed out and quickly scanned the lobby. It was practically empty except for a few people getting home late from work, making Miguel sigh as he went outside to the blistering cold. The cold air instantly turned his nose cold and he grumbled as he buried himself further into his coat. He watched people pass by him, subtly trying to smell for your scent. A deep sigh left him as he came up with nothing, looking down either side of the sidewalk. He couldn’t see you through the late night bustle, rolling his eyes as he started to fall into the flow of the crowd. 

A look of displeasure filled his face with each person who pushed past him, wanting nothing more than to find you quickly, apologize, and return to the warmth of your shared apartment. Maybe he’d make something warm for the both of you and cuddle on the couch, maybe exhaust any remaining energy under the new weighted blanket you bought. He smiled slightly at the thought, his hands flexing in his coat pockets as he looked down at the crowd to spot sight of you. A few times he was sure he found you, only to find the slight imperfections that told him it wasn’t actually you. He was about to turn around to see if you went the other way, when he smelled that familiar scent. His eyes lit up at the sight of your head, pushing through the crowd to get closer. 

Just as he was about to reach you, he heard it. A low grinding and creaking of metal  that was soon followed by screams and mass hysteria. Miguel quickly turned his head around, finding the familiar form of Venture following after him. A sharp curse left Miguel, his head turning to look for you to only find the pushing and shoving of the crowd. He had to bite his lip hard to prevent himself from yelling out your name, scared Venture would pick up his voice and put you in danger. With another curse, Miguel pushed through the crowd and into an empty alleyway. He took a deep breath, momentarily looking at the rush of people passing by for the sight of you. A sharp hiss left his mouth before his suit materialized. 

He quickly scaled the side of the building, hiding himself at the top of the rooftop. His eyes still scanned for you desperately, only to meet eyes with Venture. Curse after curse left Miguel’s mouth as the cyborg flew up to him at full speed. Miguel’s teeth clenched hard as he pushed himself off of the ledge of the building, meeting the robot fucker mid-way through the air. The two of them went spiraling to the ground, Venture’s back hitting an abandoned car in the middle of the street. The loud blaring of the alarm slightly disoriented Miguel enough for Venture to push him away, throwing him off the side. His shoulder takes the majority of the impact, a dull pain running up its length as different shoes rush past him. 

He isn’t given enough time to get up himself, a hand coming around his neck and throwing him towards a lamp post. A sharp breath leaves his mouth as the impact vibrates through his body. Miguel is temporarily paralyzed, spine throbbing. He pushes himself away just in time to miss Venture’s hard punch. The mental hand dents the spot that was once Miguel’s face, and Miguel runs into the robot’s side to throw him off balance. Miguel’s claws shred through Venture’s clothing, barely ripping through the reinforced metal of his torso. The two take turns swinging and dodging, tumbling on the floor until Miguel’s pinned down. The robotic hand squeezes tight around his neck, his hands coming up to claw at it. He manages to faintly kick Venture off of him, only to find himself flying into a building. 

Venture is quick to return to his attack on Miguel, his hand once again around the spider’s neck and dragging him up the length of the building. Miguel continues to struggle until the wall behind him disappears. He goes tumbling backwards, rolling on the landing of the clock tower. A deep groan leaves Miguel as Venture lands a few feet away, walking towards the hero. A deep noise vibrates in his throat as Miguel lunges at him, knocking him backwards. The two continue into a mess of fighting again, harsh hits, loose wires, and blood covering the area. During the tussle, Miguel is able to grab Venture’s weapon, kicking the cyborg away from him as he prepares to deliver his finishing hit. 

But, of course, things never go the hero’s way. Because he can hear the metal creaking of stairs and a smell is beginning to seep through his mask. He knows you are there before you even burst through the heavy metal door and call out his name. His eyes widen as he turns towards you, a new panic seizing his being before he’s pulled back into the present by the swooshing of air. He barely dodges as Venture flies towards him. Venture is quick to redirect, grabbing Miguel’s arm and flipping him onto his back. They both begin to wrestle for the weapon, Miguel trying to fight off Venture and yell at you to get away from here. But he can’t focus on the two of you at the same time. If he wants either of you to make it out alive, he has to focus on Venture. Not you. 

