#lol this must be a relief from fighting

[thuganomxcs]

Both his arms crosses over his chest as he began to ponder, thinking of what other detail he’s accidentally left out for Trunks on his trip to deliver the goods, but nope he couldn’t think of anything substantial to the little mission in itself. “Not that I can think of, one crate to Jinai, hugs store with the logo cart flashin’. OOH maybe I should mention you go t’ the back where you’ll find the warehouse. You’ll notice a lot of large containers there, it’s always open so you can swoop in and look for a guy named Kintoko. He’s the boss, the fee’s 8400Yen, watch out with that guy he might cheap out on ya and give you a sob story. He runs a good place and is regularly a nice guy but he CAN be a weasel if he takes ya for a sucker.” Yusuke spoke up with a smile on his face.

“As for the other place, old folks home. I don’t charge ‘em anything. The goods they get from me are free. Look for a kinda tall dark woman named Sakura. Good luck with her though, I give the veggies and fruits fr’ free but she still insists on findin’ some way t’ thank me. So I hope you’ve got an empty stomach because it usually turns out to be a meal. That’s on the other side of the store, so you’re gonna wanna head west, you’ll see a big bowling alley before you spot that little place. You’ll know when ya see it when you see gigantic bowling pins on the road. The white place with the nice fence on the other side of the street would be Ryugai Homes. "I appreciate you doin' this for me Haircut. Be more than willin' t' pay you for the airmail."

continue from here / @hopefromadoomedtimeline

[zkg2318]

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 2 | SJY

A/N: this is part 2 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc... Also lol, this was a bit longer than i thought it'd be

genre/tags/warnings for this part ✶ MDNI, reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, stabbing, mentions of alcohol, blood, verbal and physical violence, manipulation, fightclub au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 16.4k

Part 1

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), breeding kink, dry humping, love biting, mix of praise and degradation, oral male!receiving, slight choking, fingering, unprotected sex (stop)

Coming into the gym the next evening, you notice the atmosphere is noticeably lighter, the tension from before seemingly lifted into thin air. You notice K first, towering over the others as he stands amongst the six other boys standing around him. “You guys are early,” you observe, dropping your gym bag onto the bench beside you. 

When you pass by Jake, the muscles in his jaw tighten while the hairs on his neck stand straight like the hackles of a tense wolf. His face twists into a scowl as he watches you pass him. You pretend not to notice his reaction, likely residual distaste from the question you asked him yesterday. “Are we all buddy-buddy now?” you ask, eyeing the proximity of the group with suspicion in your gaze. You narrow your eyes at the group, a huddle of boys that stand too close for comfort, their shoulders brushing against each other as they chip at the other’s pride in friendly banter. 

Jungwon and Sunoo exchange a quick glance when they catch on to the tone in your voice, prompting them to shift awkwardly in their stance as they wait for someone to answer. Niki steps up to the battering plate, a large grin on his face as he addresses you, “K came in early to apologize to Heeseung and talk to us about where his outburst came from.” Niki’s voice carries a note of relief as he gestures over towards K and Heeseung, but you notice that Heeseung doesn’t lift his gaze to meet K’s when the taller boy looks down at him. In fact, he doesn’t look at anyone for that matter. “We had a chance to clear the air up before today’s session.” 

You look around for a second before nodding, not wanting to dwell in the past any longer. There was no need to dig any deeper- it wasn’t your business to pry anyways. Remaining ignorant has been conditioned into you by the age of 8. “Ok, well today will be pretty laid back now. Just focus on your own thing, no sparring or training room today.” 

The boys respond to your instructions with a chorus of yes’s, quickly breaking off into two groups and migrating to their preferred areas. Jungwon, Niki, and Sunoo head for the squat rack, settling into an easy rhythm as Niki sets up the weights while Sunoo and Jungwon begin with a leg warm up. Meanwhile, K, Heeseung, Jake, and Jay move towards the bench press, their arms flailing as they debate about who gets to go first. 

When you hear a door slam shut, you whip around to see Minnie and Yuqi entering the gym accompanied by a few unfamiliar faces following after them. Minnie’s face lights up when she spots you, her body developing a yellow glow as she unlinks her arm from Yuqi’s and runs to you. She greets you with a wide smile, one that melts away the tense knot straining against your heart as she pulls you into a warm hug. “Hi!”

Yuqi catches up to Minnie, opting to stand off to the side with her arms crossed and a reserved expression lined across her face. “I came down to help train the other folks that just came in,” she explains, offering you a warm smile that’s juxtaposed to the reserved one seconds ago, “You don’t have to worry about them.” 

Minnie’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning around for the seven boys. She has an expectant gaze in her eyes, one that shines with joy. “Is everyone here already?”

“Just waiting for Sunghoon,” you tell her, “The maknaes are over by the squat rack if you want to head over there. I’ll be with the others.” 

Minnie nods her head at you excitedly and skips away to the squat racks, flashing a bright smile at the younger boys. You can’t help but grin to yourself as you catch bits and pieces of her friendly exchange with them, her teasing remarks about Niki’s squat form earning a bloom of red on his cheeks. When Yuqi takes her leave, you walk over to the benches where your own group is, catching them mid-conversation on whatever it is they were talking about. 

“You really shot fire out of your nose?” Jake asks, eyes wide with disbelief as he bounces his leg up and down on the bench. 

“Again?” Heeseung clarifies.

You clear your throat, making the group aware of your presence as you shoot them a questionable expression. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“Definitely not.” Jay says, shooting them a look. 

You move around to the front of the bench, facing Jake who is now avoiding your gaze. “Right… Well, as much as I would love to learn more about your flaming boogers, I do want to see you guys bench press without the distractions.” 

Jay’s cheeks burn red as he quickly shoves Jake off the bench in embarrassment, earning a strong jab to Jay’s shoulder. “Damnit!” Jake growls, his face twisting into a grimace as he raises his fist up to his mouth to suck on the blood that starts to drip from his knuckles. You shift around the bench to peer at Jake’s hand, watching as his tongue laps at the wound vigorously until there’s nothing but unbroken skin replacing what was once a nasty cut. 

“Why do you think we wear wraps when we spar?” Jay says with dripping sarcasm, moving to plant his feet firmly against the ground and arching his back off the bench slightly. Your eyes trail down Jay’s body, stopping when they land the gleaming molten of Jay’s dragon scales dawning his shoulders. Realization clicks in your head and you let a small chuckle escape your lips- Jake must’ve sliced himself on Jay’s scale armor. They’re identical to the ones you saw on his back when you not so casually roped him into a pull-up contest on your first day. 

A rhythmic flow of conversation continues to course through you and the boys as Jay powers through 8 reps on the bench like it’s nothing, muscles rippling like a coil with every motion.

For the first time in your life, a sense of complacency washes over you. For once in your life, you let go of that long-held breath that had been keeping you underwater for so long. Constantly looking over your shoulders in fear of being caught etched a long-lasting knot in your shoulder you weren’t sure was gonna go away, but it seems like it has. 

Here, in this space, you’re surrounded by people just like you, mirroring both the anxiety and the anger that has ridden itself so deep within you. Here, you let your guard down. But this moment is short-lived, just a fragile illusion blinding you to a brewing storm that gathers just beyond the horizon. 

The doors to the Dusk gym slam open, the chains on the outside of it snapping with a force that only heavy machinery could break. A group of men, clad in matching blue uniforms march inside, their polished black boots echoing against the ground as their presence silences all other activity. “Routine government inspection!” The lead inspector announces, his voice booming with authority as he surveys the space before him. “Please resume your activities as normal.” 

The world seems to tilt in that moment, filling with a suffocating air that leaves you breathless. There’s a dark void that puts itself in the seat of your stomach, waving at you with a taunt as if to say, you really thought. Your feet seem to grow 50 pound weights on them as the officials get closer, keeping you rooted to the spot. The freeze part of fight, flight, or freeze activates without the help of Sunghoon staring daggers into your back this time. 

The official’s words do little to ease the tension as you feel a rise of panic wash through you, a ripple of unease rattling your core. The boys beside you begin to murmur in a panic as they instinctively move to crowd around you, as if proximity alone could shield you from the horrors of the government- but you pay no attention to it as your eyes shoot over to Yuqi, naturally finding her presence like a beacon in the midst of the sudden chaos. She maneuvers her way over to you with Minnie not trailing far behind.

“They’re going to kill us all!” Niki’s panicked voice cuts through your fragile storm as he joins the group along with the rest of the maknaes, their unease mirroring the rest of the gym’s murmured anxieties. 

“What the hell do we do?” you whisper, bile rising in your throat as its acidity begins to scorch your esophagus, threatening to choke you. 

Yuqi looks just as scared as you do, and for a moment, she lets her snake eyes widen with worry before she composes herself. “Calm down,” she hisses, taking a moment to let her eyes change color and her pupils expand to that of a humans. “We need to get suppressants on every member before they finish setting up their scanners.” Her voice is rushed and tight as she tugs on Minni’s hand. 

All three of your eyes flick over towards the group of officials, their movements a blur of blue as they set up folding tables. They work efficiently to get scanners up onto the surfaces, the metal clanging with every touch. The threatening metal gleams under the harsh lighting of the gym, only reminding you of the nightmares that they bring. “Minnie,” Yuqi whispers. “I have a box of emergency suppressants under my desk- we need at least 14 of them. Bring them straight to me and do not let anyone see you.” 

With an affirmative nod, Minnie runs off, careful not to bring any attention to herself as she slips away from the crowd and disappears upstairs. “I’ll handle everything else,” Yuqi finishes, “I’ll let the other gym members know what’s going on. Can you let the boys know?” 

You nod your head at her, waiting for her to leave first before turning around. When she does, you take that moment by yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, the nausea in your stomach rolling like the ocean. With a shaky breath, you turn around and make your way back toward the bench where the remainder of the boys have now clustered, their whispered conversation barely audible over the clang of equipment being moved around.

“Everyone breathe, they’re just posturing.” K’s voice stands out amongst the rest, his usual air of confidence sweeping through the circle of boys. 

Jay shakes his shoulders and twists his face into a grimace, “How can you be so sure?” he questions, an evident look of anger on his face. 

“If they were so serious about this inspection and arresting the supernatural, they would just use those hand-held scanners,” K explains, leaning forward as he lowers his voice, “It’d be a hell of a lot more efficient and time-productive to use those instead of setting these stupid machines up. They’re only used on the trucks when they go out for their nighttime patrols. This whole setup is just a show to see if any of us panic, if we just act normal, they’ll pack up and leave.” 

Jake lets out a scoff and kicks the air in annoyance, shuffling away from you when you come to join the discussion, “That’s a complete load of bull.” The other boys nod in agreement, seemingly apprehensive in believing K’s words. 

K straightens up, brushing off Jake’s comment. “I’ll talk to them, get them to go away.” He breaks off from the impromptu circle that had formed around the bench and walks away, confidence radiating in his strides. Before he can get too far, you intercept K as he pulls away from the group, wrapping a hand around his forearm. 

“Don’t,” you urge, voice low so no one else hears, “We’re going to use suppressants, so don’t.” 

K gives you a look that you can’t quite decipher before tearing his arm free from your grip, continuing ahead without a word. The sudden absence leaves a ghost of tension in your heart, fingers tingling with a trembling heat that has you rooted to the spot. You hesitate in your spot, frustration clawing its way up your throat as you force yourself to trail after him, each step feeling heavier than the last. 

The air grows cold and distant as you observe K, his usual confident stride not faltering as he gets closer to the enforcement division. You feel insignificant to his cause, like a kicked puppy that chases after their master despite the abuse. The boys close in behind you, the weight of their presence holding you from getting any closer to K as he approaches a burly man with a golden badge clipped to his belt, one that the rest don’t. 

Your breath catches in your throat when you see K’s slender hand reach up to tap the man on the shoulder, “Hey, are you the one in charge of everything?” he asks.

“That’s correct,” the man turns around to face K. His gaze sweeps over the tall boy, slow and encroaching as though he’s sizing him up like a school bully. His face is worn out, fine wrinkles gracing his features as he stares hard at K. A quick glance at the rest of the officials has you realizing that they’re all very similar in age, sporting the same weathered look on their faces. Your mind jumps to the worst case scenario; if K fucked up, it’d be easy to eliminate those grandpas but the fallout would be messy to clean up. And that’s not considering the trouble later down the line that the unnecessary violence would bring. “Did you need something?”

K straightens his posture, jutting his chest out to appear more composed than how he feels. “I understand you have a job to do,” he begins, voice holding steady as he confronts the man, “but we do too. You’re wasting your time here.”

The man’s brow raises at the statement, his expression turning from annoyed to intrigued. “And why is that?”

The official’s response feeding into K’s claims has him high off of confidence, allowing him to continue with his confrontation with ease. “We had a government inspection last month.” He pulls out his phone and shows the man an image that neither you or the rest of the group could see. “We were cleared then, and we’ll be cleared now. Government inspections are only supposed to be conducted every 6 months, it’s not our fault the enforcement division can’t keep their records straight.” 

The man looks wary, like he’s swayed to believe K’s proclamations, but his next response has that little resolve in you shattering. “Well, then you should have no problem letting us inspect your building.” 

It’s like K wasn’t expecting the official to turn this on him, his face twisting into a small scowl. He whispers something to the official before taking a step back. “You’re correct, but right now, we are preparing to receive some high-profile clients for some weight training, and any disruption to their schedule will be noticed. I’m sure you wouldn’t want any complaints about wasting time and resources to reach your superiors, would you?” 

The official presses his lips into a thin line, turning to glance back at his team. A thick silence follows after K, stretching on with every second that goes by. You hold your breath out of fear, feeling the thread of your pulse intensify and beat against your throat. Minnie finally comes down from the office, a hand bag hanging from your shoulder. She slips into the crowd behind you, nudging Yuqi in the side. You worry her movements may have alerted the team to her presence, but it’s almost like they’re looking for a reason outside of K’s words to not stay. 

Finally, the man turns back and lets out a long breath. “Fine, but only because we’re running behind schedule already.” 

With a quick flick of the hand, the officials begin to dismantle their equipment. Your jaw hangs open as you watch them leave, their presence disappearing as quickly as they appeared. Shock roots you to the spot as you stand there for a moment, disbelief rearranging your guts as you try to make sense of what just happened.

When K turns around, a huge smirk is plastered across his face and you step out of your haze to yell at him. “What the hell?” you snap, your voice breaking through the timid silence. “That could’ve gone so wrong!”

“But it didn’t,” he says, shrugging like he knew it was going to work out in the end. 

Anger courses through your veins and you nearly punch the smirk off his face, clenching your fists at your side. You were mad, mad that he so carelessly risked everything to confront the government official. You’re upset with the way he thinks he can just act on impulse like that, as if his existence wasn’t also a threat to the government. You watch as K sinks down onto one of the side benches, casually tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants like he hadn’t just risked his entire life on a fucking gamble. Before you can say anything more, Yuqi steps forward. 

“That was extremely reckless K,” she starts, her voice sharp as she pushes up the frame of her glasses, “You could’ve had all of us arrested-”

“I don’t know,” Jake interrupts, his tone lighthearted as he crosses his arms, “I found it pretty damn impressive.” 

“No one fucking asked you,” Sunghoon grumbles, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he clenches his fist.

The group erupts into a cacophony of back and forth, their debate ping-ponging between heavy accusations and lame defenses. The majority of the group sides with K, finding his actions admirable yet impulsive. The others, including you, Yuqi, and Jay disagree and state that it would have been better to stick with the suppressants. You find the majority of the group is handling this far too lightly, like you weren’t dancing on the outskirts of jail just minutes ago. 

Amidst the loud and likely disruptive discussion, Jungwon stands off to the side in silence with his gaze fixed on the floor. His usual bright demeanor is overshadowed by a sudden solemness, an uncharacteristic stillness evading his body.  Your gaze follows his moving body, one that is slowly backing away from the group. His grief stricken expression feels like a warning bell ringing in the back of your mind. You barely have the time to run through the concern in your head to notice his arms crossed tightly across his chest before you’re pulled back into the discussion. 

“Guys, let’s just move on!” Sunoo says, flailing his hands into the air to express his annoyance. “K, thank you for getting them off our backs.” Quickly thanking K, he walks away from the group and moves to start packing up his bag. 

Yuqi sighs next to you, frustration clearly evident in the way she holds her hands on her hips. “I think it’s best if we all just go home.” She announces, straightening out her silk blouse. Her voice is charged with authority, leaving no room for argument as she turns to walk away. Minnie springs in her steps and joins Yuqi, linking her arm in hers. The rest of the boys mumble in agreement, moving like zombies to collect their belongings; some on the bench and some in the locker room. 

You linger in the tense space, the weight of the evening settling into your chest. You feel glued to the ground. The echo of the group's argument and yesterday’s heated intercourse with Heeseung float in the back of your mind like a tape on loop, holding you hostage in your spot. It feels suffocating, disabling you from drawing in a full breath as you fight your own thoughts. The air around you is heavy, weighed down by the storm of the conflict drenching your clothes. When would this back and forth with the government and the supernatural end? The thought nags at you, rooting its claws into your brain as tension builds in your shoulders.

Heeseung seems to pick up on your frozen troubles, smirking as he brushes past you to leave for the day. Your head loops back to yesterday and burdens your anxiety, replaying the way his hands travelled your body as if he had mapped you out a thousand times before. You didn’t know much about vampiric rage, but seeing it first hand had done enough for you to fear him- or want him, you weren’t sure. You swallow down the lump growing in your throat and glance back at Heeseung, letting your gaze linger a bit too long on his back as he walks away from you. 

You let out a breathy sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder. The 15 minute walk back to your place is done in utter silence, the only noise permeating through the evening air being the sound of your steps. Jungwon’s uncharacteristic behavior sticks into your side like a thorn and for some reason, you just can’t shake it. And K- his confidence was unsettling, rehearsed even. When you finally make it to your apartment, you don’t bother with unpacking your gym bag or changing out of your clothes. Although you didn’t really do much physically, the emotional turmoil of almost coming face to face with the end of your freedom stunted whatever energy you had left. Instead, exhaustion consumes you and you fall into an uneasy sleep on your bed. 

When you wake up, it’s still dark outside which means it couldn’t have been past 5 am when a sharp knock on your window pulls you out of your slumber. You don’t care to check the clock though, too distracted by the rhythmic pattern of something hitting your window. 

“What the-” you mutter, shuffling over to your window. You push open the glass and peer outside, straining your eyes to see past the few trees impending your vision. There’s nothing. You’re starting to wonder if you had imagined the noise, moving to shut the window. But as it’s about to close, something heavy slams into your chest, sending you backwards onto the floor. 

Instinct kicks in and you immediately throw whatever it is off of you with supernatural strength. You flick your hand out and a ball of flame engulfs your limb, lighting up the dark room. The glow of your hand is bright enough to reach whatever slammed into you, revealing a large ball of fur. The mass is sprawled out on your kitchen counter while the doors to the cabinets above it hang by a nail. It lets out a guttural whimper and you move to switch the light on. When the pathetic bulb sputters to life, the ball of fur melts away and transforms into flesh. Jake. 

He lies on your counter in front of you clutching at his side while he groans out in pain. His limbs kick off everything that was once neatly organized on your counter, the sheer size of him displacing everything in his path. “What the hell?” You shriek, extinguishing the embers in your palm. 

“WHY’D YOU THROW ME?” He screams, rubbing his side as he clumsily falls off of your counter. 

You throw him a look as you move to pick up your things, slamming them back on the counter with an annoyed thud. “You launched yourself through my window.” You baffle, wide eyed as you look at him. “Was I supposed to welcome you with open arms and a pat on the head?”

“Yeah, maybe even a kiss on the forehead.” He mutters, brushing his white t-shirt down as he takes a few steps towards you. 

You narrow your eyes at him and hold your hand out to stop him before he gets any closer. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Being a creep,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “How did you even find me?”

He lets out a forced chuckle, lips forming into a cocky smirk as he swats your hand away. “I’m a werewolf, Y/n.” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I followed your scent. And I’m here because I want to claim you.” He forces himself into your space, shoving his face into the crook of your neck and drawing in a deep inhale.

You move your hands up to push against his chest, trying to pry him off of you but he doesn’t budge, only nuzzles in closer. “So you get to ignore me all day and scowl whenever I get too close to you, and then barge into my home and ruin my kitchen? Then suddenly you think you can claim me, whatever the hell that means?”

Jake pushes his hand against your mouth, shutting you up indefinitely as he continues his endeavors on your neck. “Stop talking,” he mumbles in between licks. The taste of your skin has Jake growling, your scent practically melting into his taste buds with every flick of his muscle. His warm tongue has you shaking under his hold and you instinctively tangle your fingers through his hair. “You smell so good,” he moans before rubbing himself against your thigh, using you as relief for his growing member.

With your scent getting him off like a dog in heat, he moves a hand down to your chest and gropes at the skin with desperate fervor, kneading the fat like dough. “Can’t believe you let Heeseung touch you,” he growls, nipping along your jaw. You let out a tiny whimper when his canines pinch your jaw, flinching away from his bites. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to control myself when you came into the gym today smelling like that fucking vampire?” 

“I thought you guys were friends?” you say through broken breaths, writhing around in his grip. His wolf-like hold on you is unyielding, his sharp fingernails digging into your skin as you continue to move in his hold. 

“We are, but that doesn’t mean he gets to have you.” 

“Why does it matter so much to you if I slept with him?” 

“Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” He buries his face into your shoulder while pushing you down onto your unmade bed, dragging himself down your body while his canines scrape your skin. He slots himself between your thighs, forcing them apart with his body. With Jake’s body on top of yours, you can’t deny the rush of emotions pulsing through you as he fucks you with his eyes. “So pretty, but so dirty.” Jake talks like he’s forcing some sort of claim on you, a completely different act of intimacy than with Heeseung. 

Feeling overwhelmed, you let your hands wander to his back, finding their way under his shirt. You guide the fabric of his top up his back and drag your fingers across the ripple of his back muscles as he climbs around your body, claiming every inch of your skin with a harsh kiss. “Fuck, you’re not close enough.” He growls, roughly pulling you into his body. 

The tough fabric of his denim jeans rub against your core which elicits an involuntary moan that only fuels Jake’s blind desire to have you. “Make that noise again.”

You press your mouth shut, an act of defiance in response to his intrusion into both your apartment and your body. Angry, Jake puts a hand up to your throat and bares his teeth in a snarl, “I said, make that noise again.” 

His eyes glow with fury and he presses into you, grinding his hips into your core while shoving his tongue into your mouth. Another moan escapes you as you melt into his fast kisses, his tongue connecting with yours as you fight for dominance. The proximity of your bodies and the feeling of his wet tongue sliding into you mouth has your core burning with arousal. The seat of your panties are drenched with an embarrassing amount of slickness and he can feel the dampness of your underwear as he presses his hard on against you once more. 

His grip on your neck tightens as he smiles into the kiss, thumb pressing gently against your carotid. You grow light headed as time goes on, absolutely drunk on the warmth of his lips against yours. He presses open mouthed kisses into your mouth for what feels like hours. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of breaks between kissing or the hand around your throat, but your vision begins to turn white as he moans into your mouth. When a gasp for air escapes you, he lets go, parting from your red face with a sneer. You reach out for his body, whining at the sudden loss but he just laughs. “Please…” you whimper, letting yourself go as arousal takes over. 

