#my god oh my fucking GOD it’s nothingness it’s death and he thinks it’s so beautiful

[colossalarmin]

I fucking love love love love love the clouds and sky mirrored back at each other above and below because it is the essential concept of freedom in the imagination of someone who lived in a walled city where there was no real horizon and the only thing you could conceive of going on forever and ever is the sky. And he’s grown up a bit and armin has shared all of these concrete ideas with him for years of oceans and deserts and volcanoes and Eren’s even been to the ocean in person but he just cannot see it! He can’t see potential and has no real curiosity or imagination for anything constructive. This whole time the notion of freedom has just been about space in itself as negative, a lack of borders and obstacles and even just like the trappings of being a person in a society with other people. It’s emptiness it’s oblivion it’s silence!!!! He doesn’t want freedom, he wants to die.

[vpyre]

77. “do you like it when i touch right here?” for copia and anyone of your choosing

Hehehe hell yeah >:3

From now on (I say as if I haven’t been doing it already lmao) I think I’ll just default to a reader insert when there isn’t a character specified, if that’s alright with y’all!

Copia sucks in a small gasp, lips parting ever so slightly, head falling back against the headboard with a quiet thunk as you slide your hands slowly and deliberately up the bare skin of his thighs. His cock twitches where it lays, stiff and already leaking, on his stomach. A longing whine quavers in his throat.

“Amore-“

You gently knead at the soft flesh of his inner thighs and he cuts himself off with a blissful little hum. The sound sends a pulse of warmth tingling through your veins to pool between your legs, thick and sweet like honey. He was too precious; it was going to be the death of you one day. He’d make that sound, look at you with those soft, lovestruck eyes, and you’d simply melt away into nothingness.

“Yes, il mio piccolo?” you croon. He blushes faintly at the endearment, looking away bashfully.

“That feels really nice,” he murmurs shyly, and his flush darkens. You can’t resist, not when he’s being this sweet. Gently, you slide a finger under his chin and guide his face to yours, capturing his lips in a kiss so slow, so tender it aches. He whimpers softly, and you open your mouth as if to taste it. He follows your lead, parting his lips eagerly to let your tongue slip inside. You lick leisurely into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of the peach wine from earlier that has been left, forgotten, on the nightstand. Your tongue rubs up against his, and he moans so wantonly, you know your underwear is done for.

Humming with pleasure, you pull away so you can tell him how good he’s being, but he lets out a pathetic whine and leans forward, chasing after you in a desperate attempt to keep your lips on his. You huff affectionately and put a hand on his chest, holding him down. He looks so lost and forlorn it’s almost comical, even as it tugs painfully at your heartstrings.

“Aww, baby! I’m sorry!” You cup his face in your hands and stroke your thumbs over his cheekbones. “I was just about to tell you how lovely you are. You were doing so well, I wouldn’t punish you for that,” you reassure him. He nods, looking up at you with wide eyes brimming with devotion. Fucking hell. Those eyes spark something in you, a surge of heat that ignites a wild hunger.

You yank him into another kiss, this one ravenous and insistent. Licking into his mouth with fervor, your tongue curls over his teeth and tangles with his tongue. Your muffled groans mingle with his needy whimpers and you feel his hands scrabble frantically at your back. Twining your fingers in his hair, you reach your other hand down to wrap around his cock. He jerks and keens into your mouth, all high-pitched and squeaky, and you have to pull back to catch the breath he just stole from you with that perfect little noise.

“Do you like it when I touch right here, sweet thing?” you pant, rubbing him torturously slow, drawing out a breathy moan from his kiss-red lips.

“Y- yes, tesoro,” he gasps. “Fuck-”

He bucks his hips, and you can tell he’s not gonna last long. Your hand is already slick with his pre and he’s red in the face, utterly ruined with just a few strokes. God, he’s pathetic. And so fucking cute.