But he can’t help but curse you out in his head. Of course, the moment he doesn’t want to see you, you're here. Of course you’re in danger because of him. Of course you were fighting over Spiderman and now the two of you find yourself in this situation. Why couldn’t you have just followed the crowd? How did you even know he was there? Did you see Venture drag him up the tower? Did you really need to come up here to check on him? Did you have to care so damn much about him the same way he cares about you? Did you have to put yourself in danger for him? Why couldn’t you have just fucking stayed away? You were mad at him, that's what made you leave the safety of your apartment in the first place. Why. Didn’t. You. Stay. Away.

Maybe then it would have been different. Maybe then you could have changed the canon. 

It happened in a flash. It was like a flip book, separate scenes morphing together to create a rapid story. Miguel had pushed away Venture for the last time, the cyborg a mess of popping wires and torn metal. He was so hyper focused, so unaware of everything around him when he had lined up the weapon. He should have been more cautious, should have predicted the blast would be so powerful. But he didn’t. He didn’t make sure you had actually left, and he didn’t prepare himself for the blast. 

When he shot the weapon, a hot beam of energy shot out. It sent out a blind light, throwing Miguel back so strongly that he had to dig his nails against the floor to stop himself from falling off. When the power of the blast died down, in place of Venture was nothing but charred metal. A strong ringing filled Miguel’s ears, eyes squinting as he surveyed the area. The shot had cut through two of the beams holding up the clock tower, a low groaning sounding as parts of the ceiling began to cave in. All at once, it gave in, metal and concrete falling to the ground. 

And, like everything else today, he heard it before he saw it. He wished he didn’t. Wished he didn’t see or hear anything. Wished he didn’t instinctively look towards the noise and get his heart ripped to pieces. Wished he had other abilities, ones that weren’t so horribly useless in the face of your need. Wished his body didn’t have that slight pause before he had raced towards you. 

He had watched as a piece of metal flew towards you knocking you over the edge of the platform. It was only a second, maybe three, before he had desperately pushed himself off the ground and plunged off the edge. The air had stung his eyes, causing his eyes to water and for his breathing to stutter. It had to be the air. It couldn’t have been the way you had looked at him in the middle of your free fall, eyes calm and full of nothing but love and affection for him. It couldn’t have been the way you didn’t even reach your hand up to try to grab his outstretched one. It couldn’t have been the way he had thought in that very moment how he had wished he never fell in love. How he never regretted falling in love with you until you were slipping through his fingers. 

The noise you had made was deafening. It was so unbelievably loud that it made Miguel close his own eyes as his body instantly shifted so he landed on his feet a few meters from the ground. He had landed right next to your body, an ugly dark liquid covering over the pavement. He had his mask fall away, heavy and strained breaths leaving his chest as he fell to his knees. He hovered over you with wild eyes, not knowing what to do. Should he touch you? What if that hurt you more? What is he supposed to do? Someone please tell him what he’s supposed to do.

Hesitantly, he had reached his hands around your body, pulling your head to his shoulder as he rocked the both of you back and forth. He had ignored the sticky liquid covering his hand as it held the back of your head, shushing quietly in your ear as he repeated you’re okay over and over and over again. His head had pressed firmly against the side of yours, his breath coming out in white clouds as he tried to find warmth from your body. It had long gone cold, but his hands rubbed desperately over your arms to keep you warm. He had refused to pull away, ignoring the logical voice in his mind that had acknowledged during your fall that you wouldn’t be making it out alive.

He only forced himself away when the sound of sirens and ambulances grew near. He had shut his eyes, a wetness dripping down his face as he had squeezed you tightly to him. He let you back down in your original position with unstable breaths, apologies spilling his mouth as he slowly got up. As the first ambulance rounded the corner, a resounding chime filled the air. Miguel had turned, face looking up to the glowing clock that he had just fallen from. The clock had struck midnight and Miguel couldn’t hold back the rough sob as he hurried away from your body. 

Miguel hated that fucking clock.

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The apartment was cold when he entered it. Cold and quiet. 

Then it was hot and angry as he threw things. He ripped things off of the walls, threw glasses and dishes until they shattered to the floor and left dents. His claws had torn through furniture until the remains of his life were broken and unusable. He had let out heavy sobs and loud screams during the rampage, finding himself squeezed into a corner of the bedroom where he had piled your clothing around him. Your scent had calmed him slightly, but also broke him as the image of your body played over and over and over again in his head. 

He played with the velvet box he had kept in the bottom of his nightstand, tossing the box into the air before catching it and throwing it hard at the opposite wall. The force had broken the box in two, the useless ring rolling across the floor with a small clatter. He had sat there for a while before he desperately crawled to pick up the engagement ring. He held it close to his lips, mumbling sorry over and over into the cold band as he rocked himself back and forth in the pile of your belongings. 