“I knew you’d beg,” he pulls off of you completely now so he can take his jeans on, revealing what looks to be a painfully hard cock straining against the fabric of his black briefs. “Suck me off, pup.”

You scramble to get to your knees, settling between his legs while he rests against your headboard. His eyes bore into yours with an expectant gaze and you feel an overwhelming urge to submit. With his gaze piercing through you, you move your hand to rest above his pelvic bone but not yet touching where he needs you most. Before you can hook your fingers under his briefs, he grabs your wrist and pulls your attention away from the aching bulge staring at you. “I said suck me off, use your mouth. No hands.”

You cower under his words, red blooming across your face. Was he expecting you to take his underwear off with your mouth? “You can do it, I know you can, puppy.” He looks at you with an encouraging stare when you lean down to rest your head on his hip. With the affirmative nod of Jake, you move to bite at the waistband of his briefs. The fabric slips against your tongue and you wince as the taste of his musk and the underwears cotton fills your mouth. 

With a little more effort, you manage to pull his briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free. It slaps loudly against his abdomen, beads of precum glistening under your one light. It sits there staring at you, waiting for stimulation. With a quick swipe of your tongue across your lips, you give Jake a brief look before licking a stripe up the shaft of his cock. As you eventually make your way to putting him into your mouth, a loud moan rips from his throat. With his dick in your mouth, a set of tears spring out of your eyes when you take him further. It’s warm and there’s nothing you can compare the feeling of having his heaviness in your mouth. It’s addicting. You swallow him whole, allowing him to feel your throat close around his length when you do. 

You swirl your tongue around the top whenever you round off his dick, but it must not be enough. Jake grows desperate and brings his hands to your head to push you down. The sudden change in pace has you gagging around his length, the tip massaging the back of your throat in a way that only stimulates more tears to rim your eyes. You mumble with his cock in your mouth, you yourself unsure of what you’re trying to say. He shudders beneath you as your voice sends vibrations through his spine. 

Jake eventually resorts to controlling your pace by jutting his hips into your face, holding you still by the firm grip he has on your hair. One hand is covering his mouth while the other holds you down on his cock to take as much of him as you can. “Fuck, take it. Take my cock just like that.” He chants, over and over again as your drool pools around the base of his cock. 

You’ve stopped using your tongue by the time his thrusts get messier. By now, you’re just a hole for him to use and you’ve resorted to using bits of suction to give him pleasure. “Gonna cum in your mouth, fuck-” with one last groan, he stutters to a stop in your mouth. You feel the thickness of his cock twitch in your mouth as the first spurts of cum are released, coating your mouth until it’s all you can taste. 

When he pulls his cock out, you move to present yourself to him, sticking your tongue out to show him the lackluster traces of cum that weren’t swallowed. He’s almost ashamed to admit how quickly he stiffens up again, seeing your red and tear-streaked face presenting to him your mouth full of cum. 

He grabs you by the throat and slams you onto your back, tearing your bottoms and panties off in one go. He slides a finger between your folds and groans when your slick drips down his fingers. Jake doesn’t yet entertain the idea of plunging a finger in, satisfied with listening to your desperate whines while he plays around with your clit. “You like sucking me off so bad you got wet? You slutty pup.” 

You should feel humiliated while you lay before Jake with your pussy on full display for him to ravage- but you don’t. You feel exhilarated, almost sharing the same high that Jake is on as he drinks you in. Shutting your eyes as if that will do anything to mitigate the said humiliation any other person would be feeling right now, you gasp when Jake shoves a finger in. You feel like there’s poison coursing through your body, toxic and drunk off of Jake’s fingers sliding into you. You whine beneath him, wiggling your hips to rub your clit against his palm. 

“Look at yourself, you desperate fucking puppy.” He’s quick to shove a second finger in, growing impatient.Your breath catches in your throat and he looks up to see your head thrown back in pleasure. Jake lets out a dark chuckle as his fingers continue to reach places you’ve never managed to hit yourself, the tip of his digits grazing the spongy end of your cervix. You’re practically melting under him, letting your muscles sheath his fingers and coat them in your arousal. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your first high, your cunt squeezing around his digits tightly as a pleasurable warmth shoots through you. 

He establishes a consistent pace to fuck his fingers into you while your body shakes from the aftershock of your first orgasm. “Keep taking it, you’re doing so well for me.” He moans greedily while his fingers kiss your cervix. Your vision blows white as he continues to shove his fingers into your gaping hole, scissoring them to stretch you out even further. 

“Jake-” you pant, desperate for more. “Your cock…I- I need it.” 

Jake all but moans as he withdraws his cum soaked fingers back, hurriedly shoving you up your bed so he can straddle you between your legs. “Gonna fuck your little hole now,” he growls, tearing your legs apart and sliding his cock up and down your entrance. With a heavy grip clutching around the base of his cock, he slaps his member against your folds and smirks when he hears the wet slap reverberate back at him. Without giving you a warning, he pushes in and leaves you to take him all in one go. “Just a hole for my cock, huh?” 

You anxiously tap your fingers along his hip, the only way for you to get his attention because your breath is caught in your throat. “-too much!” you cry out, biting your lip until the tangy flavor of iron coats your tongue. 

He ignores you and starts to piston his hips into yours. “You look so fucking good letting me ruin you,” he chokes, bruising your hips as he holds onto you for support. “Bet Heeseung couldn’t fuck you this good.” His balls slap against your cunt with every thrust, the extra stimulation bringing you brief bouts of pleasure. “Bet his dick couldn’t split you open like mine does.”

A sound scarily close to a sob tumbles from your lips and Jake pauses for a brief second to check on you. “What, too much?” You can’t tell by the way his dick is shoved into your cunt if he’s asking out of concern or to taunt you, but the laugh that falls from his lips after gives you your answer. You resort to focus solely on the way Jake slides in and out of you with ease, the slam of his hips working at such a strength that leaves you short of breath. “Keep your eyes open, Y/n.” he commands, moving his hands from your hips to behind your knees as he raises them in the air. With the new grip, he manages to push into you at a deeper angle, hammering into your g-spot with every other thrust now.

“J-Jake!” You cry out, squeezing around him as that all familiar high begins to grow once more. “It’s too much, I- I think I’m g-gonna cum!”

“Then cum, puppy.” As if you were waiting for his words of approval, you let yourself go and feel the force of your arousal send you into a wave of spasms. A white ring forms around the girth of Jake’s dick as he continues to drill himself into your pussy, plunging in and out of you with a relentless pace that leaves you breathless. “Gonna fill you up with so much cum, breed you full of my puppies.” 

He continues to rut against you as your orgasm runs its course, leaving you overstimulated and hot. Every touch down there lights your nerves on fire, but you want more. “Yes- yes! Give it to me!” You beg, clawing at Jake’s back. 

He tucks his bottom lip into his teeth, “Pump you full of my cum, yeah?” His hands come down to wrap around your neck, using you as leverage to hold him up. “My own personal cumslut? You want my fucking pups so bad, huh?” His hips stutter in pace as he gets closer to the edge. He's reached a loss of words as his sole focus goes into chasing his own high, mindlessly squeezing the sides of your neck. 

Your body moves violently against the bed with every thrust, an animalistic pace blinding Jake. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” He pants into your ear and drapes his sweat body over yours as his thrusts slow down. You feel the size of him twitch rapidly inside of you as jets of cum spurt out and coat your velvet walls. He breathes hard into your ear, shell shocked by the amount of cum squirting out of his slit. You turn your head to see Jake work himself through his orgasm, lips parted as he lets out a string of groans. 

As he slows to a stop, you let your body fall limp as your womb swells with his arousal Jake. He stays like that for a minute and breathes out a few pants before slipping out of you. Fatigue washes over you and you pass out before you catch the look on his face. 

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Jake saunters into the gym, a dark gloom clinging to him like a shadow, but he perks up when his eyes land on your talkative figure sitting between Sunghoon and Heeseung. His strides become longer and more energetic as he makes his way over to you, sliding onto the bench before you with an annoying ease. When he sits down, he makes sure to bump into you, taking that chance to wrap his arms around you, ignoring the looks of pure judgement from his friends when he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like a man starved.

“Jeez, why don’t you piss on her while you’re at it.” Sunghoon says, rolling his eyes as he watches Jake practically salivate at the mere scent of you. 

“I might just do that.” Jake growls, snapping at Sunghoon.

You shove the werewolf with a sigh, exasperation evident in your posture. “How about we begin with sparring today. Jake, go find the rest of the boys.” You look towards Jake with an expectant stare, but all you get in return is his big sad eyes staring back at you.

“Why does everyone always ask me to find everyone for training?” He complains, reluctantly standing up from his spot on the bench. 

“Because we need to make use of your puppy powers somehow,” Niki coos, pressing a finger on Jake’s nose with an over exaggerated ‘boop.’ Jake grunts, swiftly moving to turn Niki around, locking his arms behind him. Niki lets out a strangled groan and begs for remorse as he wiggles out of his group. “Say that shit again.” 

“Ok, idiots,” you cut in, walking away from them and towards the arena. “You guys have a match in less than two weeks, so let’s focus on sparring. I’ll meet with each of you individually throughout the day. Sunghoon, I’ll start with you first.” 

In the corner of your eye, you see Jake slouch away to go find the missing members while Niki and Heeseung slip into the arena. Sunghoon silently follows you into the training room.

“Ok,” you say as you step onto the mats. “I want to focus on your sparring techniques today, see if it needs any fine-tuning.” 

Sunghoon wordlessly steps forward until he’s inches from invading your personal space. His dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity you can’t quite define. “I don’t need help.” He speaks with finality, but you deny him the pleasure of skipping out on sparring with you. 

“Well that’s too bad.” You say, pulling a pair of boxing wrap from the shelf near you. Unfazed by his predatory gaze, you start to wrap your hands in the black fabric, the straps fitting snugly around your fingers. “Show me you don’t need help, and I’ll back off.” 

You raise your hands up into a defensive stance, waiting for Sunghoon to match your posture but he doesn’t. Instead, he surges forward and kicks his leg at you, sweeping the feet out from under you. You land unceremoniously on your ass with an embarrassing ‘oof.’ 

“Do you need more proof?” 

You roll your eyes and get back up to resume your stance, this time, your eyes glow orange. “Why don’t we do this properly, first. Or are you afraid of a fair fight?” Your taunting is enough to get Sunghoon moving, mirroring your stance with an annoyed grunt. “Great, now we can start.”

You begin to circle him, moving around him in a counterclockwise direction like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It’s Sunghoon that breaks the rhythm, lunging at you with a sharp jab that’s aimed at your face. You duck out of the way just in time and shoot back a swift body shot, hitting his left side with more strength than necessary. He stumbles back with a soft grunt, briefly clutching his side before recovering and swinging his leg up at your head. 

His movements knock you off kilter, the stone wall of his calf ricocheting off your skull. You land back onto the mat again, this time clutching at your head. On the floor, you clutch your head and a feedback of warmth spreads through your skull quickly, flooding you with relief before the oncoming ache envelops you. “That’s illegal!” you spit, getting back up.

“Nothing in fight club is illegal until you yell stop, go limp, or tap out!” he counters your words with venom dripping from his words while he stares at you like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside. 

“Fine,” you say between gritted teeth. Regaining your composure rather quickly, you surge toward him and unleash a flurry of punches that are too fast for him to keep up with. His eyes dart back and forth between your moving limbs, dodging whatever it is that he can but he tires out quickly. Sunghoon becomes  disoriented and fails to dodge your kick to his stomach, sending him flying across the room and into the wall, knocking the air out of him. 

He slumps to the ground with a sickening thud and you smirk, reveling in your small victory. When he looks back up at you, you realize your sense of pride is shortcoming. He sticks out his hand and suddenly the ground beneath you turns into ice, causing you to slip and fall. Now both of you were on the ground. “Very fucking funny,”

The next hour is pure chaos as the two of you use your powers to bully one another. Your flames burn him like an ashtray when he gets too close, and he retaliates by making you slip on his patches of ice whenever he can. At some point, an unspoken agreement to end the spar is called and you both lean your hands on your knees, chests heaving up and down as you catch your breath. 

“I misunderstood you.” Sunghoon says between breaths.

There’s not enough oxygen going to your head for you to understand his words, so you shoot him an exasperated but questioning look. 

“I drove away our last trainer, made him quit after I froze his arm to the wall.” He starts, straightening up. “He hated me, but I hated him too. I’d push him around till he was bruised and battered and eventually he gave up on me and stopped training me.”

‘Doesn’t seem like a very good trainer.” 

Sunghoon laughs at that, nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah, none of us really liked him, but he’s old news now. But I figured you’d be the same.” He drops his head as if embarrassed to look at you as if weighed down by his regret. “But you’re different. It’s nice to see someone actually try and work with us and not for the paycheck.” 

You drop your focus down to the ground and remain silent, processing his words with such concentration you’d think he was implying something shady; but Sunghoon didn’t seem like the type to beat around the bush, though. When you finally look back up at him, you can see he’s brought his gaze back to yours and the haze in his eyes has started disappearing. “Why do you do that?” He looks at you with furrowed brows.  “-push people?” You clarify. 

“It’s just safer that way.” He says with a dismissive tone.

Safer. It echoes in your mind like a bouncy ball, each bounce plaguing you with another thought. There was nothing safe about being supernatural. But you realize that Sunghoon wasn’t speaking to you in metaphors. For Sunghoon, safety meant isolating himself from everyone around him like ice that refuses to thaw. His method of keeping himself safe doesn’t surprise you, it’s hard not to feel so corrupted in a world where being special meant you were illegal. You can’t seem to shake the thought that maybe, you were chipping away at his frost. 

Before you can decrypt Sunghoon’s remarks anymore, the door swings open and a confident looking Heeseung strides in. His presence demands your gaze and Sunghoon looks the boy up and down like he interrupted something, a silent reprimand flickering in his eyes. Heeseung flicks his hand in the air and Sunghoon leaves, briefly acknowledging the older before exiting the room. When he’s gone, Heeseung stalks into your space and picks apart your composure with his proximity. “Finally alone again.” he murmurs into your ear, voice dripping with contentment. With his face just inches from yours, vivid images of your steamy encounter with him flash across your mind and you push him away before his stare can undo you completely. 

“Just get in position,” you say, pointing to a spot just a few feet away from you. Heeseung lets out a low chuckle but obliges anyway, slowly moving to where you pointed to. He unnecessarily adjusts the wraps on his hand, spending an annoying amount of time readjusting them before throwing his arms up into a dramatic stretch. “Let’s go, princess. I don’t have all day.”

“Patience,” he retorts, finally bringing his hands into a ready position and planting  his feet firmly into the mat. He locks his eyes on you and you feel the adrenaline and amusement running through his irises on you. 

Upon uttering the word, “go”, you launch yourself at him. You tangle your body in his while cracking a flurry of punches at him at a supernatural speed. It’s a blur of movements that would have any onlooker getting dizzy from watching. Despite the mirage of fists you deliver to Heeseung, he manages to dodge each one. He moves around each punch with impeccable footwork, your enhanced speed just being short of matching his vampiric speed. “Come on, I thought you were better than this.” he says with a smirk. 

His fist suddenly connects with the side of your jaw and a ringing pain explodes through your head. Blood fills your mouth and you taste the metallic liquid on your tongue, but you ignore it, channeling the pain into driving a kick into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, letting out a hiss through his gritted fangs. “It’s not my fault you move at the speed of light,” you say, catching your breath. 

After a brief second is spent reeling from the pain of your kick, he recovers, though he walks with a limp in his gait. Too busy looking at his posture, Heeseung lunges at you with an uppercut to your face, but it doesn’t land. You vanish from his sight in a burst of flames and reappear behind him. Your foot slams into the back of his thigh and he stumbles forward. He retaliates by painting your vision red, blurring your sight. “Really? You’re going to blind me?” 

“It’s only fair,” he snickers, letting his hands dance in the air so the red tendrils wrap around your face more. 

Frustrated, you unleash a ring of fire around you which forces him out of your space with a startled yelp. The sparring lasts only a few minutes longer, ending when Heeseung taps out after your flames graze the top of his head. 

“Sunghoon’s right,” he says, catching a breather in the corner of the room. “You’re different. You’re not afraid.”

“Why would I be afraid?” You study his face from across the room, noting his usual confidence being replaced with something solemn. 

“Did you know I killed my parents?” 

His admission steals the next breath out of you. A gasp spills from your lips and you’re not sure if Heeseung hears it- though the subtle tensing of his shoulders tells you he expected nothing less. “I wasn’t abandoned, I killed them.” 

Heeseung only looks down as he continues, voice dripping with guilt. “They were business owners, successful ones at that. They used me like a machine, sending me out to kill those that got in their way. I thought, what could they possibly need a vampire for, when I was adopted. But it turns out their blood is colder than mine.” 

He turns to you then, searching your eyes for something you don’t understand- forgiveness, sympathy, you’re not sure. 

The uncertainty in his eyes makes your chest swell with pain and you wrack your brain for a way to respond, but his words only echo your own painful past. You offer him a grim smile, a double-edged sword wielded before you. “That’s a cruel way to use someone,” you say as memories of your past flood back to you. “No one deserves to be used like that- or used at all.” 

Heeseung’s eyes flicker with the smallest amount of light and it makes you feel like you said the right thing. “Does being a murderer make you see me differently?” 

“No, Heeseung. The world we live in is cruel, and you did what you had to do to survive. Your past was clearly dictated by your parents and it will never define you. I don’t think you’re a bad person.” 

He scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You don’t know me, then.” He says, dropping his gaze to the ground again. 

His words dampen your optimism, but you tell yourself that you aren’t here to remind him of his past, but to help him work through it. Your past, which had once been full of people that used you for their own gain, makes your expression tense.. You want to be the person you needed all those years, and Heeseung is just going to have to accept that.“I don’t,” you say, “But I want to.” 

Heeseung chews on the inside of his cheek as he registers your words. The tension in his shoulders and the repeated clenching of his jaws make you think you stepped too far, unlocked a part of his life he wasn’t granting you access to. When he looks up, you see his tear-streaked eyes and a smile forming on his lips and that’s all you need to know. 

You think back to the other night, when he had taken you so roughly and then left you there to clean up the mess. That wasn’t Heeseung. Not the one you’re looking at now. “Heeseung,” you say as you approach him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek. “What happened that day? Why’d you leave?”

“Rage. That wasn’t me you saw that night, I was high off of my match with K and the rage blinded my judgement. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.” 

“I understand,” you say quietly, “but it did hurt, being used like that only to be left alone right after.” 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t myself when that happened.” When your eyes meet his, you see a translucent shine glossing over his eyes. “I never thought I’d be feeling like this, let alone so soon, but I like you, Y/n. You caught my attention on the first day and have kept it ever since. I feel like I could trust you with anything.” 

Your heart swells with an unfamiliar warmth and you feel your eyes begin to mist over. His confession renders you speechless, so you offer him a sympathetic smile instead. Your expression only invites him to step into your space and he leans down to smell your neck. “You were with Jake, weren’t you?” 

“I-it wasn’t like that. I don’t think Jake even knew what-”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind sharing.” 

Your cheeks burn and you stumble backwards, but he catches you and wraps an arm around your waist. With his arm wrapped around you and breath fanning your cheek, you look everywhere but him. “Tell me, did he fuck you good?” 

You clench your thighs together, attempting to quell the heat building between them and swallowing in a moan. Arousal and desire coil in the pit of your stomach and you find yourself intoxicated by his presence. His eyes are locked on yours like they were that night, but it’s different. You don’t feel that same invisible tether that pulled you into his embrace and forced you to submit to him, but the lust and craving for him is all the same. His lips curve into a knowing smile, like he’s just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. “Are you getting wet from thinking about his cock? I bet you could take us both so well.” 

Images of Jake leaning over you and filling you with his essence cross your vision and for a second it’s all you can see.  His every feature, every beauty mark, etches itself into your memories like an intrusion. Heeseung’s taunts are a catalyst to the wet feeling in your panties and you squirm. 

“Heeseung-”

The doors to the training room burst open and Jake walks in. When his eyes land on the way Heeseung’s arm is wrapped around you, his gaze turns dark and he rushes to your side to pull him away. “Who said you could fucking touch her?” he growls, pulling you behind him. 

“Don’t you smell it?” 

“Smell what-” He points his eyes at you and then lowers his gaze down to your legs which are pressed against each other like there’s no tomorrow. “Fuck, you’re dripping, Y/n.” 

“Sharing is caring, Jake. You can’t have her all.” 

Despite the wet patch growing in the seat of your panties, you push Jake out of the way and clear your throat. It takes every thread of yours to ignore the pulses of your cunt and to get them back on track. “I’m still here, by the way.” You say, rolling your eyes when Heeseung laughs. “It’s time for you to leave, I need to spar with Jake now.” 

Heeseung takes his leave, but before he exits, he turns back with a parting message. “It’s only a matter of time before the others claim her too.” 

When the door shuts, Jake pulls you into him and you feel the growing hardness of his dick against your body. You let out an accidental whine into his chest and he chuckles lowly, pressing a hand to the back of your head to keep you tucked in his embrace. “Fuck, what’re you gonna do when Jay and Sunghoon get a hold of you, hm, pretty girl?” 

He nips at the shell of your ear before separating from you. 

Sparring with Jake follows a similar pace as the others- calculated  movements and swift jabs. There isn’t much dialogue exchanged between you as you trade punches at one another, but it’s fine because you’re too focused on suppressing the blossoming heat coiling in your stomach. You’re grateful for the silence. But frankly, you’re so caught up in digging your arousal's grave that you don’t have time to react to his foot pressing against your temples, pushing you against the mat. Before you know it, you’re tapping the mat furiously as the pressure on your head increases. 

When Jay strides into the room to replace Jake, you’re barely functional enough to put up much of a fight. His flames burn you far too often and the scales of his skin seem to mock your every effort to break his defenses down. Between an echo of insults that seem a bit too personal and a bunch of roundhouse kicks,  you let him take the win easily after just a few minutes of fighting, already feeling the purple bloom across your body.

Before you know it, you’re on your way home again, slowly recognizing the walk back more and more. 

Strangely, the weight on your shoulders is lighter. With the admission of Sunghoon indirectly telling you he accepts you and Heeseung revealing his past to you, you feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. And that encounter with Jake, although odd and confusing, left you with a rather large smile on your face. Maybe Jay still held his doubts against you, taking jabs at your ego whenever he could, but it was better than ignoring you. You were finally gaining their trust, and it felt good. 

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The overhead lights hanging above the Enha Arena are dimmed enough so that only the spotlight shines down on Heeseung and EJ, two vampires circling one another in the center. This is your first official match you get to see, and you and Heeseung had been working closely to prepare for it. Tonight, it’s Sunghoon and Heeseung that are participating while the rest of the matches involve gym members you don’t train with. 

You stand off to the side in one of the corners with the rest of the boys while EJ’s team occupies the other corner. K is the only one not standing amongst your group, lost somewhere in the sea of bleachers and talking to a few men in the crowd. In front of the ring where there are no bleachers, a table is set to seat Yuqi and two other gym trainers you hadn’t had the chance to meet while a  microphone sits at the center of the table, waiting to announce the winners of this match. At this point of the match, you’ve tuned out the ruckus of cheers erupting from the crowded bleachers and look on, focusing on Heeseung. 