“Oh, my sweet boy. You’re so fucking pretty. So good for me. So fucking good,” you groan, pumping your fist up and down as he squirms and thrusts desperately into your hand; short, sharp cries filling the air. His hips jerk and stutter and jolt; his brows furrow, his eyes scrunch shut, his hands fist in the sheets. His movements are erratic and frenzied, his moans and gasps and cries are getting louder and louder and-

A wail bursts from his throat and you watch, breathless, as thick, white ribbons of spend paint his stomach. You slow, but keep stroking until his euphoric little “ah!”s fade to quiet sighs of pleasure and relief and he relaxes, eyes fluttering shut, going boneless from exertion and satisfaction.

You sit there while he recovers for a second, drinking in the sight of him like he’s water in the desert. He’s gorgeous like this, worn out and covered in his own release, and you wish you could stay here, in this moment, for the rest of time. Just looking. Just adoring.

He blinks lethargically at you, probably wondering why you’re so quiet. But when he sees how you’re looking at him, his eyes soften and he smiles that achingly beautiful smile. The one that only you get to see. The one that tells you more than any words ever could. He reaches for you, and you scoop him into your arms and hold him close, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head.

[assignmentimprobable]

I haven’t subjected anybody to my posting in the last month so it’s time to break my streak with a dose of word salad.

To Start… It really gets my goat that it’s sort of integrated into Wolverine lore on a fandom level now that Stryker was the Weapon X culprit. Not necessarily because ‘oh that’s not how it was in the comics!’, even though that’s part of it. More because I think there is something genuinely interesting in the kind of evil that Stryker presented in God Loves, Man Kills (1982), the story that made up half of the movie’s plot elements and themes.

More below the cut. Warning for discussions of eugenics, racism, mentions of lynching.

Yes. This comic.

There’s a lot to be said about the prevailing relevance of televangelists using religious hypocrisy and white supremacist ideology in mass media to spead bigotry and incite lynchings within their following.

I do actually recognize the value of compositing Stryker’s character with Dr. Thornton from the Weapon X (1991) story. You only get 2 hours to hash out what’s happening, the writers wanted to pick up the threads from the last movie. For the purpose of a movie, a military contractor and scientist is an easy evil to swallow, because duh, and an easier one to clean up. That said, I think it was only ever good for that one outing.

Seeing him again in Origins can be explained as taking us back full circle— But even then, it falls apart because there’s such a Nothingness to his inclusion. He’s a generic CO without anything to add to the overarching dialogue on mutants, or the underpinnings of the original Weapon X story (Which is a problem for another post because I’ve got some fucking WORDS to say about the entirety of… all that. And how the movie undertook it). I KNOW that you’re probably thinking ‘why would you expect intelligence from origins’, and it’s like, I don’t. I watched that shit when it hit bootleg fresh off the DVD guy’s trunk collection. But if you’re gonna make such a big change with these kinds of ramifications on a movie timeline and stand on it, then well. I’m gonna write about it. Especially when he’s in fuckin DOFP and I’ve gotta see his foreshadowed impact getting waved around.

The point of Stryker in GLMK was that he couldn’t be easily handled by sending the X-Men in, he’s a political figure using the cover of free speech, fundamentalist Christian “values” and gathering enough clout to perpetrate some heinous shit.

Stryker didn’t need to experiment on anybody or invade the X-Mansion to make their lives palpably worse. He was gathering up the already large following of people gung ho as fuck to legislate on mutant rights. I used the word “lynching” earlier with intent, because that’s exactly what he did: the comic starts with two black mutant children being lynched and having a sign with the mutant slur hung on the bodies. Which. Alright. The use of black pain and black death in a story like this inevitably serves the allegory and makes the conclusion inescapable for even the most braindead readers of 1982. Dare I say, inescapable for the braindead readers of 2024. That said, the margin of leeway you can give it (if you even want to) gets smaller when you consider Kitty Pryde dropping the n word to ‘prove a point’ in the same story. How the mutant metaphor constantly assumes the volatility and natural genetic power of the underclass. Or how the team never seemed to have more than one face of color at a time having something vital to do, if even that. Hm.