He had lost you this time.

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It had been ten odd years since then. Ten odd years of frustration and sadness and waking up to nightmares that push him back into corners to mumble out sorry. On those nights, he gets the ring that sits useless next to an old bottle of perfume in his nightstand, forever unable to get rid of either of them. He holds both close to his chest until the sun comes up or until his crying makes him sleep. Then, he’ll tuck them back into their safe space, hiding them from the light until the next time he relives your death. 

A crumpled photo sits in his office at HQ, he finds himself looking at it from time to time in the long hours he works. Some of the younger spidermen, plus Peter, had asked him about it before. To all of which he had ignored and hidden the picture from their sight. He was selfish, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else, even after death. You were his. His to remember. His to mourn. His to miss. His, his, his. His to lose. His to love. His to repent for. 

He doesn’t think he would even be able to talk about you even if he tried. He could only find himself mumbling your name in dreams, in sleepy, delirious states. If he were to try now, he would choke on the syllables, mouth opening and closing before giving up and continuing on like nothing happened. Maybe it's better that way. This way he couldn’t tarnish your name more than he already has. Maybe this is his punishment. Maybe he deserves it. 

But in the late nights alone, he wishes someone would ask. When the sound of the clock tower rings over the whole city when he’s on night patrol, he wishes someone would come up to him and ask him about you. He wishes he had someone to carry your memory with, someone who will listen as he talks about beautiful you. Someone who can see how stunning you were. To see how unfair it was you didn’t get more from life. Someone to see how fucked up it was that the world stuck you with someone like him. Someone to confirm how the only real villain in the world was him. 

But he knows that person doesn’t exist. Not anymore. Because that person is always you in his mind. He sits on the edge of that fucking clock tower and imagines your wispy form next to him. Imagines conversations he would have with you and how you would respond. In his mind, he retells the way he had planned to propose to you, almost smiling at the make-believe dialogue of you nitpicking his plan. Then, the clock would strike and he would leave. Just like he did the night you died. 

But, he still wishes for that person. Had hoped with time it would be Jessica or Peter, maybe even LYLA if he got so desperate. But he can’t find the willpower to do it. So he imagines those conversations too. He imagines questions and how he would answer them. What was she like? Unlike anything in the whole multiverse. What did she want to do with her life? To leave the world better than when she found it. What did others think of her? Mistook her for the sun. Brightest, most beautiful person in the room. Definitely the one you go to on your baddest days. Do you still love her?

He tries to answer that question whenever he imagines it in his head. But he can’t. Yes? No? Maybe? It depends on the day? Did he love you when you were alive? Absolutely, there is no question in his mind. Did he love you when you were dead in his arms? Even up to the moment when he had to walk away. Does he love you now that you’re gone? That, he can’t answer. It pains him that his answer isn’t an immediate yes. He wants it to be yes. He really does. But he is so shrouded in hurt and pain and unfinished mourning that he can’t form a clear answer. Does he love that you’ve left him this heavy burden to carry? No. Does he love that he got the chance to love you enough to feel so strongly for you years after your death? He doesn’t know. It's horrible. It's a deep and ugly feeling that he wished he could rip out of his chest and bury it with you. 

And the worse part? If someone asked him if he would do it all over again, he wouldn't hesitate like he did with the former question. He has this answer lined-up and ready. Has it prepared on the tip of his tongue. His body practically itches for someone to ask him. 

If someone were to ask if he would do it all over again, if he would let it play out the same way knowing this is where he would end up, he would immediately say: No. I would have never looked at that damn clock.

And what's even worse? He knows the day that he's on that death bed, when he hears your voice and feels your touch, he'll finally give into that sharp pull on his chest and make his way home. And when he does, he'll fall to his knees and ask you to forgive him for lying.

Just like he did in every universe. Just like the canon predicted.

Almost a full month since I posted the first chapter. Was this worth the wait? Eh… Maybe? Going on to bigger and better things.

[theloonatic]

(Story!Posting)

@kakarshov @yes-i-exist-shutup if I lose my shit writing a line yall do too

[timid-plumber-archive]

@cryptofadventure

"...Daisy? Can I ask you something?" Luigi rubbed at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. "Y-you'd tell me if you didn't want me around, right?"

"O-or tell me if you didn't like me?"