The spotlight reflects the sheen of sweat beading on Heeseung’s forehead, casting a dramatic shadow behind him. His concentration pierces into EJ’s gaze and the boys catch their breath in this brief period of remission. Their auras match one anothers, a red glow wrapping around their bodies which only adds to the tension in the air. 

You have little knowledge regarding EJ’s techniques and powers. Though he’s a vampire, like Heeseung, the latter had mentioned to you that each vampire has a unique ability. While Heeseung can manipulate shadows, you remain clueless as to what EJ’s is. 

EJ is the first to break the period of rest, barrelling his entire body in Heeseung. It’s sudden and catches Heeseung off guard, sending the both of them tumbling down to the mat. EJ quickly moves to straddle the back of Heeseung’s body and wraps his arm around his neck. Spit leaves Heeseung’s mouth as his airway gets cut off, but he compensates. A stretch of red escapes Heeseung’s body and coils around EJ, ripping him off of Heeseung and he catches his breath. 

When Heeseung gets back to his feet, he stumbles about for long enough that EJ is able to punch him square in the face. 

“What the hell was that?” you exclaim, blindly clutching onto Sunghoon’s forearm. 

Sunghoon layers a hand over yours, “EJ is pooling Heeseung’s blood down to his feet. It’s making him dizzy.” 

“They can do that?” 

“No, just EJ. If Heeseung wasn’t a vampire, the effects would last a lot longer and be a lot stronger since vampires don’t have much blood.” 

Your heart clenches as you continue to watch Heeseung tightly shut his eyes before opening them, seemingly gaining his balance back after EJ’s fist strikes his face. They resume and Heeseung charges at the boy with lightning speed. The two boys engage in a messy fist fight, a number of punches being thrown before each other so fast you can hardly keep up. Combos of all punches are thrown at the other but equally dodged in the same fashion. They’re moving too fast for you to see who’s really winning, but when they step away from each other to catch their breath, you can easily tell they’re both equally battered. 

Heeseung’s face is dripping with blood, cuts gracing his face while  his eyebrow is split open,  and his nose is visibly broken. EJ is no better, his eyes swollen shut as they swell with blood and his body is covered in an abundance of bruises. 

You feel Jay move against you and he raises his arms, shouting at Heeseung, “Finish him!” 

Heeseung channels Jay’s words into his next punch, red tendrils coiling around his arm as he lands a powerful left jab on the side of EJ’s head. The shadows wrap around EJ’s face and torment him in a suffocating vortex before moving down to his neck. With EJ captivated by the shadows of Heeseung’s aura, he doesn’t hesitate to launch another set of blows to his body until EJ collapses to the ground, his face flush with the bloody mat. Heeseung gives him one last kick to the ribs for good measure and EJ reaches a hand out to weakly tap against the mat. The match is over. 

Yuqi stands up and grabs the microphone, proudly announcing Heeseung as the winner. As the crowd erupts into a chaos of cheers, you slip into the ring and grab Heeseung to take him into his corner. You cradle his face, flinching when his blood leaks onto your hand. He looks up at you with a lopsided smile, “Did you see that, baby?” He takes you by the hand and plants a messy kiss on your lips, leaving you gaping like a fish when he parts. 

You shake your head and laugh to yourself, “I did, Hee. You did so well.” 

Minnie tosses you a rag and you use it to dab at his cuts. When the rag becomes too bloody to make a difference, you set it down and run your finger down his nose. A rush of embers leave your hand and settle into the cartilage of his nose, restoring it back to its original shape. His eyes are locked on you as he watches you with awe, “Go get some rest,” you say, patting his back.

Before leaving, he gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek then disappears. Minnie gives you a teasing smile and raises her eyebrows, “Shut up,” you say before she can say anything. 

Sunghoon eventually slides into the ring as Minnie moves to clean the mats, arms working hard at drying the pools of red decorating the arena. “Will I get a kiss too if I win?” he asks with a smirk, his eyes teasing as you glance away. 

You ignore his blatant flirting and place a hand on his shoulder. Squeezing, you push him into the center of the ring, “Stay focused, Sunghoon.” The woman standing across from him is named Shuhua, dressed in armor that looks far too form-fitting to be of any use. It’s design appears to be more ornamental than protective- but what did you know? You've never met a valkyrie before.

“This is gonna be more of a sword fight than a boxing match,” Jake says into your ear when you slide out of the ring.

“What do you mean?” 

“Valkyries are like mythical warriors. I read online that they’re bred to sword fight where they’re from.” 

The match begins before you have time to process Jake’s informative words, your focus locking onto Shuhua as they start moving. She moves with fleeting ease and you can see now that her armor, adorned in fancy embellishments, no longer appears as a burden. It’s no longer impractical, but rather an extension of her exuding elegance and predatory gaze. With every shift in her posture, confidence dances around her.

Sunghoon stands before her, completely unfazed to her lioness gaze. He’s cautious, aware of the limitations her armor keeps him at and calculates his first move. The crowd has become background to you now, quiet like it’s holding its breath as the silence stretches between the two. 

Suddenly, Shuhua’s hand moves in the air and a steel sword materializes in her hand, adorned with white and blue gems that glisten under the spotlight. In one graceful motion, she lunges at Sunghoon and swings the sword through the air and at Sunghoon. 

He responds to her movement immediately, summoning an ice shield that quickly intercepts the force of her sword. The impact has his shield shattering in an instant and Sunghoon quickly wields his own ice blade to match her approach. He twirls the blade in his hands with practiced precision and advances. 

The chilling blade cuts through the air as he swings it at Shuhua, but she’s faster, jumping away from the weapon. Before Sunghoon can strike again, Shuhua sends a swift kick to his back which has Sunghoon stumbling forward. It’s a move not meant to hurt him but to strike him off balance. 

With his free hand, Sunghoon curls his hand into a fist and freezes Shuhua’s sword. He throws his hand in the air and the sword in question shatters into glittering shards, rendering it unusable. A low hiss escapes from Shuhua’s lips, her annoyance evident in the way her gaze darkens. With one quick motion, a dagger appears in her hand, though it’s significantly smaller than the sword she once held. 

Without blinking, she throws it with deadly accuracy at Sunghoon, but he’s quick to bend backwards in a graceful arc. He narrowly evades the bulk of the blade, the tip skinning his nose and eyebrow which leaves a trail of blood in its wake. The dagger flies back to Shuhua’s open hand like a boomerang and she flips it in the air to change her grip. 

Shuhua has no time to throw her dagger again as Sunghoon is already making his next move, his blade  wielded in the air as he prepares to strike. With concerning ease, he sheaths the blade into her side, one of the few areas that aren’t protected by her armor. A sharp gasp leaves Shuhua and she looks down to see red stain her uniform. Clutching the sword as though it’s the last thing keeping her tethered, she falls to her knees and then onto her back, chest heaving for air. 

Though you can’t see when it happens, the unnatural stiffening of her body and the frost clinging to her armor is enough for you to understand that Sunghoon has dropped her core temperature dangerously low. It’s not meant to give him the upperhand, moreso to assert dominance over Shuhua’s once cocky gaze. “Giving up?” he sneers, standing over her with his blade still lodged deep into her side. 

Shuhua lets out an affirmative grunt, a mixture of pain and resignation. The match is over. 

Sunghoon pulls the blade out and you wince as the sickening sound of his sword slides out of her side. Blood gushes out of her wound but it quickly stops when Sunghoon freezes over the gaping hole with his hand. “Get that stitched, I can only do so much.” He says, holding a hand out for her to grab. 

Though her pride is shaken and her wound has rendered her nearly immobile, she takes Sunghoon’s hand. When she’s back on her feet, you realize then that the crowd has reached an intolerable volume of cheering. Their cheers bounce off the walls of the gym and ring in your head, a feral energy that doesn’t seem to care for the fact that they nearly watched someone bleed out before their eyes. You look over to where K stands on the bleachers, flanked by two men who you assume to be his friends. What doesn’t concern you isn’t the fact that K isn’t standing by his team- you could care less where he is. What concerns you is the sickening fascination on his friends’ faces,  like this was just some passing entertainment to make the day go by. The rest of the crowd has similar expressions, though they seem to be more intrigued by the next round of fighters that are sliding into the ring. 

“It’s not personal,” Jay’s voice detaches you from your thoughts and you turn around. “All matches are like this. Nobody cares about the people, they’re here for the blood shed.” 

“I just don’t get it- what is so fascinating about watching people beat each other up?”

“I don’t think it’s fascination that the crowd feeds on, it’s more of an outlet for them. I’d say just enjoy the rest of the matches, Y/n.” 

“Shit,” It’s Niki, suddenly appearing by your side with Jake standing behind him. “I had $500 riding on Shuhua winning.” He turns to hand over a wad of cash to Jake, a grim expression gracing his features. 

As per Jay’s request, you watch the rest of the matches, though you can’t seem to match the enthusiastic energy that the crowd just feet away from you harbors. 

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It’s been three months since you first stepped into Dusk and Dawn, but it feels like it’s been years. In that short amount of time, you’ve revealed shocking stories about the four boys you train- secrets they’ve buried far beneath the surface. There’s been a dramatic shift in the way the boys present themselves to you, their once guarded exterior now being replaced with a vulnerable act of affection. You’re their confidante, their friend- and possibly even more for some. 

Even K, who had rubbed you the wrong way that one night, has become a constant presence in the gym. What was once the original 7 boys has become a group of 8. Though, K has taken a particular liking towards you for some reason. He’s been spending a lot of time with you, particularly bonding over the shared understanding that there weren't many like you; not many phoenixes and necromancers crawling the streets. The two of you confided in one another about being unique, a struggle that you didn’t think the others would understand as well as K did. 

Jungwon, however, has pulled away. It was noticeable enough for Minnie to express her worries with you and Yuqi, concerned about his fiery energy having been  extinguished after that night of the government inspection. Ever since that day, Jungwon has acted strangely. He’s grown distrusting of those around him, but you can’t really blame him. Growing up in a world without the safety of those bound by blood to look out for you, it’s hard to imagine living without any trust issues. 

Still, these three months have introduced you to a pleasure you never thought you’d be privy enough to enjoy- a family. Not the kind bound by blood, but one forged on a mountain of shared intimacies and unspoken trust. Never once did you expect to exchange hours of banter with Jay, or to sit with Jake and listen to him unravel the history of his lineage. You didn’t think you would ever learn about Heeseung’s past and the true reason behind his vampiric rage. Even Sunghoon- his once frosted over eyes had begun to thaw, melting day by day. 

Heeseung opened up to you about the monsters he faces in his dreams, the guilt he carries from all the lives he took in exchange for his family’s love- it was a stepping stone into his life and you vowed to carry his monsters to your grave. With his candid reveal, you curated a bond that you believed to be unbreakable. Since then, he’s often looked at you with a soft gaze that left you feeling weightless. 

And Jay remains as competitive as ever, but his intentions are no longer fueled by malice and a need to prove you wrong. There’s no longer venom laced in his comments when he speaks to you, instead it was encouragement. It felt unnatural at first, like you were speaking to a man with a practiced script, but over time you grew to get used to it. His challenges became something for you to look forward to, a reason to improve.

Even Jake seemed to have turned a new leaf. The werewolf who was once guarded was now showing you a side that you could no longer classify as foreign or rare. He confided in you about his past after a particularly tough match, explaining to you how his family’s passing had affected him. You grew to understand why he was so guarded, so anxious about showing his true emotions. His outbursts were a way of protecting himself from feeling vulnerable again. Since that night, he and Heeseung began to tag team you. Jake made it a habit to inhale your scent whenever he could, his werewolf like instincts controlling him. And on more than one occasion, the intimate moments Jake pushed upon you were often interrupted and joined by Heeseung. 

Sunghoon had also begun to thaw, less frequently trying to ward you off with his ice and instead inviting your warmth as if it’d speed up the thawing of his heart. The storm in his eyes were clearing, and for the first time since you had met him, you were starting to see the irises of his eyes without the haze of grief that seemed to hover in front of them indefinitely. He still hadn’t opened up to you about why that was, and you weren’t sure he ever would, but that's ok. It was enough for you that he was beginning to encourage your presence rather than push you away. 

Finally, your life was looking up. You were building what Yuqi called a family- not one that was defined by blood, but one that was fostered upon by shared memories and heartfelt actions. For once, you feel fulfilled. There were people in your life now that relied on you, and people in your life that you relied on. Those late-night conversations you had with the walls of your empty apartment were now a distant memory, replaced by a real camaraderie and a feeling of belonging. 

Smiles became your usual expression whenever you were in the gym. The boys were no longer testing your authority and engaged in less fights with each other. For the first time, you were looking forward to your shifts. 

Even your living situation has improved. You were no longer carrying around the burdening weight of finding a new place now. Jay had taken it upon himself to help you look at apartments, often joining you in your self-guided tours to help point out the pros and cons of each place. Though your apartment wasn’t what you would call a dream come true, it was a massive step up from the one The Veil had funded for you. Instead of shorting fuses and waiting for the sun to light up your home, you finally had working outlets and bulbs that were strong enough to be sufficient at night. 

So when you finally decided on that apartment, the boys, as well as the maknaes and K,  had invited themselves over to help you move your boxes- though there weren’t many to begin with. The collection of their supernatural abilities made for a quick 2-hour affair of moving things, one that would’ve taken at least a day by yourself. 

In the end, you encouraged them to stay for a bit and open some wine. For once they weren’t dressed up in gym apparel or running off the high of punching things- they were relaxed. And since then, it has become a tradition to come together on the weekend to share drinks and stories, further strengthening your bond with them. 

Right now, you’re finishing up yet another shift. It’s like any other night at the gym, except this time you stay for a little longer to help Yuqi set up for tomorrow’s matches while the rest of the boys have packed up and left. It’s not a very long or laborious task, just a few tables needing to be moved and some electricals that need to be set up. 

When you finish, Yuqi is quick to run off, stating she’s got some work to finish at home. In her absence, you pack up your belongings and walk to the locker room for a quick shower, craving the feeling of a warm, hot shower. 

As you pass by the men’s locker room, a voice catches your attention and you find your steps slowing down. You weren’t aware anyone else was still here, though it was a 24-hour gym, so maybe you just weren’t used to others being here after your shift. 

“-you want her blood now?” Your steps falter completely. Was that K? Curiosity piques your senses and before you can think about the consequences of eavesdropping, you slip against the tiled wall that wraps around the entrance to the men’s locker room. 

“No, I haven’t even gotten any money yet!” The voice is low and clipped, but it’s loud enough for you to hear in the silence of the gym. “Haven’t you guys collected enough info? You’ve been to their matches.”

Confusion knicks you heart and you hold your breath. “How the hell am I supposed to collect her blood? That’s the enforcement division's job, I don’t need them suspecting me any more than they already do. That Jungwon kid gives me a dirty look every chance he gets. I thought getting rid of you guys at that inspection was enough, but I think he just became more wary.” 

A cold dread spreads through your body as you begin to connect the dots. The venom in his words rubs against you the wrong way, lingering like a thick fog in your mind. Was he working with the government? It doesn’t make sense though, how would he have gotten in contact with them? Was Jungwon suspecting K of undermining the team? Your thoughts are spiraling now, each question only leading to another. 

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way his voice dissipates and steps begin to echo down the hall. When a pair of white sneakers appear in your vision, you look up. “Oh, Y/n!” K says, leaning down to catch your gaze. 

His sudden appearance quickens your pulse and you realize the weight of your situation, how you look in front of him. “K, I didn’t know you were still here!” You say with a lighthearted turn, hoping that was believable enough. 

K steps closer to you until you can feel his breath fanning against your cheek. “Cut the shit.”

He’s got you pressed up against the wall, panic rising in your throat. “W-what?” you stutter, turning your gaze away from his predatory stare. “I was just heading to the women’s locker room to change!”

He narrows his eyes at you, the intensity of his stare making your skin crawl. You so desperately want to just run away, forget you even heard anything, but K is relentless. “Right,” his voice drops down to a murmur, “Well, don’t be running your mouth or anything. I’d hate to see what happens.” 

With a purposeful nudge to your shoulder, he brushes past your frozen figure and disappears. You’re left standing there with a tight chest, struggling to catch a breath. K’s words were like a threat wrapped up in the safety of a promise, a guarantee that shit would go down if you were to talk about what just transpired.  It leaves you mind in a tangled mess of thoughts, confusion and fear acting as a catalyst to your rapidly beating heart. 

You force yourself to think back to when K had first joined. A shiver runs through you as you recall the way his walk radiated with confidence, how his footsteps seemed to echo with regard to the high esteem he holds himself at. He had walked in as though he owned the place, immediately demanding for a spar as if to prove a point. 

It unnerves you how easily he had integrated himself into the team, how he just happened to be exactly what everyone needed- a friend. Now, in hindsight, you realize that it was all a lie. Everything you had ever grown to realize about K now felt like it was tainted with poison. Every one of his actions dripped with an ulterior motive that you mistook for friendliness. 

You think about the government inspection, how easily he carried himself when he spoke to that official, as though he wasn’t scared of him. He was too smooth, too comfortable. And what had he shown him?

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The next few days seem to blur together, a dizzying haze of your own internal storm of thoughts. You make an effort to avoid K, way too aware of his domineering presence in the gym, around your friends. His casualness around the others feels so fake now, had you missed it? 

His threat hangs in the back of your head and you try to throw yourself into your work, making workout plans and writing in the journal Yuqi had given you- but it’s pointless. Your stomach stirs with unease and you can’t find it within you to focus on anything other than K’s likely betrayal. 

Before you know it, you’ve practically lost your appetite. The mere thought of putting something in your body makes you nauseous, as though you're already  full from keeping K’s secrets. 

You watch Yuqi from across the gym talk to the maknaes, helping Minnie out in a small discussion they seem to be having. On the other side, K is with your team, exchanging jokes with one another like any other day. Something bubbles in your gut, urging you to tell someone. You need to. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re tapping on Yuqi’s shoulders. “Hey, can I talk to for a second?” 

She turns to you with her lips pressed into a thin line, seeming to be on edge. “Sure, but make it quick.” 

Her tone has you hesitating to talk to her, second-guessing whether you should really confide with her, The nauseating feeling burning in your stomach has you opening your mouth anyways. 

“The other day, I overheard K on the phone. He mentioned something about the enforcement division and the need to collect someone’s blood.” The words come out of you like a question, like you’re unsure of what you heard, but you press on, insistent on getting everything out before you regret it. You look to Yuqi to see if she’s following along but she’s staring off at a wall or something, a stern expression etched into her face. “He mentioned how he felt worried about looking suspicious and said that the division should take care of it, not him. I have reason to believe that maybe we shouldn’t trust K…”

You search Yuqi’s face for anything, expecting her to share a similar concern as you but it’s unreadable. It isn’t until you clear your throat that Yuqi turns to look at you.

“K said you’d say that. But I didn’t think it was true.”

You blink, unsure if you heard her right. “I’m sorry?” 

“I didn’t want to believe him, trust me. But you’ve come to me with an accusation that K is working for the government after he quite literally saved us. Now, I’m sure of who I believe now.” 

Your chest tightens in regard to her words, and you silently curse K. “No, you’ve got it wrong. I-”

“I’m gonna have to let you go, Y/n. Effective immediately. There will be consequences if we see you at this gym again.” 

You must not have noticed the way a crowd has formed behind Yuqi as she speaks to you, your eyes finally landing on the 8 boys and Minnie. Heeseung is the first one you make eye contact with but he’s quick to look away, Niki and Sunoo doing the same. It rips your heart in half seeing them turn a blind eye to your demise. You look at Sunghoon, but he only glares at you with a store cold enough to freeze the blood running through your veins. The other boys hold themselves in a similar regard, Jake’s fist clenched at his side and Jay’s jaw is so tense you’re scared it might break. Jungwon doesn’t even look at you, eyes seemingly glued to the floor. 

Minnie stands off to the side and you look at her with hopeful eyes, maybe she’d believe you. You’re wrong. If it’s not for the way she stands with her arms across her chest, it’s definitely the scowl on her face and tears staining her cheeks that gives it away. 

Niki steps forward, “You should leave.” His voice is hard and flat and it’s got your eyes misting with tears. 

Your heart lurches and you feel physically ill at hearing Niki- your sweet, trouble making Niki speak to you like this. 

Sunghoon doesn’t do much to help, only adding to injury, “I really thought you were different. Just get out of our faces, I don’t want to see you ever again.” 

You feel physically rooted to the spot, as if a weight has tied you down. Yuqi takes the extra step to glare at you once more before turning around to leave, saving you from the embarrassment of tripping over your own words. Minnie and the boys follow after her, leaving you trapped in your own storm. When they’re gone, you feel something wet drip down your face. 

You bring a hand up to your cheek and pull it away only to see the translucent shine of a tear on your finger. No. Phoenix’s don’t cry. They can’t. 

But your chest burns with a pain you’ve never felt. A searing, torrential pain. Not even when your parents kicked you out. 

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It’s on a rare occasion that you step outside of your apartment and even rarer for you to pull out an unlit joint. But you need it. You yearn for the toxic chemicals to drive away the pain you’ve surrounded yourself in. You need it to psyche you out more than the overthinking already has.

It’s only been a week since you were let go, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime. The world has kept turning and the days get shorter. You feel like everyone else has moved on with the world except you. The winter wind bites at your cheeks though you don’t feel a thing, you wish you did. You’ve become numb to the cold, and you wish that numbness translated over to pain as well. 

You grab a joint out of your hoodie pocket, laughing in awareness of the thin fabric doing little to protect you from the cold. It doesn’t matter though, you don’t plan on staying out for long. Just a hoodie and some leggings should be enough to keep your body protected, just enough for you to take a few drags. You don’t plan on finishing the joint anyways. 

Stepping out into the dark, you travel to the back alley of your new apartment complex, a place not frequented by other people. Your only source of light is the distant flickering of the street lamps on the main street that barely reach back here and the flame dancing at the tip of your finger. You bring your hand to the end of the joint and let out a breathy laugh when the ember catches on the stick. 

On your first inhale, you cough more than you’d like to admit, but in your defense, it’s been years since you last smoked. Your body isn’t used to the tar dragging down your lungs, but you aren’t used to this version of yourself either. 

Whether it’s the heat of the smoke burning your chest or the burdening memory of losing everything you once had, there’s a scorching tightness that won’t leave you no matter what you do. It makes it hard to breathe. You beat a fist to your chest like that’ll do anything. It doesn’t work. Obviously. 

You take another drag and do your best not to cough out the smoke, letting it reach your lungs before exhaling slowly. You try your best to focus on the feeling of the chemicals swirling around your lungs, but it doesn’t work. Your mind is burning with memories of Yuqi’s cold stare, Sunghoon’s harsh words, and just the overall look of betrayal on the group. How could they have believed K over you, the man that nearly killed Heeseung on his first day? 

Despite your attempts, your mind flurries into a snowball of questions: how long had Yuqi known, what exactly did K tell her, was it all fake? Your chest tightens even more at the mere thought that everything was a lie, even your friendship with the boys. How quick they were to throw everything away, the ache of it all spreads like a poison through your body. 