Anyways, in invoking the imagery for this murder: The story illustrates that Stryker’s ultimate conclusion is 1-to-1 with his real life counterparts. It’s the last stop on the train to annihilation, and it never stops at just one group of arbitrarily picked undesirables. Bigotry never has one layer . You peel it back and you get another. You get down to the root of eugenics, the exclusion it’s all white supremacy. The same fire and brimstone preacher tactics, the same righteous indignation about problems that aren’t even Real. Designations of ‘natural’ that are presupposed by European defaults. The front runners of it have just gotten enough fucking simpletons thinking that they won’t be next, or not even *caring* that they’ll be next, as long as the object of their hate gets to suffer. It all comes down to the fuckin race science with these people. It does stink something fierce that FOX/Marvel were so afraid of pissing off evangelists that they bit the bullet and changed things up. It’s really a disservice to the story it’s adapting, and I LIKE X2! It’s probably my favorite of the movies?

TLDR: Corporations are cowards when it comes to standing on business. The Strykers of the world were real 42 years ago and they’re real now. Oh, and if I never see William Stryker again in an X-Men film, it’ll be too soon.

[elena-mayfair]

Dreams that came true

Paring: Morpheus x f!reader, Sandman x f!reader Warnings: swearing, horror images, graphic violence, adult themes, reader discretion is advised Summary: Be careful what you wish for because some dreams do come true. Word count: 4.8k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Series Masterlist Part fifteen: One with the Dream

***

If someone had ever told Morpheus that on a warm autumn afternoon he would be enjoying the company of two mortals it would probably have been met with his resentment and contempt. He remembered very well how, in 1889, Hob Gadling merely suggested that perhaps he was looking for friendship, alluded that he might be feeling lonely, he remembered well his own reaction. Outrage, anger, storming out into the rainy night, but also sadness, pain. Something he never told him and probably never will. His words hurt him like a burning iron applied straight to his heart, pained him because there was truth in them, he felt lonely. He had always felt lonely, isolated. But he would have liked to think that this must have been the nature of his existence, the lonely Lord of Dreaming. All the attempts he had made to fill that solitude turned into nothing. Killala, Nada, Calliope…each attempt always ended the same way, nothingness, loneliness. Therefore, he made the decision that love had no place in the Land of Dreams, because love comes from Desire, manipulates the heart and mind of beings, brings them to ruin. But what about friendship? Friendship, in Morpheus's eyes, was only a secondary to love, the first step leading to it, the first mistake he could make. It was not a privilege or a luxury he could afford. Eons of life had taught him that neither love nor friendship had any place in his existence. And yet, more than a hundred years since that memorable rainy night, he found himself in the company of a friend and his beloved, and he had to admit to himself that the sight of their smiling faces immersed in conversation brought warmth to his heart, made him feel good. It made him feel happy.

"Unbelievable…" Y/N whispered and her eyes lighted up with amazement, "You are in your thirties since 1389…."

"More than 600 years…" Hob smiled kindly.

"Fucking unbelievable!" Morpheus observed her childlike wonder, "You've lived for six centuries…holy shit, the things you've seen, the people you've met, you've seen the world change…" she continued in a hushed voice, "I have so many questions! There are so many things I would like you to tell me about!"

"I'm sure Morpheus has seen even more than I have…" Hob smiled emphasizing his friend's name bluntly, "You have certainly seen a lot yourself."

"Yes but it's not the same! Sorry but I don't have as much experience of life as you! You lived through the Renaissance, the Age of Enlightenment, the Elizabethan era, the Victorian, the Regencies! Oh, the history of culture unfolded before your eyes!"

"Believe me it sounds better than I remember it."

"Oh, gowns, balls, beautiful Ladies, classy Gentlemen!" a blush of excitement appeared on her face.

"Ignorance, crudity, poverty, pestilence, wars…" Hob interrupted with a slightly cynical smile.

"Oh don't spoil my fantasy!" she scolded him with a laugh only to become serious a moment later, "My god….you saw both World Wars…" she uttered quietly, "it must have been…oh, I don't even know what to say."