You take another hit from your joint, then a few more. One last hit. Ok, just one more. You inhale. Ok,  this one for sure is going to be the last one. At this point, you’ve become numb to the heat of the smoke curling through you and take one last drag, then you go back for another hit. 

Before you know it, you’ve reached the end of the joint. Your vision blurs slightly and the things around you become glossy. 

The smoke has your lungs feeling heavy and trapped, but your mind feels lighter now. Your thoughts feel distant now that you’ve buried them under a haze of cannabis. You let the pathetic stub of a joint fall to the ground and you step on it to extinguish its flames. The silence of the alley is both calming yet also suffocating. You miss the liveliness of the gym and the weights clanging every so often. Now, you can only focus on the burning paper of the joint.

The sound of steps has your body immediately tensing up despite the cannabis raging through you. You turn around, expecting to see a cat or something messing around in the alley, but instead you see the shadow of a figure. It’s blurry, enough for you to think it’s just a figment of your imagination thanks to the weed, but when the shadow speaks, you freeze. 

“Smoking, now?” you recognize that voice. 

“Should I be solving world peace instead?” You bite back the feeling of bile rising in your throat and focus in on the figure. You open your mouth to say more,  but the appearance of two other shadows joining has you running empty of any thoughts. 

The air suddenly feels ten times heavier as he continues to speak, “You’ve got some fucking nerve, you know.” The shadow in the middle steps forward and you can finally make out his face under the dim lighting from the street lamps. His figure seems to effortlessly glide towards you and you stare in awe as a halo of light wraps around his frame.   “I thought getting rid of you would help me out, but you’ve ruined everything.” 

“I- I didn’t do anything-” You start with a pathetic slur but K lunges forward and captures your neck in his large hand. He slams you into the brick wall of your building and you wince at the sound of your body connecting with the wall. The force of his impact steals what little air you have and you feel your chest constrict. The lack of air has you growing dizzy and you let your head lull to the side. “You’re pathetic.” he growls, driving his free hand into your stomach. 

“K-” you gasp, clawing desperately at his grip on your neck. The weight of the moment has you barely holding on to what’s left of your sobriety as you kick underneath him. 

“You’re nothing, just a pathetic little Phoenix all alone in the world.” He lets go of your neck suddenly and you stumble back onto your feet. Before you can manage to catch a breath, his heavy combat boots slam into your stomach. The brutal force sends you flying back against the wall and the sharp edge of the bricks cut into your back as you slide to the ground. 

He grabs a firstful of your hair and yanks it back into the wall. You hear nothing after that except for the ringing in your ears. You thrash under his hold but it only makes him angrier, “Stop fighting!” he shouts, tightening the grip on your hair. “No one’s here to save you, so stop fucking moving.” 

Driven by what feels like your last thread of reality, you bring a hand up to his and let a surge of flames out. The embers sear into K’s skin and he stumbles back from with a shout. “Fucking bitch!” he snarls, holding his burnt arm with his other hand. 

He does some strange movement with his hands, you can’t really tell through the gloss in your eyes.  From the shadows behind K, two figures step into the light. When your eyes land on them, you realize then that they’re not humans. Well, living at least. What a wonderful night. 

They both sport the same grey looking skin, one that clings to their skeleton like wet paper. Their hair is matter and grey and their eyes are sunken into their skull, devoid of any life. When they get even closer to you, the stench of decay invades your nostrils and you nearly throw up. 

K moves his hands once more and the figures spring into action, lunging at you. They stick their cold hands under your armpits and turn to hurl you across the alley. Pain explodes through your body once more as you hit the pavement, every fiber of your body screaming in agony. 

K moves in on you while the two figures behind him follow in suit. Before you can rise, K drives a foot into your side and you lurch forward at the sound of your ribs cracking. The figures go to stand behind you and lift you up to your knees, trapping your arms behind you. A sob rips from your body as you process your helplessness, mourning your freedom. K uses your captivity as an opportunity to deliver a brutal attack to your body. He uses his fists to begin, the first punch landing on your cheek and immediately filling your mouth with blood. The next blood is straight to the center of your face and you quickly feel a gush of warm blood pour from your nose. 

By now, you’re falling in and out of consciousness to his assault. K mutters something under his breath and you wake up to the feeling of your arm being twisted so far back you hear a snap. The pain is blinding and you scream out, your throat going raw from the exertion of your vocal cords. 

After some time, the figures behind you finally let go of you. With the lack of support coming from their hold, you crumble to the ground. You can barely register the feeling of K’s boot slamming into your side, and then into the back of your head. “There’s just one last thing,” he pulls something out from his coat pocket and you barely catch the glint of a blade in the corner of your eye. He crouches down to your level and smiles. In one quick motion, he plunges the knife into your stomach and drags the blade downward while twisting it. 

You can only manage a few garbled groans and whimpers, your vocal chords completely shot from your screams early.  Feeling satisfied, K pulls the knife out and basks in the sight of blood pouring out of your wound. With another mutter beneath his breath, the two figures disappear into thin air and he walks away. 

You feel nothing but raw, excruciating pain all over your body. You’re not sure if it’s tears or blood on your face, and you’re barely conscious enough to process the sound of footsteps approaching you again. Instinctively, you tense up your muscles with what little energy you have and close your eyes in fear. 

“Y/n!” You know that voice. “Stay awake for me!”

read part 3

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[unlosts]

Hi! I love your work! I saw that you had requests open, so could I request something with Hotch and the reader having to share a room for a case? I'm a sucker for awkward moments and pining so could this be like pre-relationship? And maybe the reader has to ask for a shirt or sweatpants because their own pajamas aren't very appropriate.

Thank you! ❤️ (feel free to ignore it if you don't want to write it)

Thank you for the request!

Word count: Just slightly over 2k.

A/N: MDNI! not super anything but I would feel better lol. Also the ending is me chickening out, but I don't rule out a part 2 either.

“Overbooked?” You ask the concierge in disbelief. 

“I’m afraid so, it means that, unfortunately the hot-” He starts with an apologetic twist of his mouth, but you put a hand up to cut him off, already feeling a migraine beginning to form. 

“I know what it means” You say exasperated. In the short run from the car to the hotel the storm had soaked your clothes making them stick to you uncomfortably, the heat of the lobby doing absolutely nothing to fight back the chill seeping into your bones. 

Your soaking wet duffel bag hangs heavy on your shoulder forming a small ring of water on the red carpet. The people in line behind you huffing in impatience not helping matters at all. 

A drop of water running from the back of your neck through your spine made you shiver uncomfortably. 

The combined feeling of discomfort and exhaustion is making your patience run thin, and the realization that you had no place to sleep tonight was about to bring you to tears in front of the obnoxious family of four right behind you. 

“Don’t you guys have like another hotel or something nearby?” You ask, already knowing the answer by the look of pity the concierge shots you. 

“ma’am I’m sorry but -” 

Before you can cut him off once more you feel a warm palm softly touch your arm, and Hotch appears right by you. Your shoulders drop in relief knowing he’ll fix it. The thought feels silly, It���s not as if Hotch can build you another room but for some reason you’re sure that he’ll find a work around. 

“Is there an issue here?” He asks, his stature and still pristine, and somehow dry, suit more imposing than the drenched racoon look you ended up with. 

“As I was telling her there was a mix up with the reservations and, unfortunately, we don’t have an available room for her” The concierge - Paul - says probably feeling just as relieved as you are to be talking to Hotch. 

“Not here” Paul keeps going before Hotch can ask “nor in any of our other nearby branches. It’s the National Taxidermists Association Convention” He adds with an awkward smile. 

“Did you hear that? I may not have a room but the dead and stuffed deer certainly does” You add unhelpfully. 

“I understand” Hotch says before turning back to you and softly guiding you towards the side  “It’s alright, we’ll just rearrange the rooms” 

“It’s eleven PM, besides Pen said everyone got their own room tonight so it’s not like anyone will have the space” You say petulantly before looking back at him, already apologetic for snapping. 

“I'm sorry, my duffle got ruined because I bought this shitty one instead of my usual so everything's probably soaked, I feel like this shirt is painted on and I'm pretty sure one of the creepy taxidermists was checking me out so I'm honestly not having the greatest night.” 

You were all there for a negotiation seminar, which in hindsight made the fact that a dead squirrel got a room before you more humiliating. 

Hotch only looks at you patiently “it's alright” he repeated, briefly touching your shoulder “We can just share my room” 

Suddenly self conscious, the last thing you wanted was to put him out when all he probably wanted to do was talk to Jack and pass out, alone, in his own room. But he must have read it on your face because before you could make up an excuse he picks up your go bag and adds “It would make me feel better knowing you're near by and not in some motel, especially tonight.” 

As if to back him up, thunder suddenly struck, loud and impossible to ignore. 

“Okay,” you agree, going for the elevator “but you're not taking the couch” 

“Am I that transparent?” He asks as you both wait for the doors to open, along with some of the other guests and their suspiciously big suitcases. You try really hard not think of what's in them. 

“Sorry, it's the whole Connecticut WASPy manners thing, you’d probably rather get a creek on your neck sleeping on the floor just because it's more polite” You say with a shrug of your shoulder. 

Before he could reply the doors opening, everyone flooding in making you press your back against Hotch, his arm went to your waist to keep you steady after a man not much older than you almost rolled his suitcase over your feet. 

The heat of him behind you and his hand on your front made your stomach clench, it took all of your willpower not to lean back, the thought of him pressing up against you makes your eyes close briefly, his chest almost touching your back with every breath.

It feels like hours pass before you can step into the hallway keenly aware of Hotch just a step behind you. 

Stepping into the room the first thing you notice is the queen sized bed, the plush  hotel comforter drawing you in. You discard your shoes somewhere by the closet, uncaring of where they land.

“You can take the first shower” Hotch says, entering leaving both of your bags by the door “better warm up before you catch a cold” The thought feels entirely caring and entirely Hotch but the suggestion brings a more pressing issue to the front of your mind.

“um” you say, widening your eyes at the realization that you have nothing to wear “everything I have is soaked, like fresh out the washer before the dryer kind of soaked, you don't happen to have a spare set of pj's in there do you?” 

He doesn't reply, just goes over to his bag and hands you a small pile of clothing “you go ahead, I'll go down with your clothes and see if laundry service is still open, wouldn't want you showing up tomorrow in a hotel bathrobe” he says with a smile and before you can protest he's off with your duffle bag. Leaving you alone with this uncomfortable feeling in your chest. 

Once inside the bathroom you go through the clothing, the first thing you pick up from the pile is a threadbare dark blue GWU sweatshirt, soft in a way only a well loved item can be, and you can't help but take the collar up to your nose and taking in the fresh laundry smell and the remnants of his cologne still lingering in the fabric.

By the time you come out, swimming in his sweatshirt and a pair of too long sweatpants, toweling your hair, Hotch is back sans your bag, laying back in bed on the side closest to the door. Surfing through static after static channel on the TV, his head pillowed on the back of his arm. 

“There goes movie night, I guess” you joke walking over to the bed “which side of the bed do you want”

Without getting up he says “this one’s fine” 

At that you snort “that's such a guy thing” 

“Sorry?” 

“The whole sleeping next to the door in case someone comes in” 

“You say that now but by the time a guy in a deer mask comes through the door you'll be glad I picked it” 

“well how chivalrous of you” You smile at him leaning on the bathroom door. 

He smiles back lopsided and a little boyish, his dimples peeking through “It’s those pesky WASP manners rearing their head.”

Hotch looks back at you for a moment from his side of the bed “I hope the shirt is comfortable”

“It’s great, thanks” 

He clears his throat “It suits you”

Warmth spreads from the tips of your fingers all the way up your chest where a pleasant weight settles. 

You sit criss crossed next him to change the channel to something watchable before your mouth wins over your brain and you say something stupid. As you reach over him, fishing for the remote on the nightstand you miscalculate and your hand slips on the bed sheets, toppling you over on top of him, leaving you nose to nose. Close enough to count his eyelashes. 

You quickly sit back up but upon your haste you both move up at the same time, falling back into him as your hands find purchase in his chest. You feel the rise and fall of every breath he takes, the thrum of his heart matching yours. Your eyes lock again as his hands circle your waist to keep from falling from the bed and into the floor. 

“Shit” You whisper “I’m so sorry Hotch” But it’s hard to be when you’re encased in his arms, feeling the muscle of his chest underneath your fingertips as his big, calloused hands burn a mark on your back. 

“It’s alright” He says in a tone matching your own. 

With his help you sit back up and he hands you the remote you were looking for. Tucking an errand strand of hair behind your ear you put on a random channel. 

A black and white movie plays on in the background as you look at him, the faint glow from the TV casting moving shadows across his face, suddenly highlighting his strong brow or straight nose. 

Your breathing matches his, suddenly the low light of the bedside lamp reminds you of candlelight, a gossamer filter cast over you. 

As you’re about to speak, not really knowing what you were actually going to say he breaks the silence first  by standing up and heading to the bathroom to shower.  

It feels impossible to know Hotch, what he’s thinking or feeling, you want to unspool his thoughts, display them out like a film reel for your viewing pleasure. Know him as intimately as you sometimes feel he knows you. 

You’re  settled back in bed, still lost in thought, by the time the water cuts off he comes out in plaid blue pants and a white t-shirt smelling like soap  fresh laundry. His hair still damp and shirt collar askew like he dressed in a hurry. 

Hesitating for a few seconds before peeling back the covers and getting in, his body heat right next to you, a contrast against your cold skill, the cold never having left you. Immediately making you shiver despite the thicker sweatshirt. 

Hotch clears his throat again, more out of embarrassment from what he’s about to do, and it’s odd to see him like this. You’re used to seeing him be sure of himself, unflinching in the face of murderers, government officials and incensed police captains alike. 

It’s an alien feeling seeing him blush, or hesitate before speaking, it only serves to deepen your fondness for him, it makes you want to lean in and press a kiss against his heated cheek. 

He opens his arm in a silent invitation, you curl yourself sideways against him, your cold nose pressing against his neck as his warm hands trail up and down your back in what began an attempt to warm you back up. The lazy movement up and down meant to lull you to sleep, is instead sending shivers down your spine. 

“Better?” Hotch asks. 

“Much, thank you” You reply, resting your ear against his chest. 

You don’t say anything else but let your hand trail up his stomach, feel the muscles softly clench underneath your hand before letting it rest there and look up to see his eyes closed and his lips parted. As if he could feel your gaze on him he opens his eyes still panting. 

Hotch looks at you with a questioning gaze, the certainty in yours seeming like the only answer he needs. 

His hand is a gentle weight on the back of your neck draws you in until your nose to nose, lips a breath away from touching. His thumb caresses your cheekbone back and forth, clouding your senses until you have tunnel vision, the room fades away and all you can see is him. You nose trails his for a moment as your forehead presses together, your hand coming up to touch his jaw. 

“We shouldn’t ” He says, breath fanning against your lips while his eyes close briefly. 

“No, we should not” You reply, but neither make a move to part. 

“What should we do then?” 

“You should tell me goodnight” 

“Goodnight, then” He says and his deep voice reverberates under your hand still perched on his chest. You lean down and leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth as his breath stutters. 

Before you can pull off of him his hand draws you back in finally kissing you. Time stops existing right then, the kiss is hungry but unhurried, Hotch is patient and tender as he rolls you over resting your head against his forearm.

Your breathing's labored as you part “See now we really should go to sleep”  You say breathlessly, chest heaving up and down. 

“We absolutely should,” He says teasingly. 

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

[ ###… ] modern AU, rockstar Wriothesley, gn reader, est. relationship, a lil bit of hurt/comfort, fluff, long-distance pining, lovesick & homesick wrio, kinda cheesy which is kind of on brand for me lol

By the time Wriothesley manages to get back to his hotel room and check his phone, he's pretty sure you're asleep. He hopes you are, knowing how late it must be on your end.

It's no surprise that there are several messages waiting for him— each day you've been apart, you give him something sweet to read in the evenings after a busy day of promos or after a hectic show. Something to make the distance between you seem a little less vast, to let him know that you're still thinking about him.

Even on days where he's dead tired, he'll always read them. Always let you know that he thinks of you, too.

What does surprise him is the newest text, sent at just over twenty minutes ago. Wriothesley frowns as he wonders why you're still up, and his heart only drops more when he scrolls through the messages and reads the latest thing you sent.

I miss you. I really, really miss you.

Before he can even hope that he's not bothering you, his finger near slams on the call button. You answer on the second ring, voice lacking the raspiness of a roused sleep. It makes him sigh with relief.

"Wrio?" you ask, surprised. "Are you okay? What's up?"

"I should be asking you that." Wriothesley sits heavily on the plush bed, flopping back against the pillows with all the grace of a man who just gave a two-hour performance.

As luxurious as the king-sized bed is, with its soft sheets and myriad of immaculately fluffed pillows, he can't help but yearn for the warm familiarity of your own bed and your well-loved blankets.

"Why're you still up, honey? Don't you have breakfast with your friends tomorrow?"

"...can't sleep," you murmur after a beat, voice so quiet. He hears sheets rustling, then silence again. You hesitate. "I... it might sound selfish but I miss you being here with me. It sucks that the bed feels so empty without you."

And oh, if he could, Wriothesley would crawl through the phone right this very second and wrap you in his arms— would crush you to his chest and hold you tight as he listens to your breath taper off into sleep. Would keep you against him, wrapped up in his love and adoration, until you practically have to beat him off of you with a stick.

But he can't and it's killing him.

"It's not selfish. I miss you too," he says, voice longing. "I want to go home to you so bad, sweetheart, you have no idea. Wish I could've packed you up in my bag and smuggled you here with me." He has to fight sleepy giggles at the thought.

"Speaking of— you better be prepared for a crapload of gifts when I get back. I've got a whole suitcase of stuff I thought you'd like."

You gasp, and even sounding a little crackly from the speakers, his heart does a flip. "A whole suitcase?! I wouldn't even know where to put all that!"

"We'll find space. 'm pretty sure there's some stuff we can jigsaw around." Wriothesley tries to keep the tiredness from his voice, tries to fight back the yawn. It's been so long since you've called, what with timezones and schedules getting in the way, and he wants to talk to you longer— ask how your day's been, what your plans are for the rest of the week, if there were any places you want to visit when he gets home. This call is much too short for all the things he wants to say, for all the hours he wants to spend listening to you talk.

But try as he might, you can tell he's close to knocking out without even having to lay an eye on him.

"You should sleep," you tell him, voice soothing him like a balm. "You're probably tired after your show. I saw a few videos, you know— you were so cool. I'm proud of you, Wrio."

He hums, basking in your praise. His eyelids are already growing heavy, the soft siren's song of sleep growing harder to resist. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can imagine that you're just down the hall, busy with something. You'll come in any second now, crawl into bed and slip into his arms, and everything would be right with the world.

"Thank you for... for calling. For checking up on me just because of a text." You giggle at that last bit, and (as it always seems to do) his heart flips. "I love you lots."

"Mm, no need to thank me. Just gimme lots of kisses when I get home." His tongue is growing heavier, sleep more inviting. But he manages to get one last thing out— "I love you lots, too."

Right before Wriothesley lets himself drop, you press a loud, exaggerated kiss to the receiver of your phone. He smiles.

That's how you both fall asleep: with both phones still on the line, even breaths and quiet snores comforting the other into a restful slumber.

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn and stalking behavior. bad language word people we're talking about audio porn here

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

After enduring your rented noisy flat for nearly six months, the construction of your new house is finally completed, which is a total relief. You now have a house of your own.

It’s a small place in the suburbs, with a handful of neighbors on the same block, and a decent lawn that you need not pay too much attention to besides mowing occasionally. More importantly, the quietness.

You’ve settled for this house because of the friendly neighbors and the quietness around the place. Most houses are properly wrapped up in thick walls and heavy planks so no noises would escape. The only sounds that constantly appear from outside of the window are the birds chirping and the laughs and talks from family and friends.

This.

This is the perfect place for you.

You met the Pinewood Residential Community Committee (Really? A community committee? You could be in tears) the day you moved in. A group of five that consisted of three of the actual committee and two of your neighbors. The house to your right lives a delightful family whose wife Sarah came to visit and brought you homemade cookies. The house to your left harbors a tall silent man called Simon who has dark circles under his eyes (You doubt the house was enough for him because he looked like a Tall-nut that could poke through the roof). Most of the time he just nodded to whatever the rest of them were chatting about. He gave you a brand-new Bluetooth speaker about the size of your palm, saying that it might come in handy if you want to play music without carrying your phone around the house.

You were grateful.

For the committee. For the friendly neighbors. For the speaker, even.

Until the day you decide to try this speaker out.

Present day, today, this very hour, you have been fighting with this unruly speaker.

You have pushed buttons. Connecting it to the charger and unplugged it twice. Flipped the on/off switch. Turned the volume thingy at the top to the maximum. Turned up the phone volume, too.

Nothing.

No sound coming out.

While your phone mocks at you by showing you that you have already connected it and no sound is coming out.

You googled, searched, and tried reading the instructions, but nothing helped.

You sigh. Snatch the speaker and the small piece of paper with instructions and head to your neighbor’s place.

Simon is just finishing up his work for today.

It’s not a job, per se, but trades his time and patience for some of the allowances.

Actually, scratch that, he has been making more from this not-job job than spending time in the military, which says something.

He has been considering making this job a little permanent, aside from his part-time work to deliver posts and mails.

He starts the day early, driving his van to the local post office, loading the bunch of stuff onto his backseat, and finishing driving around the blocks at around 1 pm. Works a little on his side job, goes to bed at 9 or 10, simple as that.

He leaves the recording room of his house, only pausing his steps to the showers when he hears something coming from his living room…?

He heads back to the recording room, making sure his laptop is turned off, his phone is on airplane mode (which has stayed that way for a while, he must add, to prevent it from interrupting his recording), and his iPad certainly has not connected to his Bluetooth. Which is … odd?

Because why is one of his recordings playing on his Bluetooth speaker?

Simon winces at his own grunts and moans from the speaker. He’s not particularly proud of it, okay, that he is a member of an audio porn production team. He takes time recording himself reading various scripts of monologues that end up taking the imaginative figure of a woman to bed.

Yes, he records himself twice a week.

Yes, he makes male-for-female porn.

Yes, he never shows his face and has a silly stage name called “Ghost”.

Yes, he does (very occasionally) custom-made fan audio for those generous patrons.

Yes, this is a custom-made audio playing on his Bluetooth – wait what?

A few soft knocks land on his door before he can comprehend what mystical force is toying with his speaker.

“Brilliant.” He grumbles to himself under his breath, “Fucking brilliant.”

Now he has another thing to tend to besides figuring out his haunted speaker.

He turns the volume down, shoving the small gadget into the sofa cushions before it can be haunted again.

Opening the door.

And there you are.

“Oh! Um, hi!” You are stepping down the porch, thinking that he must be busy, but the noise of the locks startles you a little, turn around to see your neighbor Simon, “Hi, I live next door. Uh, I moved here about a week ago?”

Cute.

He thinks to himself.

Technically, his first impression was supposed to be a week ago when he visited your place for the first time, but he missed his nap time so the thirty minutes spent there consisted of him keeping himself awake – hardly, more like keeping his head straight and eyes open, which he failed, for at least a dozen times or so.

Rude. He knows. But he is not the kind of social butterfly either, so you kinda get what you deserve by moving in next to him.

“Yeah.” He grunts, his mind still on the fucking Bluetooth, “Wha’d you need, luv?”

“I think this speaker is … I don’t know what’s wrong with it, it just … no sound coming out of it.” You chew on your lower lip sheepishly, “Would you mind helping out, please?”

“Tried to dial the volume on your phone louder?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, I did, I-” You fumble with your phone, giving him a moment to look at the speaker under your arm.

One glance at the Bluetooth speaker in your hand, same brand, same model, but different color, connects the dots for Simon in his mind.

It is obvious as daylight that you accidentally connected to his speaker.

“I’ll try turn it up-” You push the buttons on the side of your phone, turning the volume up to the loudest.

And a guttural groan comes from his couch.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweet’art.” His couch moans loudly, “You’re killin’ me with that sweet cunny-”

Simon acts quickly, yanks you inside the house by the arm, and slams the door shut.

“That’s my speaker.” He says, quietly.

Your stupid fingers finally manage to turn the volume down. You completely forgot about the audio playing on your phone – your favorite audio, the one you have listened to and cummed to for at least a handful of times. Your face instantly goes aflame. You were planning some quality time with your toy, but not this! You are not connecting to your neighbor’s speaker and standing at his doorstep!

The deadly silence is eating you up.

“Um. Guess it’s not … wrong?” You let out a dry chuckle, your mind a puddle of jellyfish that zaps your neurons into firing the wrong sparks, “I’ll, um, go upstairs – my home, my place, I mean. Thank you for tonight.” Your face scrunches together out of sheer embarrassment.

His iron grasp on your arm is unwavering.

He has some patrons online, but the fact that you are one of them and live next door is … a bit too much of a coincidence.

“You a stalker or wha’?” He growls at you. His eyes flash a dangerous glint as he recalls what had happened to one of his friends, John, with the stage name “Soap”. Soap works with Simon in the small group of audio porn production called “Team 141”. Soap was careless about his whereabouts, leading to a crazy woman piecing together information and ambushing him when he gets home from his day job.

“Wha- what?” You sound completely baffled. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, sweet’art. Doesn’t work like ‘at.” Simon eyes at the now-silent speaker on his couch, before returning his gaze to your startled expression, which is indeed fright, but for different reasons than he’d think of – the fear of being found that you stalked to his house. “Peachy? Peach? ‘s that your Discord name? Coz this is a specialized piece, custom-made. An’ I made it myself.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. Your Discord name is indeed, Peachyyy,with two extra Y, and it hits you that this man you are confronting, who is confronting you, might be the one who sent this audio as a special gift to you, their patron.

Every patron for the Team 141 could designate a voice actor for their custom-made audio. When you were notified that you could also participate in deciding the actor of the audio, without a second to stop and think, you chose your favorite one of “Team 141”.

“Ghost”.

Simon “Ghost” Riley let out a cold smirk. He believes he has this all figured out.

“I won’t report you. Not yet. But if I find you ten feet within my vicin’ty,” His teeth bared, sharp canines ready to rip something apart, throat rumbling like a true animal, “I’ll get your pretty arse locked up and thrown into jail. Run along now, stalker lady.”

Monster! You shriek. Or perhaps that’s a pitiful whimper under his massive shadow, and flee from his grasp.

Part 2

[leviathans-watching]

lucifer, mammon, diavolo apologizing after a fight

includes: lucifer, mammon, diavolo x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: 1.2k | rated t | m.list

a/n: i guess i was in the mood for some mild hurt/comfort and fluff lol. thanks for reading and my inbox is open for reqs, feedback, and just to talk so come talk with me!

please reblog <3

lucifer shuts the door behind him quietly, listening intently. the house is silent, but he knows you’re still awake. trying to shake himself free of his nerves, he checks over the bouquet of flowers, making sure they’re in top shape, then straightens his tie.

making his way through the house, he checks each room for you, each as dark and empty as the last. until he gets to your shared room, where the door is shut. he listens at the door, and can faintly hear music and running water. you’re likely in the bath.

pushing the door open, lucifer sees then ensuite bathroom’s door cracked and can now distinguish faint splashing. you’re definitely in there. calling out your name so he won’t startle you, lucifer waits until you allow him to enter.

“what?” you ask irritably, not meeting his eyes, and his heart skinks. he feels terrible for the earlier argument especially since it’s clear you’re still upset.

“darling, i wanted to apologize for earlier,” he says, dropping to his knees outside of the bath. you pop some bubbles, resolutley ignoring him, so he goes on. “i was being stubborn and knew even in the moment you were correct. there are no excuses for my earlier words and actions and i am truly sorry.” he offers you the flowers. “will you forgive me?”

you finally look up at him, and his gut tightens. how could he have been so cruel to you?

you take the flowers, smelling them for a long, painful moment. then you give them back and he feels like he’s been punched. until you speak.

“thank you for the apology. and for the flowers. of course i forgive you. but,” you warn, “you must never, and i mean never, lucifer, speak to me that way. do you understand?”

“yes, darling, anything,” he promises, overpowering relief crashing through him. you lift a wet hand up and pull him to you by the tie, bringing his face to yours.

“good. and i’m glad you realized i was right.” you give him a peck, lips there and gone before he can act. “now, to fully make it up to me, will you wash my hair?”

“you don’t even have to ask,” lucifer replies, already rolling up his sleeves. as he helps you wash, a finally peaceful silence falling between you, he thinks of how lucky he is to have you, something he’s aware of each and every day.

mammon jumps up when he hears the door open, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. you’d gone for a walk after the earlier fight and every moment without you was excruciation, especially after he’d finally admitted to himself he was in the wrong.

“hey,” he breathes as you remove your coat. you give him a look, and he knows he’s got to do better. “i’m sorry, mc,” he amends, feeling like he’s speaking too loud for the distance between you. “i seriously fucked up and i’m so, so sorry. i was angry but that was no excuse to treat you like that or speak to you that way. i’m really sorry.”

“thank you,” you finally say, breathing out a sigh. “and i’m sorry too. i overreacted.”

“no!” he says quickly. “you were only reacting to my aggression. it was my fault. and you were right. i understand if you want more space from me.”

“to be honest,” you begin. “that’s the last thing i want right now. come here and give me a hug.”

mammon moves faster than he should, almost tripping over the coffee table, and wraps you in his arms tightly. it’s only now that he realizes he’s practically trembling–man, he must have been really nervous. you hug him back, just as tight, and his eyes are only bringing because he’s got some dust in them, okay? absolutely no other reason.

after a long, long moment, you pull back from him, giving him a watery smile. “i love you,” you say, and he presses his forehead to yours, feeling your warmth.

“i love you too. i’m sorry.”

“you already said that,” you tease, and he smiles sadly.

“’m still sorry. and, to be honest, don’t want to cook. so whaddya say we go out for ramen tonight?”

“only if i get to pick where,” you say. “and if you pay.”

“well i thought that was obvious,” he huffs. your stomach growls then, and he grabs your coat, motioning for you to let him help you put it on. he grabs your hand when it’s all buttoned, wrapping his fingers around your tightly. he made the mistake of letting you go earlier and he’s not going to do anything like that now.

diavolo frets, looking over everything once again. he truly has no idea how to apologize, and though asking barbatos had crossed his mind he knew he couldn’t ask another man to help him with this. not when it concerns you.

as son of the demon kind, diavolo’s never really been wrong before. demons just kind of…listened to him, and in cases where he was really off the path barbatos and lucifer would often guide him without explicitly crossing his orders, something he knows they think he hasn’t noticed. but navigating life with you is nothing like ruling over the devildom, and in many ways, diavolo finds it much, much harder.

but he’s going to admit he was wrong and apologize! if there’s one thing he can remember from when he was very, very young, it was watching his father, the king, apologize to the queen, much as he’s doing now. the only difference is that he hasn’t officially made you ruler alongside him but that can be thought about later.

he checks his ddd for the time, and exhales nervously. he’d asked you to meet him at the spot of your first date and it was nearing the time that he’d written, and you never were one to be late. as if he imagined you, you appear, hesitant and nervous. but you’d come, and that’s enough for him.

“diavolo? what is all of this?” you look over the picnic, from the expensive chocolates to the wrapped gift and then back to him.

“i wanted to say i was sorry,” he says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “when we argued, i wasn’t fair to you, nor did i listen. and then i reacted poorly and in a way that’s never okay. and i truly apologize.”

“you did all this to apologize?” you ask, and he nods.

“was it too much? i don’t really know what i’m doing but i know i want to make it up to you. can you forgive me?”

“of course,” you reply, and he feels like he can finally breathe. “and while this is nice, it is a little much. i really only wanted to hear you say you were sorry.”

“i’m sorry.”

“i know. thank you for saying that. and for doing all of this. and i’m sorry too,” you continue, holding up a hand before he can say you have nothing to apologize for. “i should have talked to you instead of just running away. now, let’s enjoy this wonderful picnic you’ve prepared.”

“i love you,” he says. “so much.”

“i love you,” is your simple reply, but for him, it’s more than enough.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

If it's okay may I request a yandere shanks x reader where reader is trying to escape but gets caught.

A/n: MY MAN MMMM MMMM MMMMMM!!! I love him so much! I feel like his yandere would be terrifying to the reader, because he'd kill for them. Please enjoy!!

CAN'T ESCAPE FROM ME - Yan!Shanks x Reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Someone had found you with your hand tied to a metal bar. You were frightened for a second and then you let out a sigh of relief.

"Help me...please."

The random man standing before you cut the ties on your wrist and helped you stand.

"Thank you, I have to go now. You should too before he sees you."

The man listens and leaves as quickly as he came. Your plan was swishing around in your head, you had to think of something quickly. Finally, you grasped the plan to jump into the sea and float away. It was better than being tied up.

You push open the storage closet door slowly, peeking out of the small crack. No one was walking around, everyone must be asleep. Time for execution!

You push open the door as quickly as you could and then run to one of the sides of the boat. You lift one leg up, then the other before balancing on the beam. You take a deep breath, prepare to jump and then leap forward. But before you could get some good air, you were grabbed.

"Darling...where are you going?" He cradles you in his arms, not even caring about how you were fighting against his embrace.

"Away from you!"

No matter how much you bit, scratched and screamed, his grip never faltered.

"Stop it Y/n. I'm doing this to keep you safe." He smiles.

You couldn't believe he was smiling. Smiling at the fact that you were tired of being tied up like a damn animal! You push away from him and try to scramble to your feet. When you look up, he's standing over you, still smiling. His foot keeps a light but firm pressure on your arm and he squats down over you.

"You do realize that I could've broke your legs right? Do not make me regret my decision of you having freedoms Y/n."

He caresses your cheek, keeping that smile on his face. It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. And you were scared...

"Will you try to leave again?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and then open them only to see his smiling face. Why must he smile? Why?

"I will not leave again Shanks..."

"Promise?"

He holds out his pinkie to you. You raise your unpinned hand and stick your pinkie out. You wrap it around his pinkie before letting your hand fall back onto the deck beneath you. He picks you up in his arms, brings you into his room, ties you up to another set of metal pipes and lays down with you in his arms. You hated it, you hated everything in that moment. You gave up so quickly, why?

You feel a kiss press into your neck before he turns your head to face him.

"I need to know one last thing darling..."

You hum in acknowledgement, not wanting to speak to him anymore.

"Who let you out?"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/n: Jesus, I think I went a bit overboard (get it lol!) a little bit but I still hope you enjoy this :))))

Masterlist -> link

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | 10

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 10: Flat Tire

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 6.9k+ (nice)

Tags / Warnings: reader pov, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food & eating, blackout, movie references, car problems, alcohol & alcoholism, 12-step programs, lying, conflict avoidance, crying crying crying sorry, internal conflict, monologue, toxic relationships but listen we're tryna get better, journal entries, nightmares, ptsd, flashback

Notes: WHAT UP PARTY PEOPLE?? MAKE SOME NOIIIISE (insert dallas buyers club matthew mcconaughey scream crying in his car). Sorry for being a bummer lol sometimes growth hurts but we're gonna get thru this I swear. Ok thank u let me know what you think!!!

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-----

Blackouts work like magic. 

One second you’re perched on a barstool, trying not to sway or slur your words while ordering another drink, and the next you’re jolted awake by the thud of a door closing. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you sit up and look around, breathing a sigh of relief to see you somehow made it to your bedroom last night. 

You grab your phone off the side table, swiping away the missed calls from Frankie and Leah, then discover that you apparently re-downloaded a dating app in your alcohol-induced fugue state. Judging by the number of reply messages in your inbox, you must have hit up every man in the tri-county area who was “looking for a good time.”

Perfect. Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? Bad decisions and dick has never ever steered you wrong. 

You read one typo-filled exchange between yourself and Russ K, 34, before deactivating the account and uninstalling the app. 

When you set your phone back on the nightstand, you notice a mason jar filled with ice water and frown. Beside it sits a small plastic container holding four neon orange tablets and two white tablets. A sticky note on the table reads ‘Went to a meeting, be back this afternoon’ in Frankie’s handwriting. 

Alarm trickles through your veins and inspires a wave of nausea you can’t ignore. Clasping your hand over your mouth to hold down the rising bile, you jump out of bed and beeline to the bathroom. 

After emptying the sparse contents of your stomach into the toilet, you lean back against the cool tile wall and search the ceiling for answers. How did you get home last night? Did you say anything to Frankie? 

You think about the ice water and over-the-counter pills left on your nightstand, then think about the note Frankie left. However you got home, he must know you were hammered. Which means you definitely interacted with him while blacked out. Do you even want to know what you said to him? 

Mortification twists your stomach when you imagine the possibilities. You could have tried to fuck him or murder him or anything in between. Given how you feel about him right now, it’s impossible to predict. That fact alone makes your mouth start to sweat again. 

So… no, you don’t want to know what you said to him when you were drunk. You don’t want to know how you got home or why the fuck your hair is damp. All you want is to get through this fucking day without hurling again. Maybe greasy food and a NASCAR nap, too. 

With this new clear goal in mind, you pick yourself up off the bathroom floor and set about making your low-stakes dream a reality. 

—

You wake on the couch to the soothing lull of commentators giving a play-by-play of the Rays versus Yankees game. A thick web of fatigue clings to you, fighting against your efforts to open your eyes and sit upright. 

“Hey.” 

Instinctively, you look towards the noise at the other end of the couch, locking eyes with Frankie. His face droops with this wounded expression that gets under your skin. Diverting your gaze to the TV, you cross your arms and try to keep your demeanor aloof despite the deep ache in your chest. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You choke out a humorless laugh and shake your head, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. A few tense seconds go by before he accepts that you will not be answering his ludicrous question, so he takes an alternative approach. 

“I brought home cubanos from that place you like. For, um… for family dinner. If you still wanted to do that.” 

Home, he says, as if the word meant something to him. As if he didn’t match every brick you laid in the foundation of this relationship with paper mache blocks. As if he didn’t take a wrecking ball to whole fucking thing regardless. 

Maybe to him home is just a place he rests his head at night, not where he anchors his heart. A matter of physical location rather than a feeling. You, on the other hand… never felt quite at home in this house until he started living here. 

Are you crazy for having felt like that? Like home was a space you held with him and him alone? 

Your parents were right. You make too much of things. You’re overdramatic. 

Why would he love you? Why would he choose you over his wife? You knew what you were getting into when this started. 

Stupid girl. 

“I understand if you don’t want to, though.” 

His voice brings you back to yourself. You blink hot tears from your eyes, then wipe them from your cheeks, trying to hold yourself together despite the whisper of ‘stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl’ at the back of your head. 

“Can we… can we at least talk about it?” 

You wince as a fresh batch of tears surges up your throat. Rising to your feet, you shake your head and manage to choke out, “Just forget it,” before fleeing to your bedroom. 

—

I slept most of the day yesterday so it took me forever to fall asleep. Also Frankie was walking around the house all night. At 11ish, I heard him talking on the phone, then I think someone picked him up. I texted him to see where he went because I’m unfortunately still his designated person. He said he was with someone from AA and he’d be back soon, just needed to talk. I couldn’t fall asleep until I heard him come in at 1. He wasn’t stumbling around so I’m guessing he was sober??? Hopefully he was. I don’t want this to get in the way of his recovery. Which I sort of hate. I wish I could delete the feelings I have for him. I wish I didn’t care. But I guess I do, so… I don’t know. This fucking sucks. Leah said I should kick him out, but I don’t want to fuck up his program. Maybe I’ll talk to Ralph today and see what he thinks. The thing is… the more people I talk to, the more I just want to talk to Frankie. Nobody makes me feel like he does. More than the lies, this is what bothers me the most. The fact that I can feel this way and he just doesn’t. I don’t understand how he can’t feel it, too. I thought this was real. But I guess I always do. I guess he’s just a really good liar and I am just a stupid girl. 

Tossing the notebook aside, you sit up to grab your mug off the side table. Wisps of steam rise from the coffee and dissolve into the air. The image blurs as a thick, wretched sensation twists up your throat. 

God fucking damnit. 

Every time you think you have no more tears left to cry, you prove yourself wrong. They just keep coming. Yesterday you waded in and out of these sudden fits where crying was all you could do. It reminds you of all the other times he broke your heart, but especially the last time. 

After Angie caught the two of you fucking, part of you hoped that maybe she would leave him. From what you understand, though, he convinced her to stay. Called you a mistake. An ‘isolated incident’ or whatever. Fucking asshole. 

Anyway. 

Seeing each other became logistically and emotionally difficult. Participating in an affair is much easier when it’s still a secret, for obvious reasons. He tried to see you when he could, which wasn’t nearly as frequent as you wanted. When you did see him, he was drunk. You’d pick him up from the bar, or he’d come over after Angie went to bed, but he was always at least five drinks in and counting. 

You bailed him out of jail twice in those six months. Once for drinking and driving, once for getting in a fight over a fucking pool game, of all things. 

He seemed so walled-off from you, too. Like he detached from his emotions when he saw you. Maybe it was because of the liquor, but a million other reasons are just as likely. After sex, he would leave. The sex was… well, it was still good, but… different. Rougher, impersonal. It felt less like making love and more like fucking. 

You still loved him, though. You still had fantasies of having a real, normal relationship with him. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, you still wanted to believe that he was meant to be with you. 

Stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl

And then, well… 

Your phone starts to ring. It’s Ralph. 

You take a few quick sips of your coffee, then set the mug aside to answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo. Do you have a minute?” 

His tone, less jovial than normal, gives you a small burst of anxious energy.

“Sure, what’s up?” 

“I just got off the phone Mr. Morales and he briefed me on the, ahhh… situation over there.” 

Unsure what to say, you fold an arm over your belly and stare down at your lap. 

“I understand that things are a bit tense due to an incident that occurred on Saturday, is that correct?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, voice wavering, “Yeah, I, um… I overheard him talking to Angie, and… well, basically I found out he’s been lying to me.” 

It sounds so pathetic when you say it out loud. 

“Uh-huh. He lied about the nature of his relationship with Mrs. Morales.” 

“Correct.” 

You prepare for Ralph to tell you it’s not a big deal. Brace yourself for the inevitable scoff, or for him to accuse you of overreacting. 

So he lied to you, so what? You knew who he was. You knew he had a family to keep together. You should have known better than to get involved with him. Stupid girl, why would you put yourself in that position in the first place? 

“And this isn’t the first time he lied to you about this particular matter, am I understanding correctly?” 

“Well…” you frown and shake your head, “No, not really. When we were together before, he was pretty explicit that he wouldn’t leave her. I just… I just thought… I don’t know. It’s dumb. I’m fucking dumb.” 

Ralph doesn’t respond right away, so you add, “Sorry. I’m still in my feelings.” 

“Don’t sweat it, I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” he pauses here to clear his throat, then recounts, “Before, he told you leaving her wasn’t a possibility. And despite my warning going into this, the two of you re-established your romantic relationship, he told you that kind of relationship was effectively over with his wife. Which wasn’t true.” 

“Correct.” 

“Ok. Got it. Has Mr. Morales exhibited any unusual or suspicious behavior since the incident on Saturday?”

After thinking about it, you tell him, “I wouldn’t call this suspicious exactly, but yesterday he left a note saying he was going to an AA meeting, which isn’t normal. And late last night someone picked him up. I texted him to check in and he said he was with someone from AA, talking.” 

“Do you believe he was being truthful?” 

“Yeah, I do,” you shrug, “I mean, I’m obviously not the best at detecting his bullshit, but I’ve seen him under the influence more times than I can count and he didn’t seem… like that.” 

“Well, that’s good. And it’s good you checked in with him, I take that as a positive. You are still responsible for him while he’s on parole.” He sighs, “Which brings me to my next question. Are you thinking you want to continue serving as his designated person, or should we start looking for alternatives?” 

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it down, wincing at the tears that burn behind your eyes, “I, um… I’m not sure yet. Can I have a few days to think it over?” 

“Sure. How about this. Why don’t you take some time, maybe go to one of those Al-Anon meetings I told you about, and I can stop by Saturday to have a sit down with you and Mr. Morales. Does that sound agreeable?” 

“Ok,” you nod, “Yeah, that sounds good. We can do that.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll shoot you an email with some details sometime today and we’ll go from there.” 

“Thanks, Ralph.” 

“Call me if anything comes up, ok kiddo?” 

“Will do.” 

After hanging up, you put in a load of laundry and wander around the house, stopping by the fridge to stare at the cubano Frankie brought home for you yesterday. You roll your eyes with annoyance as you grab it, then you return to the couch and put on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

—

By the time Frankie comes home, you’re four feature films deep in your angsty post-breakup movie marathon and feeling indignant enough not to surrender the common space to him. 

His eyebrows do this little surprised jump when your eyes meet his, and he glances at the TV, “Reality Bites?” 

You don’t respond, just curl deeper into the couch and return your attention to Ethan Hawke’s spiteful cover of Add It Up.

He kicks off his work boots and walks into the kitchen, coming back a minute later to ask, “If I make something for dinner, will you eat it?” 

Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Without looking at him, you shrug. 

Accepting the non-verbal answer, Frankie returns to the kitchen and starts bumbling around, cussing and grumbling under his breath. Eventually, though, he seems to get the hang of it. 

Just as the end credits of Reality Bites start rolling, he enters the living room holding two plates and sets one on the coffee table for you, then takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. 

You sit up, crossing your legs as you pull the offering into your lap, and toss the remote control to his side of the dividing cushion. He wordlessly searches for something else to watch while you study the avocado-filled hot dog buns. 

“What is this?” you ask. 

“Completo. Hot dog topped with good shit, basically. Avocado, tomato, onion, condiments.” He selects play on Moulin Rouge, then looks at you and shrugs, “Ma would make it for me when I had a bad day.” 

You stare at him for a moment, then roll your eyes and shake your head as you turn to the TV, “I see what you’re doing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Kissing my ass.” 

He chuckles, shifting a little, “Yeah, well… yeah.” 

The movie starts to play. You don’t mention that this will be the second time you’ve seen it today because he probably knows that. After taking a bite of the completo, you hum at the mix of flavors and textures as you chew. 

“Good, right?” Frankie says through a mouthful. 

“Mmm,” you nod in agreement. 

He swallows, glancing between you and his food before asking, “Can I ask why you haven’t kicked me out yet?”

When you contemplate how to answer, the reasons all snarl into a tight knot of which you can’t quite make heads or tails. 