"I'd rather not see the third one," he smiled brightly, "But don't get me wrong, I don't regret a moment of it, each of those times you mentioned had something beautiful about them and I can't wait for the future!"

"So you still want to live." Morpheus mused in a low voice.

"Of course I do! I will never look for death! You should already know that about me!" he replied with certainty.

"How is that possible?" Y/N asked curiously, "How is it possible that you have been alive for over six hundred years?"

"I'll tell you what it looked like from my perspective…" Hob leaned his elbows on the table, moved closer to her and began to speak in a hushed voice, "In the year 1389, I was sitting with my companions in a tavern. We were talking over a drink and a meal as was our custom after a week's work. A discussion about death ensued. And I, being my presumptuous self, started lecturing them even then! Heh, how little I knew back then…" he smiled faintly and took a sip of his beer, "It seemed to me that since I had seen people from my village die one by one, consumed by the Plague, that as I had seen the fallen in battle in Burgundy where I fought under the command of the Earl of Buckingham, I knew what death looked like. Because you see people around me were dying but not me…"

"I remember you called Death stupid," Morpheus chuckled.

"Well because I thought so!" Hob replied and continued the story, "I said to myself 'the only reason people die is 'cause everyone does it' and I really thought so! And I made a decision that I would not die. And I didn't die."

Morpheus watched as sadness seeped into Y/N's fascinated eyes at the implications of his words. For a moment, anger even glimmered in them.

"And you didn't die, just like that?" she queried.

"That same night I met Morpheus who asked for us to meet in the same tavern in a hundred years." Hob smiled at Morpheus, "We have been meeting once every hundred years since then."

Y/N was silent for a moment hiding her feelings in her cup of coffee. Unlike Hob, she knew more about the supernatural forces that ruled the world of mortals. Morpheus could clearly see how the initial fascination and admiration mixed with anger, frustration and sternness. He saw how hard she tried to hide it and how much these feelings tried to flood her. For a moment he regretted asking for her company, for a moment he regretted that his selfishness and desire for her company overshadowed his perception of the situation. He reached out with his hand under the table and gently brushed her leg, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"You should write a book!" she smiled at Hob swallowing all the negative emotions, "It would sell in the millions! I can only imagine how many fascinating stories you could tell!"

"Nay, that's not for me! I'm a simple man, enjoying the simple things in life!" he replied and leaned relaxed against the couch, "But I must admit that you're not all that surprised by my story," he noted, "forgive me for asking a direct question, I don't want to be rude, but are you a human?"

Y/N only laughed warmly.

"Yes I am," she replied, "In a way." she corrected herself, "in a sense… damn, it doesn't surprise me that much because maybe I've already seen too many things in my life. I'm a Witch," she explained.

"Wow…" A gasp of amazement escaped Hob's lips, "A real one, you mean? With spells, incantations, potions, and stuff?"

"And stuff…" she confirmed, " Not many people like me are left in the world."

"No wonder after the clerics and commoners murdered most of you in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries…"

"Many bloodlines were destroyed but as you probably know well many innocents were murdered as well," she finished. "Have you met many famous people?" she quickly changed the course of the conversation, "Mozart? Bach? Michelangelo? Shakespeare maybe?"

"Hah! Will Shaxberd! What a funny little man he was!" Hob laughed at the reminiscence, "He wrote something and performed in the theater, nothing outstanding! His friend Kit Marlowe, that one had talent! But, of course, everything changed after William caught the interest of Morpheus," he looked pointedly at his friend, "You never confirmed it to me, but I know that you made some kind of deal with him. Who would have thought that hundreds of years later people would still be admiring his works."

Morpheus answered nothing only gave a crafty smile.

"Wait a minute…" Y/N's astonished gaze flickered to him. How he loved looking into her delighted eyes, "Are Shakespeare's works your making?"

"Perhaps."

"Oh no my dear, perhaps, isn't enough here!" she leaned closer to him while fascination danced in her eyes, "how many great writers? Lovecraft? Poe? Tolkien? You have to tell me!"