“No.” 

“Fair enough,” he murmurs, letting his gaze linger on you, “Do you want me to give you some privacy, or…? Because I can go—” 

“It doesn’t matter, Francisco, just stop talking.” 

“Ok, but—” 

You hold your hand up to him, “Shhhhhh.”

He sighs, but accepts the silence. Tension resides in the air at first, but slowly dissipates as you clear your plates, then settle into the couch. And although your eyes stay trained on the screen, you can’t make yourself pay attention. 

You keep wondering why he lied about being with Angie. He’s never had a problem making that clear in the past, even if it meant breaking your heart. Is it because he lives with you? It’s possible he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out, so he kept it a secret. 

Then why get involved with you again? Did he think this was the best way to stay in your good graces? Has he been manipulating you this whole time? 

It’s possible. It’s also possible you’re another one of his bad habits he can’t kick. A coping mechanism. Disposable, like always. 

You remember the night you asked him to come over so you could talk to him about something important. He promised to be there at eight o’clock, which is when you planted yourself on the front porch swing to wait for him. At nine o’clock, his truck came rumbling down the street and parked in front of the house. 

“What’re you doing out here?” he smirked as he climbed the porch steps. 

“Waiting for you,” you glared at him, observing his fluid movements when he plopped down beside you.

“I went and got a drink, lost track of time.” 

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew your stiff body closer to kiss your cheek.

Something hot flared in your chest, and you distinctly remember wishing he would show up sober for once. This wasn’t the scab you wanted to pick, though. 

He tilted your chin up, pressing his lips to yours, breath heavy with whiskey, then pulled back to frown at your lackluster response. His body swayed a little as he studied you, “What?” 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Ok,” he leaned away from you with a scoff, “Well, I’m here. Talk to me. Tell me how I fucked up this time.” 

You winced, “Don’t do that.” 

Crossing his arms, he stared at you, all fucking wobbly and drunk, irritation folding his facial features. He shrugged, “Do what?” 

“That! You’re being an asshole.” 

“Oh, I’m being an asshole?” he mocked, “How’s that?” 

Rage simmered beneath your skin. You let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head as tears pooled in your eyes. After taking a moment to gather yourself, you spit out, “Do you love me?” 

“Do I—?” he furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand, shifting in his seat, “Do I love you?” 

“Yes, Frankie. Do you fucking love me or not?” 

His indignation melted. Shoulders slumping, gaze going soft. He swallowed hard and looked out at the street as if searching for an escape hatch. Emergency brake. Make it stop. 

“Because I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long… and-and I still don’t know what the fuck I am to you.” 

He seemed frozen, staring at something a million miles away without sparing a reaction. 

Nine months later, you can still feel the frantic vibration of your bones when you moved closer and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. When his eyes met yours, they were so cold and vacant that you barely recognized him. You tried to get through anyway. 

“I need you right now, Frankie. But I need all of you. I can’t be on the back burner anymore. I need you to be with me or I need to let you go.” 

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t be with you, not like that.” 

“But you could, though. You could. We could do this, we could make it work, start a life together—”

“I won’t leave her,” he shook his head, “I have a family—goddamnit, you knew what this was when it started.”

You sobbed, letting your hands fall away from his face, and his eyelids fluttered with the ghost of an emotion that you didn’t understand. 

He started, “I don’t—” then paused, tapping his clamped lips. His bloodshot eyes flicked around the porch and settled a million miles away again, “I don’t love you.” 

With this declaration, he took his chisel to you, lined it up in just the right spot, and gave it one firm tap. You crumbled at his feet. Shattered into dust. 

He got up and drove off while you were still bawling on the front porch swing. 

Onscreen, Toulouse-Lautrec shouts, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return!” 

It hits you square in the chest. 

With tears brimming your eyelids, you jump up and flee to your bedroom before he can see them. 

—

Terrible nights sleep. Every time I drifted off, I was in the bedroom at my parents house but it wasn’t in my parents house. He was there but he wasn’t there. I don’t know how to explain it. I felt his presence but knew it wasn't him. I kept my eyes closed because I was scared to see, but I could hear him getting closer and closer. When I opened my eyes I woke up. The feeling stuck to me. It took me forever to fall back asleep and when I did it started over. 

Frankie didn’t go to work this morning. I don’t think he slept well either. Heard him walking around all night again. Idk if I should ask him what his deal is. I don’t want to talk to him about it yet and he’ll probably try to do that. Which is weird for him. A year ago I’d give anything for him to open up like he’s been trying to. But it hurts too much right now. It’s so messy. I’m all tangled. I need to straighten myself out before talking about it. 

I think I’m going to an al-anon meeting today and I’m nervous. Not sure what to expect. Keep worrying they’ll tell me I don’t belong there or make me talk about him. I don’t know if I belong there. I don’t know if I belong anywhere. 

Pulling back from your notebook, you stare at the last sentence for a while before closing the cover and setting it on the end table. 

Frankie walks out from his bedroom and rounds the corner to the living room, looking suspiciously formal, wearing slacks and a white dress shirt. His dark curls have been combed into a neat side part. It even looks like he trimmed his facial hair. 

As he peeks through the front window curtains, you blurt, “Are you wearing a fucking tie?” 

He looks surprised to hear you speak, raising his eyebrows as he glances down at himself, then up at you, “Yeah. I have a uhhh… a deposition today.” 

“Is that good or bad?” 

“Not really either. It’s normal, I guess. They’re just asking me questions on the record.” 

Nodding, you study his nervous demeanor, watching him reflexively go to lift his hat, faltering a little before running his fingers through his hair anyway. 

A desire to comfort him trickles through you, extinguishing the glowing embers of contempt inside your chest. 

“How is the case going, do you know?” 

The corner of his mouth pulls back into a kind of grimace. He takes another peek out the window, then steps back and shrugs as he approaches the couch, “The lawyer says they’ll probably offer a plea deal once this is over. We’ll see what that looks like.” He sits down at the other end of the couch, pulling out his phone to keep an eye on the little car on his rideshare app, “He thinks maybe they could agree to a reduced sentence.” 

You pick at your frayed cuticles, holding your tongue for as long as you can before asking, “How are you doing with… everything?” 

When you glance at him, his face is crooked with contemplation. He shifts in his seat and crosses his arms, lips parting with an answer. A notification dings on his phone. 

“My ride’s here,” he murmurs and meets your eyes with an apologetic expression, “We can talk about it later?” 

You give him a non-committal smile, “Good luck at your thing.” 

—

The woman who gave you your new member packet, apparently the leader of the meeting, looks around the room and announces,

“This afternoon, our fearless speaker will be Taylor. Everybody please welcome Taylor.”

From the back row, you sink down in your metal folding chair and glance around at the attendees, joining in when they start to clap for a woman approaching the podium. 

“Hi everyone, my name is Taylor. I’m a member of Al-Anon.” 

The room responds in unison, “Hi Taylor.” 

Taylor smiles and shakes her head, looking down at a small stack of trembling notecards. Her round shoulders raise with a deep breath. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhales, then looks up at the room. 

“If you would’ve told me a year ago I’d be the speaker at an Al-Anon group, there’s no way I’d believe you. But here I am,” she chuckles, “Wow. Thank you everyone for coming in today. I see so many familiar faces and some not so familiar faces and I’m grateful to see all of you. I’m proud of you for coming to this meeting today. 

“One of the biggest preconceived notions I had when I started attending Al-Anon meetings nine months ago is that they would help me support my alcoholic husband. At the time, he was about a month into sobriety and had just started going to AA meetings. He was struggling like hell and a friend of his asked if he wanted to go to an AA meeting with him. So he did. 

“I’ll be honest, when he suggested I go to Al-Anon, I was annoyed. I really was. At that point, we’d been married for five years. He tried quitting, oh, I don’t know… six times in that five years? Three 90-day inpatient rehab stays, two arrests, more sleepless nights than I can count.” 

Taylor pauses and looks down at her notes, then back up at the room as an amused smile spreads across her face. 

“What it always reminded me of was this story my husband told me. Every so often, he goes through these phases where he gets very very interested in a particular subject. It completely takes him over. All he wants to do is read about it and talk about it and… well, you get it. 

“When he was in his Greek mythology era, he told me about Sisyphus, the king of Ephyra. Sisyphus killed people who visited his palace, which angered the gods because they considered it impolite, which is the understatement of the millennium, but that’s neither here nor there. When Sisyphus died, Hades punished him to an eternity rolling a boulder uphill. He would fight his way up this steep hill, pushing the boulder with all his might. The boulder was enchanted, though, and every time the it got near the top, the boulder would roll back down the hill, then he’d have to try again. So he does this over and over and over for eternity. Infinite frustration and exhaustion. 

“Sometimes it felt like that with him. With my alcoholic. Like I was stuck in this loop, fighting like hell to push his dead weight to the top of the hill. Just when I got a scrap of hope, it went tumbling back down. Over and over and over again. I structured my whole life around his relationship to alcohol. Checking in with him constantly, making sure I didn’t say or do anything that might trigger another relapse, putting myself on the back burner to accommodate his needs. So when he suggested I try going to Al-Anon meetings, I expected it to be another chore catering to his sobriety. I thought I would come here and learn all the ways people support the alcoholic in their life the right way. Because I obviously wasn’t doing it the right way. If I was, he would have years of sobriety under his belt. 

“Regardless, I agreed to go, and quickly discovered my preconceived notions about Al-Anon were wrong. Al-Anon doesn’t exist for us to better service the alcoholic or alcoholics in our lives. Sure, we’re all here because of the alcoholic in our lives, but the point is to better service ourselves. I think that distinction is important. 

“When I came home from my first meeting, I went through the new member packet Mario gave me, and found a handout that said: Detachment is neither kind nor unkind,” Taylor nods at the memory and looks around the room, “That struck a chord with me, that phrase. Detachment is neither kind nor unkind. It didn’t make sense to me at first. I thought, how is detachment neither kind nor unkind? It went against my instincts completely. How was I supposed to help my husband if I detached from him? Isn’t love about being attached to someone, sticking together through thick and thin? 

“Attending meetings and working the steps helped me get a better grasp on the concept. I came to understand that, in Al-Anon, detachment can mean two different things. The first is separating the person you love from their alcoholic behaviors. The second is a little harder to define, but it centers around the idea that you are separate from other people, and their actions do not control yours. Let me show you what I mean, though.

“In my relationship with my husband, we were entangled,” Taylor laces her hands together and holds them up for everyone to see. “Wherever he went, I went, too.” She moves her clasped hands back and forth. Spreading her hands apart, she says, “I didn’t want to be apart from him. But what I found with detachment is,” she flattens her hands palm-to-palm, “We can be close without being entangled. That way, if he goes to a dark place,” she moves one hand away from the other and shakes her head, “I don’t have to go with him if I don’t want to.” 

Taylor looks around the room, allowing her words to sink in, then returns her attention to the stack of notecards and flips to the next. 

“When we detach in this way, it both relieves us of our perceived responsibility for their actions and emotions, and grants them autonomy to make their own choices. They deserve dignity and freedom, which is difficult to obtain if we try to manage their lives. 

“So often in our marriage, I thought that loving my alcoholic meant rescuing him from himself. I thought that if I exerted myself hard enough, pushed him up that steep hill long enough, we would get to the top together. But the effort was Sisyphean. It didn’t matter how much time or effort I put into controlling the direction of the boulder. It would always roll downhill, because the boulder was enchanted. Even if I spent an eternity trying, even if I begged and screamed and pleaded with the boulder, it would still be enchanted. And, you know… maybe that’s ok. Maybe he’s not meant to sit at the top of the hill. It’s not his fault, either, and I came to realize that instead of getting frustrated at him for being enchanted, I can meet him where he is and love him anyway. If I don’t like that place, I don’t have to stay there. When I detach with love, I grant myself autonomy as well as him. 

“Putting the metaphor aside, I’ve used this in practice by no longer lying for him. If he’s at an AA meeting and our daughter asks why he’s not home, I tell her the truth. When my family or friends ask how everything is going, I don’t try to make it seem easier than it is so he can save face. I confide in them with sincerity because that is what I need. I’ve stopped giving him advice unless he asks for it, because I’ve learned here that most times people don’t need advice, they just need someone to listen and be present. I’ve stopped trying to take the reins when I think he’s making poor decisions, because he doesn’t need someone to do it for him. He needs to learn to do it himself. Part of learning is making mistakes and growing out from beneath the consequences. 

“Detachment is neither kind nor unkind, it’s a tool we utilize to free ourselves and the alcoholic in our lives. Al-Anon doesn’t exist to teach us how to help the alcoholic in our lives, although the tools it gives us can aid in their recovery as well as ours. This fellowship exists to help us, the families of the alcoholic, so that we may lead more joyful and serene lives. Thank you.” 

Applause erupts from the crowd, and you join in, watching Taylor glow with pride as she steps away from the podium. 

—

Damp, hot air pours in through the rolled-down windows, carrying with it the earthy scent of algae-bloom off East Lake Tohopekaliga. Driving along the slow, steady curve, you pass by sprawling oak trees, their eaves all draped in spanish moss. 

Your hope was that taking the scenic route home would clear your head, but it’s not doing the trick. Something shifted inside you during the meeting. You can’t quite put your finger on exactly what shifted or why it happened, although your circular thoughts give you the sense you’re on the precipice of understanding. 

You keep thinking about the speaker, Taylor, and the lesson she relayed from her podium. Her situation is different from yours, but you know it all the same. You know how it feels to dig your heels into the dirt, struggling like hell to push someone in the direction you think is best. You know how it feels to see him tumble to the bottom time and time again. And for what? It’s not like he’s any better off because of your efforts. It’s not like you are, either. 

How many times have you betrayed yourself for the sake of his favor? How many times have you put your needs aside to tend to his? 

Calm blue-gray water flickers behind the trees you drive past. It looks peaceful. Further up the road, you spot a public access point to the lake and turn into the lot, hitting a bump. When you do, a loud BANG reverberates through the car. The steering wheel shakes as you slow to a jerky, lopsided stop.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you fume, shifting the car into park. Folding forward onto the steering wheel, you pinch your eyes shut and take a deep breath, then exit the vehicle to look at the damage. 

The front driver’s side tire sits flat against the pavement. You stare at it and shake your head, muttering, “God fucking damnit,” before walking to the trunk. 

You open it and pull up the mat to the spare tire well. It’s empty. 

“Fucking of course. Jesus fucking—” 

Cutting yourself off with a furious groan, you pull out your phone and go through your contact list, pointedly scrolling past the F’s to pause at Leah, who’s over an hour away, then Marla, who’s busy enough as it is. You even briefly consider Rory, but the idea makes your stomach lurch. 

You could just do it all yourself. Order a car on one of those rideshare apps. It would take forever, though, and you’ve never changed a tire before. 

Frankie is the logical choice. The first person who came to mind, if you’re being honest. Something hard and stubborn inside your chest throbs when you hover over his name. 

It’s pride, you realize. Maybe a little fear. You don’t want to ask for his help. You don’t want to burden him. You don’t want to be disappointed if he says no. 

All the same, you dial his number. He picks up on the second ring. 

“H—”

“Are you at the house?”  

“I am.” 

“Are you busy?” 

“Nothing I can’t put off ‘til later. Why?” 

“My fucking tire blew out, and my spare is in the garage,” you sigh and throw your head back, propping a hand on your hip, “Is there any way you can bring it out to me?” 

“I, umm… yeah, of course. Where are you?” 

“East Lake Toho.”

He snorts, “Christ, what’re you doing all the way out there?” In the background, you hear the floorboards creaking, mapping his way through the house. Before you can respond, he asks, “Spare tire in the garage, need me to grab anything else?” 

“Uhhhh…” you wrinkle your nose at the trunk, “I don’t know, I have a jack and the tire iron thing.” 

“That should do it. Wanna drop me a pin? I’ll have to get a ride out there.” 

“Yeah. I can pay you back if you need to order a Lyft or whatever.” 

“Just take it off my tab,” he jokes, the back door squeaking open behind his voice, “Hang tight, I’ll be there in a bit.”

You turn around to lean back on the bumper, “Ok, I’ll be here.” 

After hanging up, you share your location with him, then wander down to the dock. It rattles around as you teeter to the end and sit down, letting your feet dangle over the edge. 

Cattails and lily pads have been cleared from the shoreline near the boat landing, giving you a clear view across the lake, broken up here and there by thick swaths of aquatic vegetation. The glassy surface of the water reflects the hazy blue sky, and stagnant air sticks humid to your skin. Insects buzz and birds sing and somewhere far away you hear a boat motor chugging across the lake. 

When you think of serenity, this is what you picture. Stillness and calm. Peace. You inhale the scene, allowing it to stretch out inside you and unfurl your tensed muscles. 

As soon as the unease evaporates from your body, fatigue takes over.  

Lying back on the dock, you stare up at tall, fluffy clouds littering the sky. Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch the slow-moving parade of shifting giants, the warm air lulling you into comfort until you let your eyes drift closed. 

Your awareness fades in and out while you sleep. At one point, a car door shuts, then the car drives off. Vaguely, you know it’s Frankie but can’t lift your limbs, syrupy thick with lethargy. You hear grunts and metallic clattering. Some time later, your trunk slams shut. 

When the dock starts wobbling around beneath you, you blink your eyes open and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face as a yawn overtakes you. 

“Hey sleepyhead.” 

You glance over your shoulder at Frankie, who comes to sit down beside you with a groan. He’s back to his usual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, baseball cap firmly in place atop his head. 

Still groggy, you yawn, “I couldn’t make myself wake up.” 

“Not sleeping well?” 

“Fucking awful, honestly.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

You frown at him, searching his face until he gives you a little shrug, at which point you mumble, “Oh. I forgot that I, umm… yeah. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” he tells you, squinting up at the sky before dropping his eyes to his hands as he fiddles with his wedding band, “Same here. The—the sleep part, not the nightmares.” 

“Yeah, I know. I hear you pacing around at night.” 

“Oh… sorry, I didn’t realize—”

You push yourself up straighter to watch his legs dangle next to yours, “It’s fine.” 

Quiet settles comfortably between you. Near the dock, you see a cluster of bubbles rise to the surface of the lake and burst. The ripples flatten out and calm returns. 

A question swells in your ribcage. Just a small pocket of air at first, maybe the size of a pebble. The longer you sit and stare at the water, though, it expands. It works its way up your throat, taking up more and more space with each passing second until you can’t contain it any more. 

“So you were lying to me, right? About not being with her?” 

He meets your gaze, dark eyes all remorseful and gooey, then he nods, “Yeah. I was lying. To both of you.” 

Folding your legs up onto the dock, you look away in the hope that he won’t notice the tears starting to come. When he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse and quiet. 

“How much do you want me to tell you?” 

The question replaces the air in your lungs with a vibrating sensation. Another cluster of bubbles dissolve on the surface of the lake. You manage to croak, “I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t respond. You sense that he’s waiting for you to make the next move. 

Your mind wanders to the front porch swing that night you forced him to choose. He felt so far away. Until he told you differently, you were so certain he was in love with you. 

“I don’t know how to trust your words as truth, Frankie. All the way back to the start, I don’t know what was real and what was bullshit and I am fucking—” your voice cracks from the emotion burning up your throat. 

He goes to comfort you, but pulls back before making contact. 

Every cell inside you aches for him to bridge the gap. You follow the instinct, grabbing his shirt to curl into his shoulder. As soon as you do, he wraps his arms tight around you, bringing you in closer. 

A wave of moth-eaten hurt wells up your chest. 

“Why?” you sob, “Why did you do this to me? I don’t understand—”

He starts to rock you in a slow, soothing motion, burying his face in your hair as you cry into the collar of his shirt. In the background, behind your racing thoughts and shattered breaths, you hear him whisper on repeat: I’m sorry, baby… I’m so sorry.

[yandere-sins]

Crisis Averted - Part I [Genshin Spoilers 4.1.]

New Genshin Updates always make my thoughts go brrrr. So here's a little something (with modified happenings to fit the story lol) of Wriothesley after he survived the encounter with the Primordial Sea!

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Wriothesley x GN!Reader   Warnings: Yandere, Topics of death (Fear of death, Near-death experiences, Fear of loved ones dying), Reader got locked into a closet, Forced Relationship, Dub-Con touches, Long post

Heavy were his steps as he finally made his way back to his office. 

The stairs seemed to drag on endlessly after exerting more energy in a matter of minutes than Wriothesley had done in months—actually, years. He couldn't even remember when he last needed to drain his vision for just one more blast of ice and then one more. Luckily, Clorinde was neither a talkative fellow nor in much better shape than he was after they both struggled to hold back the Primordial Sea from escaping. They were both tough and hard to take down in a fight, but even they had their bodily limits.

She left him on the floor beneath his office with a short nod, a few words exchanged out of courtesy and thankfulness. Then she was gone, and Wriothesley's heavy boots continued their ascend, disregarding any weariness in his bones and the burning of his muscles. In a way, the Primordial Water was a prisoner of this place, and Wriothesley chuckled at his own thoughts as he came to this conclusion, exhaustion making everything sound a bit more funny in his head. However, despite knowing that the crisis was averted and the seemingly inescapable destruction and ruin had been contained like an unwilling prisoner of the Fortress of Meropide, he didn't feel like he had succeeded in keeping death away from what he treasured.

Muffling the yawn ripping from his throat, how could he not be elated by the thought of returning to you, the feeling giving him back the pep in his step? Even after all that happened—and Wriothesley had thought of many, many ways this could have ended—you were both still here. Alive. 

Unless the ice had frozen you to the core by the time he reached you.

He skipped the last two steps with a jump to avoid this possibility, generating enough energy to jog from the staircase to the closet. Noticing the glistening ice still enveloping the doorknobs, Wriothesley let out a breath of relief before quickly grabbing them, unbothered by the frozen sting ramming into his hands. Not even his body heat would be enough to melt the ice, but he'd be damned if he let his own safety measures keep him from you. 

Bracing his body against one of the doors, Wriothesley made sure to keep the closet standing upright while he pried the other one open. More strength was needed to loosen the ice that had seeped into every crack, an airtight grave keeping him away from you. But even so, it would have been a better death than what the Primordial Sea would have done to you had they not been able to contain it. Wriothesley forced himself to avoid the thoughts of the pain and agony the water would have caused you, the idea of him suffering such a fate enough to rampage his skin with goosebumps. He had put you into an awful position, but at that moment, he had believed it to be more merciful than being dissolved and drowned in the water.

Jerking the door again, he could hear the ice cracking, more relief washing over him. Relief that it would have succeeded in protecting you until the worst was over, and even more relief that it was giving way now, returning you to him. Surely, you must have already been panicking with the cold raking at you and the slow loss of air. He'd have to apologize later for putting you into this position, wipe your tears if necessary, and get someone to smuggle some cake into the Fortress as a well-done treat. But all he wanted to do now was to have you back in his arms. Everything else was a worry for later, like the Primordial Sea threatening to destroy all life around Fontaine.

One more ice-breaking tug and the door finally gave away, revealing a trembling, miserable person. His trembling, miserable person. Your first instinct was to gasp for air, the few minutes locked away having taken its toll on you. You were coughing and gasping, clawing towards the light, more than ready to exit your makeshift coffin. Wriothesley caught you before you fell, your eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending so much time in the dark, and he sat you upright again, helping you out of the blanket he had wrapped around you in a hurry when the commotion started. 