"Later," he replied softly, "I believe that if we start this conversation day and night will not be enough to finish it."

"We have all the time that exists…" she smirked at him.

"That we have…" he smiled at her and for the first time, Hob saw love in the eyes of the once mysterious stranger. Hob Gadling watched with delight as they hung their gazes on each other for longer than acceptable in the respectful company, watched as Morpheus' eyes shone when she smiled slyly at him when she closed her eyes for a fraction of a sec when he took her hand, courteously helping her up, as he watched intently her every move, her every gesture when she said goodbye to him giving her promises to meet him again soon. And even if they did not meet sooner than in another hundred years Hob was happy because he knew that his friend had found happiness, he knew that his friend was no longer lonely.

***

"You'll have to tell me all about Shakespeare!" Y/N embraced Morpheus' arm and let him lead her on a walk through the crowded streets of the city. The day was slowly coming to an end, the sun was setting over the horizon giving way to the enwrapping darkness of night. She looked at him while the fascination and childlike wonder danced in her eyes again.

"I think that of all those you mentioned Shakespeare is the least interesting figure," he smiled at her.

"Did you know Poe? And Lovecraft?!" without letting go of his hand she stepped half a step in front of him and started walking backward, like a child unable to contain her excitement, "Did you know Tolkien?!"

"I have met them all my dear," he replied and the corner of his mouth twitched again.

"Oh, Morpheus! You can't tease me like that! Tell me, please! Tell me about them!"

Morpheus stopped and took her hand, directing it back onto his arm.

"I will tell you about them if you want me to," he looked deeply into her wide-open eyes, "I think I will be able to offer even more than a story," he teased.

"What's that?! Tell me please!" she demanded an answer, so joyful, so excited. He couldn't stop enjoying her delight, her cheerful smile, and her sparkling eyes.

"Let it be a surprise," he kissed her gently taking her argument away. How he loved the taste of sweetness on her lips, the scent of jasmine that invaded his senses every time she was near.

"If you think I can't see what you're doing then you're sorely mistaken," she glared at him with a cocky smile but allowed him to lead her further through the city streets, "I may sometimes be unreasonable but I am not stupid!"

"I have no idea what you mean," he quipped amused.

"Mhm, for sure! That subtly marked dominance of yours, I hope you don't think I don't notice it."

"I have not thought so for a moment, your intelligence and perceptiveness are exceptionally highly developed."

"Don't think that I will always submit to you," she continued, throwing him amused glances.

"There are some situations in which submissiveness can bring a pleasurable outcome," he lowered his voice deliberately and felt a shiver run through her body. Observing her reaction gave him unimaginable satisfaction.

"Excuse me Dream Lord, is my Lord flirting with me? she gazed flirtatiously.

"Perhaps I am," he gazed back.

"And what sort of pleasurable outcomes of submissiveness did you have in mind My Lord?" she smiled slyly.

"Use your imagination," he leaned in and murmured softly.

"My imagination tells me that we should now be anywhere but in the middle of the street," she replied.

"And where would you like to be My Lady?" a blush came to her face as he addressed her with the title.

"Let me think…." she indulged in a daydream for a moment, "maybe in my bedroom?" she looked at him playfully, "Nah, too obvious. Maybe in a 16th-century Gothic castle where I could wear a beautiful, richly decorated, long gown made of black velvet," he liked the vision. "Or on a deserted beach hidden under the cover of night, where I would bathe naked in the pale moonlight," this vision pleased him even more. "Or a gothic masquerade ball where concealed under masks, we could dance and twirl to the envy and admiration of the other guests."

"It can all be arranged," he replied quietly when she stopped again and moved closer to him, closer than he would have liked while being out in public.

"For now, take me home…" she whispered as she gazed into his eyes.