More than any ice, your body had cooled down significantly, and other than when he touched the frozen doorknobs, Wriothesley noticed the temperature of your skin even through your clothes. It pained him, yet, it had been necessary. Pulling his trusty coat off his shoulders, he slung it around your violently shivering form, closing the front tightly so the fur collar would warm your cheeks and ears. There was no way he'd let you walk on legs that were fragile from the cold, and he never planned to let you go anywhere on your own in the first place. 

Strong arms wrapped around your body, now engulfed in his coat. His scent was so prevalent, even when it mixed with yours. Wriothesley appreciated how well they worked together. Had scent been enough to mark you as his, he might not have had to do so many things to keep you by his side. You two could have lived pretty normal lives if all it needed was him rubbing off on you, but alas, normalcy wasn't something he had ever been blessed with. Given that there was a very real chance of him dying from being submerged in Primordial Water, not even his death would be able to be claimed as normal. But neither would yours.

But not today. Neither of you died that day, and Wriothesley thanked whatever godly entity he had to thank for that. Even just having the chance to hold you once more was enough to convince him that everything would be okay. At least for now. For one more day. Lifting you out of the closet, he held you, unmoving. Your arms wormed out, desperately holding on to him as if for your dear life, his warmth seeping onto you. Wriothesley felt your nails rake over his chest, panic driving you closer to him. Every shiver, every squirm through the thick material of his coat, and every sob ripping out of your throat, broke his heart more than you'd ever know. 

"Why did you do that?" you asked, your voice so full of hurt and accusation, yet you pressed yourself harder against him, teeth chattering. For all you knew, you two had been drinking tea (albeit reluctantly on your part) when the alarms suddenly began to blare around you, and Wriothesley shoved you into the closet as if he was punishing you.

"I had to," he mumbled back, his words muffled by the fabric, his arms restricting tighter around your body.

"I could have died! It was so hard to breathe! And the cold… the cold…”

More sobs tore out of you, and Wriothesley closed his eyes, knowing he had to endure the blame your shaky, fragile voice rightfully accused him of. You were right, but would you understand? Could you understand that he'd rather allow you to die peacefully and whole than go through the same agony he'd be in at the same time? Wriothesley had laid awake countless nights thinking of the what ifs and what to do if push came to shove, only to still be unprepared and get run over by the events, wrapping you in a blanket and kissing your head before forcing you into a closet and sealing it shut. Your safety, or at least heightened chances of survival, were the only things he could think of at that moment, you being the only component in his plan that could make him panic.

But now you were crying in his arms, the fear of everything—the unknown, the darkness, death—spilling out of you. He wished he could have prevented it, but now he knew that the truth would only make it worse for you. If he told you what was happening, you'd react like most prisoners here would, and he couldn't guilt you. Not telling you and keeping you in the dark, doing whatever he had to do, regardless of the feelings, was the only way to keep you safe. Wriothesley was the only one to protect you from a fate much worse than what awaited him if he failed. But now that the danger had been averted, the least he could do was hold you.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing your back through the fabric, hoping to give you the comfort he needed almost as much himself. But other than you, he could only dream of being comforted by the person he loved. And even those dreams seemed unrealistic. Worse days awaited you two, your and his fate sealed together with that of the rest of Fontaine. But not now. Now wasn't the time for tears and worries, and if he hadn't been so damn exhausted—with you in his arms doubly, warm and soft—he would have celebrated your survival more. Soon, you'd come to your senses, fighting him again, and this time, he wouldn't stop you. He couldn't. 

So he'd use what little time he had to enjoy this moment. Walking over to his chair, you graciously let him carry you, allowing him this little, intimate gesture of holding you in his arms all throughout the short journey. Even though he sat down abruptly, knees giving out from under him, your body landed softly, enveloped in his while he let out a strained grunt. The feeling of gravity pressing you into him was one he would have liked to treasure for the next few days, and if it had been up to him, you two would have been cooped up for just as long. But beneath his calloused hands, he could feel your body warming up, your breath no longer icy when it brushed his neck and cheeks.

The fight hadn't taken too long, evident by you still being alive, and yet it felt like he'd been gone for weeks, maybe months. Years of absence that made him miss the feeling of your body and the sound of your voice. His mind should have been on the enemy he was fighting, and yet, his only concern had been you. Getting back to you and not dying without seeing you one more time was everything he thought of as he pushed another punch of eyes to that gate that kept the Primordial Sea contained. You gave him the strength to keep going, if only to give you a chance of survival and to not die in pain like anyone else who'd get into contact with the Primordial Sea. To not give up until Neuvillette showed up, releasing him from this duty to society so he could return to the duty of loving you. 

It had been a lot, but when he raised a tired hand to push some of the fur out of your face, witnessing the tears having stopped and the warmth returned to your cheek, it had all been worth it. Wriothesley had to make progress on the project he kept hidden from everyone to ensure that you'd be protected from all the dangers surrounding him. If anyone, then at least you. So even if he couldn't push this tired body of his to do it that day, he knew that from the moment he'd open his eyes after a nap, he'd be back to working on it tirelessly. 

"This face," he sighed, cupping your cheek and snorting softly at the pout crossing your features. Tracing the bridge of your nose, he hummed, satisfied that everything was still right where it belonged and had not fallen off from the cold. 

"These lips," he mused, brushing his thumb over the soft cushions he dreamed about kissing every night. 

"And these eyes." 

His words made your gaze rise to his, beautiful jewels in the moody, damp lighting of his office, glistening from the tears yet raging like the sea in a storm defying his adoring stare. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. If you had to hate him, then hate him. Despise him, he'd deal with it. Wanted to hurt him, he'd let you. Love him… A man could dream. But seeing a storm of emotions was better than the faded light of death you had when he pulled you out of the closet. That was something he wished to never see again. That he'd fight and strife for to never appear on your face again.

"Don't," he chuckled, grin splitting his lips as he pinched your cheek in a loving reprimand after noticing how you wanted to start arguing. Wriothesley couldn't help but laugh out loud when you let out the most adorable grunt in annoyance, squirming on his lap until you could hide your cheeks into the fur again, away from his touch. He settled for the nape of your neck, holding you there gently and noticing in the back of his head how long your hair had grown since you came to the fortress as he brushed his hand through it.

You glared at him defiantly from the safety of his coat, and Wriothesley couldn't imagine a better place or better look for you. "That's what I'm fighting for," he mumbled, pushing his strained muscles to move so he could kiss your forehead. "It's all worth it as long as I can hold you like this. Just a little longer, alright? I'll get you something nice in return."

Wriothesley wasn't someone who begged, not even for your attention. He'd take it and have it as he pleased, but in that moment, he worried he'd lose you if he let you go—for real this time. The uncertainty and inability to tell you what was happening, left a cold, dark hole inside him, wrenching his gut and bursting his heart with regret. All he had to soothe the pain it caused him was to hold you and feel your soft heartbeat through the layers of clothes around you two. 

It relieved him to know you were safe. He was safe. You both were okay, but mostly you. He never told you that if there was a way to save your life in exchange for his, he'd do it, no question asked. But it was a weird topic to bring up, especially when you considered him to be a heartless, manipulative asshole who used his authority to take advantage of someone less fortunate. So he didn't. Like many things, he kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that, in some miraculous way, you'd come to understand one day. Maybe even like him. 

"I hate you," you reiterated, and Wriothesley managed another chuckle to hide how much that statement hurt him. He fully expected you to jump off his lap now, walk away from him and out of his office, choosing to spend your time wisely instead of indulging him. You were no longer shivering, your teeth calm, and your heartbeat even, and yet, you didn't budge. 

Turning your head to the side, you placed it on his chest, stilling on top of his heart, this small gesture enough to make it threaten to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he underestimated you. Perhaps you did understand, at least vaguely, that whatever happened had been pretty bad for him. He'd take the pity if it came from you. Wriothesley could only hope you magically understood that whatever he did in his absence, he did it not to harm but to protect you. You never showed him any mercy with your opinions or actions, so this side of you could only be explained by assuming kindness and understanding from you. But whatever it was, he was grateful. So, so grateful. 

This was all he ever wanted: holding you, burying his face in your hair in a moment of vulnerability for him. Where he wasn't stronger, wasn't exuding authority over you. Forcing you to bend to his will. A moment where he could forget the world as all his senses tuned themselves on you. Everything was you, from the softness of your body to the smell surrounding him. Your heartbeat in his ears and his eyes closing as Wriothesley was comforted by your warmth. Even if you'd never appreciate what he was doing, this was enough reward for all the hardships he went through for you daily, but especially on this day. It reminded him of why he was working so hard, even though he never meant to fall in love with you this deeply. Your tiny bit of compliance would satisfy this overpowering need for you for a couple of days until he'd be back on his feet. 

Wriothesley wanted to say more. In fact, he wanted to tell you everything. But it wasn't the right time, nor did he have the strength. Your feelings changed nothing about his, every beat of his heart screaming, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"

He was a little glad you didn't hear it. That would have been embarrassing. 

Grinning to himself, he could feel his conscience being pulled out from under him. His breaths even, despite the extra weight on his chest that he clung to desperately, his chair never feeling more comfortable than in that moment. He wished to stay awake for a little longer, muse about the fact that you were the best blanket he could wish for, feeling just so right. Sleeping while holding you like this would definitely improve his nights, as he wouldn't have to worry about where you were and who you were with. If you were safe or in the process of trying to do something stupid. But he'd take what he could get, even if it was just this one time of you not trying to tear out of his arms and run from him.

After all, this day could have ended very differently. But it didn't. 

He got to hold you again, the crisis averted so he could return to you. He had to be thankful for that, as his life would be worth nothing without you. And even waking up with you gone would be more pleasant than any thought about you dying far away from him. So he'd take this time to rest like he always had wanted, his beloved in his arms, his thoughts and dreams filled with you.

Trying not to be too greedy, now that he knew what it felt like not to lose you.

[bonknigirlinthehood]

your dad!blade fic is so cuuuttte 😔 what if it was yingxing!dad and his baby just born (angst angst angst-)

I honestly don't know what emoji you put there, so I'm guessing it's a "stillborn"?, if not then please correct me lol, usually apple's emoji can't show up on android/windows and vice versa.

TW: death, blood, body being split open, emergency operation, infant death. It’s just pure angst so read with discretion.

A/N: You ask me to write angst, well, then I shall deliver.

Time is cruel. Time rots everything without mercy, taking away moments, youth, and memories of every being in this world.

For short-life species, time is like a ticking bomb, but instead of making them explode, it makes them wither. Nothing can escape time, not even fate itself. If time decides your life is ending right there, right then, then so be it. If time decides you will live for another hundred years, then so be it.

And Yingxing curses time with every fiber of his being. He curses time for toying with his life, his friend's life, his family, his wife, and his child.

He remembers it very clearly, the moment war broke out and everyone in the Luofu was dying. No matter how hard the Cloud Knight was fighting, victims are unavoidable.

What he didn't expect was, that his wife would be one of them.

Specifically, his heavily pregnant wife.

He thought that she was safe in the shelter, protected by the Cloud Knights.

He thought that he would be able to see her again.

He thought that he could finally see his baby.

Yingxing lets out an anguished scream when he sees the shelter where his wife resides is being torn into oblivion. He desperately searches for her among the rubbles and corpses, occasionally wiping his eyes off of his tears. And when he finally sees her, his heart flutter for a moment before dropping again at her condition.

Blood, blood is pooling on her legs. No, this can't be happening.

It must be blood from another person, he thought to himself. If isn't then it's probably just from her injured leg, right?.

She looks at him, eyes on the verge of blanking out. She reaches out to him, and Yingxing holds her hand tight.

"Yi..ngxing..." she says in a weak voice,

"Please...the baby...take the baby...please..." Yingxing's mouth drops as he hears the absurd request. He looks at her belly, and back to her again. She can't be asking him...to actually perform surgery here, right..?, He might have a dexty hand, yes, but performing a medical surgery?, it's totally out of the question. He shakes his head, tears flowing out of his eyes again.

"No...no...i can't...you'll..you'll die if I do that!"

A tight grip on his hand wakes him up again. His wife is looking at him with determination as if telling him she is ready.

She is ready.

Yingxing gulped, he took his sword, the only sharp thing he had right now, and pointed it toward the belly of his wife. She nodded.

With trembling hands, the furnace master sliced open the stomach, , layer by layer, cringed at every slicing sound his blade made, before finally able to pull his baby out.

Yet he does not let out a sigh of relief.

He stays still, with a bloody infant in his hand, the umbilical cord still connecting to the mother's body.

It's cold.

Yingxing takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. He tried to feel around the baby's skin, trying to wake them up. Anything, anything to feel life in it.

Yet it doesn't move.

The blood in his hands is still warm, yet the piercing cold he feels from the baby's body freezes him to the bone.

"No..." he murmurs, eyes unfocused. He averts his gaze for a second, to see his wife already long gone. He feels his heart crushed into pieces.

The man starts to do everything he can to wake his baby up. He shakes them, pinch them, pat their back, everything. Yingxing tears flow even harder, blurring his sight of the painful sight before him. It hurts.

It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts.

He feels like his chest would explode as he starts to lose his composure. He hugs his baby tight to his chest, and without even realizing it he is already screaming his lungs out. 

Yingxing could feel his body being torn to shreds from the inside. It feels like every fiber of his being is bleeding, and the only thing he could feel at the moment is tears dropping from his face and the coldness of his baby’s body. 

He wants to die, right there, right now, as he wants to immediately go to see his family again in the afterlife.

And it really feels like he’s about to blank out until someone pulls him out from the void.

“Yingxing!!!” 

The familiar voice pierced his ears, a black haired man with horns appeared before his eyesight. 

“Yingxing, hang in there!” he shouted out to him. Worry adorned his face, a familiar warm hands cupping his tears stricken face.

“Dan…Feng…” Yingxing's voice broke out, energy being drained from his whole being as he slumps to the ground. Dan Feng grimaces seeing the condition, and as much as he wanted to help his friend bury his deceased wife’s body, he has more important matters to do right now.

“Dan Feng…I…I..failed…” The white haired man speaks, “I..can’t..save them.., not even…” He doesn’t continue, yet Dan Feng immediately catches up on what his friend meant. The high elder can only stay silent for a while, seeing Yingxing carefully caressing his baby’s head, occasionally kissing its head, hoping they would wake up and greet him.

The Vidyadhara gulped, an idea popped in his head.

“No, Yingxing. It’s okay” Dan Feng grabs Yingxing’s shoulder and shakes it. “We can…we can save them” he said with determination in his voice.

Yingxing’s face lights up, a newfound hope appears in his dead looking eyes. Deep down, he knows whatever Dan Feng is about to do is probably illegal, yet at this point, all he wants to do is to be able to meet his baby, even for once.

Seeing Yingxing’s expression changed, Dan Feng grabs his hand and pulls him so he can stand. “Good, but I need you to fetch some things for me. In the meantime, I’ll help you with your wife and baby” 

Yingxing nodded, and as much as he was reluctant to let go of his child, he gave them to Dan Feng, fully believing the high elder to take care of them while he was gone.

As a father, he’ll do anything to save his child, even if it means he needs to fight against time nor fate.

[astaroth1357]

Satan Runs Away

My first NB Satan-centric work. Let me know of any other ideas floating in the ether or any other bite-sized ideas for specific characters (time is of short supply lately lol)

Contents: Angst with some hurt/comfort. Boy literally just wants to be thought about/included so bad, I swear-

~♡♡♡~

Okay, this makes him sound like a disobedient pet, but how else could MC explain why he suddenly disappeared after a fight with Lucifer? They couldn't find him anywhere in the House, the library, or his usual bookstores... it was like he just vanished!

MC was the first to notice his prolonged absence as they were nearly the only person to ever seek him out personally. In the old timeline, Satan dropping from contact for a little while wasn't all that unusual but here it felt far more urgent... What if he wanted to stay gone? What if he didn't come back home???

So it was only natural for them to get swept up in a wave of relief that washed over them when they eventually saw Lucifer march on in through the door dragging a thrashing Satan behind him. The eldest held the snarling demon by the back of the collar while he kicked and fought for his freedom. He was filthy like a stray cat pulled off of the street...

What caught everyone off guard was how quickly they flung themselves at the fourthborn when Lucifer forced him to his feet. It was like the whole room froze, the struggling Satan included, as they wrapped their arms tightly around his midsection. Their cheek flattened against the ruffles on his chest where they kept their ear trained to his heart, finding reassurance in its quick but strong beats...

Meanwhile, both men stared at them like they had just lost their mind. NO ONE touches Satan without permission and expects a good outcome, much less hugs him! What were they thinking??

After seemingly confirming to themselves that the troubled demon was not a just figment of their wishful thinking, the MC pulled themselves back to a respectful distance. Their expression, however, remained laced with frustration, fear, and mounting tears.

MC: "Satan... I was so worried about you! You can't just leave like that, I-I-"

Their voice cracked unexpectedly, making them stop and try to gather their thoughts. Lucifer shot a look at Satan and finally let him go, more or less nodding for him to take over from there but...

Truthfully? Satan was confused. Several new feelings swelled up in his chest and not a single one made any sense... Watching MC tearing up felt like having a bed of nails imbedded in his chest and yet he was... happy? Under all that pain?

For some reason, a part of him felt... joy... to hear that someone had worried about him while he was away... That he wasn't just written off as one less problem to deal with... Happy enough for him to forgive how they had invaded his personal space without asking first.

Satan stood awkwardly for several long moments, frozen in thought as he debated how to respond. Eventually, his brother got impatient.

Lucifer: "Stop just standing there and apologize. Now."

The confusing warmth in Satan's chest was quickly being replaced by the familiar burn of rage with every word out of Lucifer's mouth, and it must have showed, because the MC was quick to jump to his defense.

MC: "No, it's fine, Lucifer! I'm... I'm alright. I'm just glad that he's-"

Satan: "MC... I'm sorry."

Both MC and Lucifer looked at him with surprise, especially given the downcast, almost ashamed, look on his face.

Satan: "I'm sorry the fact that I left upset you... I didn't mean to, I just..."

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to find the right words... He hated his "brothers" and hated this house but leaving this place also meant leaving MC... Why did it all suddenly feel so stupid in hindsight...?

MC: "It's okay, Satan, you don't have to explain yourself to me..."

Satan guilty frown was contrasted hard by the MC's kind, understanding smile. Though their eyes still glistened with tears, he felt like they were of a different kind now, making his heart practically convulse in his chest. How do they keep doing that...??

MC: "Just... promise me you won't go away again. Not without letting us know where you're going first... Please?"

Their voice was so steeped in worry... a fear FOR him rather than OF him... And in that moment, it was the most compelling sound to ever exist in the three realms.

Somehow, his response felt foreign to his tongue, and yet still very much his own thoughts given right to speak. It was like a powerful force had taken over him, spreading an airy happiness through him to replace the rage that came before...

Satan: "I... won't leave you again, MC. I promise..."

[splitster]

answering more POM WRAITH au/Pingo asks!!

featuring: biology questions, creatures, dingo (unfortunately), and more!! check it out ↓↓

she does need sleep! she doesn't need to sleep as often as people, but she's a little wraith and she needs to snooze every like... i dunno. three days? sure, let's go with that.

although in the first few days of her being on PNF404, i could see her getting bored one night and poking around her crewmate's rooms to see what they're doing (spoilers: they're all just sleeping). in the morning after, dingo talks about a very bizarre dream he had with a specter watching him sleep! everyone dismisses it as the ranger having some weird sleep paralysis, but pom's sweating at the table thinking about how she should be way more careful if she does that again.

this ask did inspire me though, i'll probably make more art explaining how she works sometime later hehe...

that'd be scary... although, if there's anyone incentivized to wraithify olimar, it'd probably be the plasm wraith! that golden goo is really fond of him, and they'd love to make olimar just like them

WAHH THANK YOU!!! if they ever dated and got married they'd be able to save on a dress! hehe

she might look kinda scary but she's a sweetheart!! pom would genuinely struggle to make herself hurt humans. if there's a beast threatening her crew though -- that thing is mince meat!!

WAAAHHH THANK YOU!! it's definitely a challenge to make it fit with the other wraiths but still be unique... it was fun to design though!!

IM SORRY i didn't get to your ask before i actually posted the full wraith design... there she is though!! HILAHERHLIAEERH

yes!! he's the first one to discover her secret. it'd probably happen on accident out on the field pretty early on when pom is forced to defend herself with no pikmin, but it's no difference to Oatchi -- pom is pom! he'd bark and give her helmet a lick, and when pom realizes her rescue pup isn't scared of her it's quite the relief...

i have art of oatchi and wraith pom i'll be posting later!!

WAHHH... this is cute i like this hehe!! dingo sees those striking X eyes and still falls in love!! GRRRR i must draw more pingo now...

AUGH.... OK!! more pingo on the way then boss 🫡 (i do appreciate it though lmao)

she doesn't need to eat human food, but she does need to consume living creatures for biomass! human food is definitely delicious and she very much enjoys things like chocolate or hot coco, but to sustain her form and keep up energy she has to go for creatures

i'll probably make art for this later to explain better, but it is kinda like an amoeba -- after killing something, she can cover it and dissolve it with her goo. easy peasy!

Louie: You're a wraith? I thought you were just weird like me Pom: ... Louie: ... Can you go get creatures for me

pom is trying her best to understand human social cues and etiquette but it's a struggle sometimes!

i took psychic damage from this ask thank you for penis ringo💖

YES!!!!!!!!! there are so, so many ways that could happen and each one is hilarious... i've written out a few different scenarios, i should pick one to draw out... it'd be funny if dingo learns her secret but decides to trust her and keep it safe. but he's, you know. dingo. he's not good at lying, especially to his crewmates (and especially to his actual childhood friend of a doctor who was already very suspicious of the new blood!)

of COURSE i'm very abnormal about those two.... actually if y'all have scenarios you wanna see with those two, send more asks and i'll probably end up drawing them lol

that's actually a really good question! i haven't thought too much about how her full wraith would visually change, but if she ate enough and got stronger i imagine she'd finally be as big as the other two. she'd probably gain more wraithy abilities and attacks! trying to take down a powered up full wraith pom would be a very difficult fight, even for those with the best dandori skills and a full squad of pikmin

Pom: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Shepherd: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Collin: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Dingo: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Yonny: this is gonna be fun Bernard: (doesn't care if people find out) Russ: (doesn't care if people find out) Oatchi: bark

[wifetomegatron]

i want to spoil megatron ( imagine, megatron / reader, first contact au)

My head is about to split open after my exam, but I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to spoil Megatron. To shower him with affection, gift him with luxury, and drape him in all the finest silks — mulberry and tussar, hand-picked and crafted from mollusks living in the deepest trenches of the Earth and worms hiding in the highest corners of the conifer forests. A part of him would be against it.

It was wrong. He refused for fear that such amenities were born out of inequality. You tell him that while such disparity exists in your world and that everyone should campaign against it and give relief when they can, you were not a billionaire controlling the flow of commerce, the railways, or the traffic in the air. And so letting himself indulge in a part of your world will not poison the soil or kill the trees. It won't send anyone into the hospital if you were to commission a sixty-foot-tall ergonomic chair made purely out of titanium metal for him to relax on while he reads. It would probably give the architect a headache, but it wasn't like you weren't paying them handsomely. (And any engineer or scientist would be thrilled to experiment, take a look at Brainstorm.)

Such symbiosis is one example of how there is a way for the finer things in life not to come at the expense of someone's pain.

It could just be the little pleasures in life.

Such as soaking for hours on end inside your bathtub. The hot, rose-infused water engulfs your body as you embrace one another. The mist rising off the water flushed your cheeks and soaked his cables — laughter echoing down the marble tiles. You had fallen asleep against him twice, and he was happy to hold you against his lap with a servo cradled across your chin to keep your head afloat.

It could also be sinking against the king mattress; his weight supported by the metal inserted in between the frames. Megatron thought it was excessive. The cost of fusing a recharging slab with all the soft padding must be expensive, and yet you had waved him off, beckoning him to lay down — and never before did he feel like staying in one spot forever. And never again did you hear him complain, content in stretching his arm out in the morning to pull you close to him, secure and pressed against his chassis as the sheets pile around like clouds. He didn't know such softness existed, and you pampered him with more — bits and pieces of comfort he doesn't feel deserving of.

As if he had invaded your castle, Megatron felt like an outsider to a life of feathers and flowers.

And yet you insisted. Comfort, safety, stability — these must all be so foreign and new and strange to him. Eons of working in the mines, of conflict and war. If anything, you feel a little lacking in your generosity. You always want to give the best for him. And so you never refuse your lover, even when he sheepishly asks whether you could get him a few physical copies of his latest binge.

He woke up to construction workers greeting him cheerfully, installing shelves and chandeliers in the library you had bought overnight for him. Megatron could only gawk by the stairs, speechless as you walked back and forth to oversee the truckloads of books in the mansion's driveway. Is this what you wanted? You asked innocently. And the ex-warlord had to curl his servos to fight back the urge to pick you up and smother you. No, he'll find a way to thank you later.

For now, Megatron is overwhelmed with your love and how it flows endlessly, almost heady at how his wishes are only a snap of fingers away with you as his lover. Forever will the guilt linger and consume him, but the shine of your smile always seems to chase their shadows away — brilliant like the set of pearls hanging off your ears. 

( basically, if megatron has a rich human s/o lol )

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

After doing some thinking on this, I think the most interesting movie in the Creed-Rocky universe is “Creed II”:

While most of the movies in the franchise are good, Creed II fascinates me since it’s actually different in how it approaches the main conflict. Most of the movies follow the same formula of underdog boxer must triumph over superior opponent, while Creed II feels more focused on the behind-the-scenes drama and history.

This movie could’ve easily just been a revenge story. Adonis wants to avenge his dad, so he beats up the son of his dad’s killer. However, it feels like the writers of the movie wanted to dig deeper into this. While the revenge story would be simpler and more theatrical, Creed II instead asks the audience how this would be realistically.

And the answer is…really sad, actually.

You’d think that Adonis would be at Kill Bill-levels of vengeful, but he’s not. Instead, he’s more frustrated by how he’s expected to want to avenge his father. He just became world champion and yet the media is only talking about him fighting Viktor Drago. Even Donnie admits you can’t talk about the Creeds without talking about the Dragos. Sure, he does resent Ivan, of course he would. But he doesn’t have a beef with Viktor, and it shows.

Viktor wasn’t doing any better. Although he was trash talking Donnie, you can tell how frustrated he was with how he was being used to “restore” Ivan’s honor. He hated how the Russian leaders, especially his mother, were only treating him and his father well after he started winning in the ring. None of it felt genuine, it’s like he was just a racehorse to them.

When you look at Donnie and Viktor’s arcs as a whole, it’s fascinating just how the arcs work as an overall discussion on legacy. Legacy ends up being the true villain of the movie:

1) Donnie can’t establish his own legacy since he’s chained to his father’s legacy. Even though he has the belt, no one cared. They just wanted the spiritual successor to Apollo vs. Ivan.

2) Viktor was literally raised in hardship because of what happened to his father in the 1980s. Then, he realized he was being used as a way to restore his father’s legacy, which disgusted him.

3) For both Adonis and Viktor, neither of them harbored any actual hate to each other. Any feelings of resentment came solely from their fathers’ actions.

4) Rocky wouldn’t even put up pictures of his fight with Ivan, which makes sense since there wasn’t anything uplifting about that match. Sure, he ended the Cold War (lol) but it doesn’t change the fact that the fight was about vengeance.

5) Ivan was so traumatized by his defeat that he felt like he deserved his exiling. Exiled…for losing a damn boxing match. It took nearly losing his son in the ring for him to realize that reclaiming his lost glory was not worth it.

The end fight is, in my opinion, the most interesting showdown in the franchise. Instead of feeling like a battle between a hero and a villain, it felt more…therapeutic? It’s like Donnie and Viktor knew that they couldn’t move forward with their lives until they got this fight over with, so that’s what they do. You can tell there’s a feeling of relief on both ends once the fight finishes since Donnie got the win over Viktor (thus ending the media’s obsession over a Creed-Drago revenge match) and Ivan affirmed to Viktor that he’ll always have his father’s love.

I should note that there’s a deleted scene (it shouldn’t have been!) where Donnie, Viktor, and Ivan all make peace with each other. I feel like that was the point of making this sequel. It’s not a revenge story like what most people thought, it’s a story of healing, past trauma, generational conflict, and moving on from the past. That’s also why Creed III is a brilliant follow-up since, for the first time in the Creed series, it’s a movie that’s about Donnie’s legacy, not Apollo or Rocky’s.

Basically, Creed II treated the fight between the sons of Apollo and Ivan as an obligation that needed to be fulfilled. It’s funny since that actually works as meta commentary on the audience since that was what a lot of people wanted to see when the first Creed movie was announced. Once that obligation was finished, Donnie and Viktor were able to move on with their lives and establish their own legacies, as seen in Creed III.

And that’s kinda beautiful.

[thelonelysoulhome]

Doumeki is the first person ever to reach out his hand to Yashiro:

Part 4 (part 2)

(this time it's really the last part lol)

(Reminder to read the other parts before this one, if it's not already done, thank you)

(TW: suicide)

To go on, living a worn out life

Yashiro is done, so done with this shitty life, give him a break, the poor man is exhausted, living a life that never been his.

Would that be the answer to ALL of this suffering ? Wouldn't death put out this fire that been lighted inside of him since his childhood ? And that he never been able to put out, how could he do it alone, all alone. Letting it consume him till this very day.

(After he been shot, Y talks with kage in the hospital in chapter 10.5)

"Dont they say 'My whole life flashed before my eyes?' in my case, not a single good thing popped up though"

(He is awareee💔)

"But there have been some good things, you know? One or two... Or three" And Bam! D pop up in Y's mind, because D is one of the few or even the only good thing that happened to Y.

He comes in his life without warning and give him so much in such a short period of time, dismanteling so many hard belief he have, but it's too much for him, he doesn't have the time to proceed any of it, he just got out of the hospital that he already is in danger of death, again. And he knows it, he rushes straight into it.. Into his death, his only escape ?

Yashiro is tired, so tired of this worn out life, he is so over any kind of hope, he don't believe in himself and there are very few things you can do for someone that threw themself first.

Let me... Let me put an end to it..I'm tired, I'm tired of thinking, I'm tired of living, Ah.. I never lived, I just always survived, it's enough... Let me rest.

And that when Doumeki appear again:

Even if he been shot by Y just a few hours ago, sensing the danger Yashiro is in, he runs towards his side, he don't let go, he don't let him, he doesn't let Yashiro's hand fall, he tries desperatly to reach it again.

It is precisely because he is at the bottom of the abyss that he must reach out to him, he needs even more help. Even if this one person pushes him away, now that he knows, he can't ignore what's inside him anymore.

He don't want to let him face it all alone, not anymore.

If Yashiro doesn't have enough straight to fight anymore, Doumeki wants to fight for him, if Yashiro is not attached to his life anymore, Doumeki would be attached to it instead, until he finds a taste for life again.

He want's to also carry the burden, even if it only gives him a tiny bit of relief, he want's Yashiro to rely on him, and to share the burden of all those years with him.

Yes, Doumeki saved you my dear ❤‍🩹

Indeed without Doumeki, Yashiro would be dead.

He searched for him and he saved him from a death that would end a life he did not really live.

Doumeki saved Yashiro's life but not only that, he also saved him from the coldness of being ignored.

Even if it's really hard for Y, and that he is not ready for it yet, maybe not even realising yet, that he always deeply, truly, wanted someone to notice, someone to see, to see him, the litlle boy, stuck in the dark of this closet.

Even near of his one death, all of Doumeki's thoughs are going toward Yashiro (in the cd drama we can clearly hear him pant a "kashira.." out).

He is so devouted, so persistent cause he knows, he saw Yashiro for who he is, and he love him unconditionally. Those fragmants of the real Yashiro are enough for him to want to stay.

He is ready to do anything for him.

He is ready to overcome everything for Yashiro.

But it's without counting that, Yashiro is not ready.. Not ready to accept all of this.

(Seing Doumeki's face here fucking hurt..)

It's only here that he perceive a glimpse of Yashiro's trauma, cause even if D sees Y for who he is, he in reality have very few index and understanding of the causes and how far and deep Y's suffering goes.

And he at this moment realise that even with all the best intentions in the world, certain things can't be resolved.

We don't really know what conclusions D does of all of this, but there is one that I am sure that he did:

Doumeki understand that even though all he want is to love him

That will only hurt Yashiro.

He "give up's", he makes up his mind the moment he understand that he is shatering Yashiro, and that sadly, without Y's will he can't do anything about it.

He is at a dead end, and he quickly understands that he is obligated to make a very difficult decision.

(OMG that hurt so baad...cryinggg❤‍🩹)

The two of them have taken all their courage to let each other go.

Yashiro let go Doumeki, his only light, the only hope he ever had, to protect Doumeki (and himself) from further harm, the yakuza world is indeed dangerous and Y don't want D to be in any danger, especially not because of him. D still have his family: his mom, his sister Aoi, he still have a home, Yashiro doesn't have to be part of it.

(To know that he is the one that called D's family when he was in the hospital..💔)

Seing Yashiro make (what he think to be) his last goodby to what could be his only light in the darkness is trully heart wrenching.

This encounter with Doumeki make such a big impact, and changements in Yashiro's life in such a small amount of time (2 or 3 monts at most) I believe they needed to pass trough all of that, it's being part of their journey, to let's hope, someday become each other support.

In the end of the day, they are only, unfairly, deeply, wounded human beings, with qualities and flaws, and we can already be thankfull that their path crossed.

They both need to work on themself so they can after try to find each other.

The path is still long, but I believe in them, I believe that there is still hope, that someday, they'll help each other to heal, to live.

End.

Thank you very much for reading ❤ See you soon.

[daaehq]

Landoscar Christmas WIP - Just Like the Movies

This has been on my mind for months but I simply don't have enough time to develop this further which,, sucks. Anyway! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidays for everyone!

Please let me know **kindly** if there is any spelling mistakes. I'm pretty stressed out and I don't think I can handle harsh criticism today, or ever. (lol)

Landoscar / 2.6k words / Inspired by Hallmark moves + my old post from my old acc / not beta read / Original!male!character / TW: toxic behaviour(Making someone cut off their friends), cheating(Not between the main characters)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Lando yells over the phone. He is inside the comfort of his office but everyone outside seems to notice his rage. He could most definitely murder someone right now. He hasn’t felt this angry in a minute and it must show. Everything at work went incredibly smoothly for the holiday season so obviously something had to go wrong.

“I’m sorry! It’s just- I had something come up last minute.”

“Mark, we are going on this vacation because you insisted. I was fine- no, I wanted to stay in London for Christmas. I practically broke my parents’ hearts because you wanted to go to a fucking tree farm.”

“Come on, you know how important my job is-”

“Are you implying that our promise means less than taking a client?” Lando knows that argument is flawed and unfair but screw Mark and his workaholic tendencies. This isn’t the first time he broke off a commitment to go and mingle with a client, both professionally and literally. 

People like to paint Lando as this dumbass who has zero understanding of his surroundings but he is a silent observer. Although the fact that Mark screws any client that blinks in his direction is so obvious to the point a person living four hundred and eighty-one miles away can probably detect it. Lando kept his mouth shut from October, mainly because of the fact he hates spending Christmas alone. Back in university, he would spend it with Oscar and before Mark, he would spend it with George and Alex but ever since they got together, it’s been awkward being their third wheel at most events. It was definitely a relief when he got himself a boyfriend to spend Christmas with.

“Lando, that’s not fair!”

“You ditching our planned date for the fourteenth time this year is not fair.”

“Please? I’ll make it there as soon as I can. Just, this is really important to me. I told you all about this case! I have to help Barbara,” Mark pleads and it just makes Lando scoff. So this new girl is called Barbara. He genuinely does not give a shit.

“You know what? Fine! Please, spend your Christmas with whoever this Barbara is. As a matter of fact, please don’t even fucking come, I would love to spend some time alone at the fucking farm where I made the reservations. I don’t see a problem in taking your name off the list.”

“Lando please, can you calm down for a second?”

Mark saying that was more than enough to send Lando off the edges. Who the fuck does he think he is, telling him to ‘calm down’?

“I’m hanging up. Unlike you, I have somewhere to go this holiday season.”

“Please, can we just talk like adults here?”

Lando stays silent on the line, fighting back the tears that form around his eyes. He knows that Mark is a serial cheater who uses him to spend time and disappears when he doesn’t need him. It still doesn't change the fact that he really, really did like Mark and was most definitely in love with him for a time. Now, he doesn’t know.

“We’re done, Mark. This can’t go on like this any longer.”

“Lando, please. You’re being irrational again.”

“Good! Either I’m calm and insane or irrational and sane. I choose the latter.”

“Lando, just listen to me!”

“No, you listen to me! We are done!”

“Lando, I swear to-”

Lando hangs up the call without hearing the end of Mark’s sentence. He can feel tears drop down his face and it hurts just a little. 

When George walks into his office, he is basically a ball on the floor, his arms around his legs and just waddling about. 

“Oh my god Lando! Get off the floor!”

“Fuck you, George.”

George rolls his huge eyes and grabs Lando from the back and puts him back on his feet. He sniffs his sorrow and stares at George. 

“What happened? Everyone on the floor heard you scream over the phone, Is it the idiot lawyer again? I told you to break up with-”

“He’s not joining me for the Christmas trip.”

“What?” Alex yells from outside his door. Now everyone in the office is actively looking at Alex who just screamed, George who has his arms around Lando, and Lando with puffy eyes and sniffling nose. 

“Sorry, what do you mean he isn’t joining you? I thought it was his idea to go on that trip,” Alex asks, quieter than before. 

“He has a client to look out for this Christmas, so I called it off. We’re done,” Lando says, feeling his voice quiver just a little.

“Holy shit.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yup.”

“What are you going to do? You know you should just cancel the thing and spend Christmas with your family instead.”

“They’re going on a trip together to Australia this year. I told them to book without me because, well” Lando gestures to the air just to emphasize he had someone to go on a holiday trip with just a few moments ago.

“You can spend it with me and George! You know, we’re having a double date, Logan with me and Lewis with George. We’re thinking about going to-”

“Alex! Shut the fuck up,” George says, cutting Alex’s sentence. Alex’s face goes just a little pale when he realizes what he has done. Lando just glares at him with murderous urges inside of him.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, patting Lando on the shoulders. Lando flips him off, also quietly.

“I’m just gonna go alone. Spend time with the trees, wallow about the fact that my ex and I broke up literally days before Christmas because he was a workaholic who would rather spend time working than with me,” Lando says. He sounds much more sarcastic than he anticipated. He’s glad that it at least hides the hurt in his voice. 

“Seriously?”

“Yup! Fuck Mark. I was gonna dump him anyway.”

“This is the thirteenth time this year that you’ve said that.”

“And I’ve done it this time!”

George sighs and shakes his head in disbelief. Lando can’t defend himself any further- because it’s true. He has said he would break it off with Mark a thousand times throughout their entire relationship. He couldn't help that he was indecisive about it. Now it’s all done and he is finally free from all of this. 

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The car ride to the farm was calmer than he had anticipated. He and Mark would always start a fight during road trips- about the smallest things there could possibly be. From each other's clothing choices to the food they chose to eat, they kept fighting and fighting until they just both stopped talking. It was nice to have some peace and quiet with his Christmas playlist during a long road trip to some random location he’d never heard of before.

When he arrives at his destination, it’s just a small, rural town with almost nothing. No tall buildings, no people running into each other with coffees in their hands, it’s rather empty. Usually, Lando would hate being alone but strangely enough, he doesn’t mind it.

He waits for someone to pick him up like they said they would in their pamphlet. The farm is far away enough to not have a proper road going in. Lando hates walking but the air feels different. Freezing cold, but refreshing as well. Something is rather magical about this place and he can’t exactly pinpoint what. 

“Lando?”

A not-so-American accent calls for his name from his back. He turns to find a guy a bit taller than him. Nice, soft-looking brown hair seems to fall perfectly around his face and his eyes look so comforting he thinks he can just jump right into it and never come out ever again. He is dressed a little too light for the weather, contrary to Lando who could definitely be considered overdressed despite the freezing weather.

The guy is so familiar but he doesn’t ring a bell immediately. He feels like he’s fallen for those eyes before. Where has he seen him before? Maybe around London? Maybe during the time he spent in New York a few years ago? Maybe during his time in Los Angeles. Maybe in school? 

Oh most definitely in school. How could he ever forget that face of his?

“Oscar? Piastri?”

“It’s been a minute,” Oscar says in his usual flat, dull voice.

He and Oscar graduated from university together. They weren’t exactly in the same department, with Lando studying Marketing and Oscar engineering, but alas they were close. There were some sparks here and there during their time as friends but they never went further than their hands brushing from time to time. 

Oscar was Lando’s first real love. It wasn’t anything like back in school- children mistaking horny interest for love. He enjoyed Oscar’s company, his laugh, his voice, his comforting arms, his dry sense of humour and just everything about him. He was more than devastated when he had learned that Oscar moved back to Melbourne after his study concluded, just days before he had set his mind to confess his feelings. 

Oscar opens his arms for a hug and Lando invites himself back into his arms for the first time in years. His warmth hasn’t changed and neither did the comfort that comes from his embrace. Oscar always felt like home to him, and that seemed to have stayed after all these years. Oscar gives Lando a tight squeeze and Lando can’t lie, he loves it just as much as he did back when they were in university together. 

“It’s good to see you again, Pastry.”

“Same goes for you, Landers.”

After they pulled away from their hug, they started walking towards the farm.

“So, you're a Christmas tree farmer now?”

“Not me, Mark is. He’s my mentor from back in Australia. He made a move to come here sort of recently,” Oscar says. The name Mark, despite not being his Mark, stings just a little. He can’t help but show it on his face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s just- my ex, his name was also Mark.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry to hear that. Was the breakup recent?”

“It’s not been two full days, so I guess? I was supposed to come here with him but we broke up right before we were supposed to leave.”

Thinking about it, Lando is pretty glad he called it off with Mark. It would’ve been pretty fucking awkward spending the holidays with his boyfriend and his ex-fling. He would much rather spend Christmas with Oscar and his mentor than fight all day and night with Mark. 

“Oh. Again, I’m sorry to hear that.” An awkward silence falls between them. It gets under Lando’s skin. He quickly breaks the silence. 

“Welp! Enough about me. When did you come back to the UK? Are you staying here just for the winter or?”

“I actually moved to London permanently, last September? It’s been a few months.”

Oh!

That is completely fine. Sure, obviously Oscar could have called Lando or texted him to let him know but nope, Oscar Piastri obviously kept that all to himself. He knows it is no longer his business but still, it would’ve been nice to get a phone call from his old friend, emphasis on friend.

“You could’ve called, you know. I would’ve loved to chat”

“I- actually, I did,” Oscar chuckles. Lando does not find that sentence funny because what the fuck?

“What? What- what do you mean you called? I never heard from you since- since you left!”

“Well, I called you the moment I landed in London, ‘cause you know, I wanted to catch up. A guy picked up the phone and told me that the number didn’t belong to you anymore. I didn’t have any of your socials so I couldn’t exactly reach you.”

The whole story sounds just a little too weird because Lando never changed his phone number after Oscar left. There is no way in hell that Oscar got the wrong number because they used to call each other all the time. So either Oscar is an idiot who hadn’t put down his number correctly on his phone, which is unlikely, or, perhaps someone had lied to Oscar. 

Mark.

Fucking Mark.

Fucking Mark! 

One of Mark’s toxic traits was chasing away Lando’s friends. It started with him banning Lando from going to his favourite cafe because the waiter was getting too friendly. When Lando realised the mess of a relationship he had gotten himself into, he barely had anyone to text after a day at work. Mark even tried to make Lando cut off George and Alex but it did not go very well. Mainly because the hatred was mutual and his two friends annoyed the living shit out of Mark until he backed off completely. 

At first, Lando thought he was just dating someone protective and caring. He never realised that his over-protective boyfriend was overflowing his own little need with any girl(or guy) who looked in his direction. Setting up a double standard like it was an Olympic sport. The gold medal for being a manipulative little shit goes to… Mark!

Now Lando is absolutely glad that he had called it all off. 

“That was probably my ex. He used to do that. God, that fucking arsehole! Why did I even date him for three years?”

“You dated him for three years?”

“Don’t call me out on it. I am also regretting it.”

“Well, at least I won't be in front of my mentor Mark. We're here!”

The farm is huge to the point where the word huge could be an understatement. Endless rows of trees are aligned behind a cosy-looking cottage. It’s what you would see in those hallmark movies, where the main character inherits a rundown farm and has to somehow save the damn thing to rescue Christmas. 

“Wow,” Lando mutters quietly. Oscar definitely heard it, considering his adorable little laugh.

“Yup! The place is huge. It’s also pretty shit to clean.”

Oscar reaches for the doorknob and opens the door to the inside. There are so many things about this place that make his mouth drop. From the gigantic tree in the middle of the living room where you can see the entirety of the farm to the open kitchen that is neatly organized.

“Come on, I’ll give you a house tour in a bit. Let’s head to your room,” Oscar says, tugging on Lando’s arm a little. Lando follows Oscar upstairs where all the guest bedrooms seem to be located.

Oscar opens the door to a room at the end of the corridor. Just like everything on this farm, the room is also spacious. It’s nicely decorated with a couple of Christmas-related decors and a bookshelf filled with ancient-looking books. The bedding is red and green, decorated just for the holiday season. Lando wonders if he is dreaming just a little because the room is perfect. 

“You did book a room with king sized bed but if you prefer a smaller one we can arrange-”

“No, this is perfect. What the- this room is incredible.” Lando can’t hide the awe in his tone. The house feels like something out of a movie and he wants to live in this room forever, just staring at the trees with Osc- Lando stops himself from thinking there. 

“I decorated it myself,” Oscar says, blushing just a little bit. He’s always found that incredibly endearing about the younger one. It makes his heart beat just a bit louder than before and now he feels flushed as well. 

“Oscar! Are the guests here?” A man yells from down the stairs. His accent is similar to Oscar’s.

“I’m showing him his room!” Oscar yells back. 

“You ready to head downstairs?”

“I was born ready, Osc.”