He smiled and pulled her gently away from the crowded street. One of the side alleys was empty, shrouded in the darkness of night, as the single burnt-out lamp provided no light, offering a perfect cover from the eyes of passersby. He reached into his pocket for his pouch of sand, but before he could take it out Y/N grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close. She took two steps back, leaned with her back against the wall of the building, threw her arms around his neck and pressed her burning lips to his. There was no trace of modesty nor softness in her behavior, there was only pure passion and desire. Without diverting his lips from hers he slipped his hand under her jacket and embraced her tightly around the waist as she clung eagerly to him. Holding her so close, he felt as if he held in his arms Everything, the past, the future, the present, everything that was and everything that would be, everything that mattered, everything he desired, the purpose of existence beyond his function. With his other hand, he reached back into his pocket and in one smooth motion surrounded them with golden sand carrying them back home.

He wanted them to stay like this, as one, in the space between time and place, suspended between Dream and Reality. Like a pair of lovers enslaved by desire. He never wanted to be parted from her, he wanted her to be by his side forever. He wanted nothing more than to make her his queen, to hide her in the Dreaming from mortal life, to make her his for all eternity.

Consumed by love, controlled by Desire, he almost lost sight of Dreaming. Almost…

***

"What's wrong?" you asked when Morpheus suddenly broke the kiss and pulled away from you, "Morpheus I can see that something is wrong."

"Something has changed in the Dreaming," he answered with a gravely voice as his eyes stared into space, "I must investigate."

"I'll go with you…"

"No, "he interrupted you gruffly, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"But…" you tried to continue upon seeing his sudden change in demeanor. Gone was the charming, seductive man who only a moment ago was passionately taking devotion from your lips. The stern King of Dreams stood before you again, and the King of Dreams did not accept disobedience. The cold stars shone menacingly again in his endless eyes and his whole posture seemed to have grown, filling the space around you with impenetrable darkness.

"The affairs of the Kingdom of Dreams belong to me Y/N, and I must attend to them without delay," he stated.

"I understand…" You replied reluctantly and lowered your gaze. Morpheus only came closer to you and tenderly embraced your face in his hands.

"Please listen to me for once," he said after which he kissed you and disappeared in a swirl of golden grains of sand.

You were alone again...

You stood for a moment just as he left you, not quite knowing what to do next. Although the night was deep you didn't feel tired or in need of sleep. It was as if the few hours you had slept in his Kingdom had made your body and mind feel rested like never before. You stared into the space that just a moment ago was filled by Morpheus and felt the emptiness. Two days and nights spent at his side were enough for you to know that you never wanted to be parted from him again. Being by his side was so intoxicating, addictive, as if in an instant he became your whole world, the whole meaning of your existence, every heartbeat, every breath, every thought and every desire.

You sat down on the bed and reached for a cigarette. The thick smoke made you dizzy, only now you realized that you hadn't smoked for the past few days. But that wasn't the only thing you hadn't done in the past few days. You didn't check your phone, your email, your messages, you didn't check your mailbox, you didn't even took the laundry out of the washing machine. "I've completely lost all sense of reality," you thought with surprise noticing how easily you let yourself be drawn into the Dreaming World. "Is this what it's going to be like?" you leaned back on the bed as you continued to drag on your cigarette, "Moments of dreamed fantasy followed by complete emptiness?" You closed your eyes and let the memory of Morpheus' touch, his hands wandering over your body, his greedy kisses exploring every part of your body reignite your senses. You weren't ready to let him go. You craved that fire, craved to feel him with your whole being. His voice carried a pleasant shiver, in his gaze you were able to see the whole world, his touch ignited your soul and mind, made you feel more alive than ever before. You desired to feel that fire again as your hand went up your thigh under your dress. You desired this delight….

Desire...

The storm light flashed through you warningly when you felt a sudden change. You abruptly opened your eyes and saw red. A bright, flashy, vulgar red that shone like a perfectly polished stone. The air smelled of the sweetness of licorice.

"Well hello there…" a smokey, sultry voice reached your ears making you rise rapidly to your feet, "Surprise to see me?" with your eyes you found its source. A blond-haired and golden-eyed stranger was smiling seductively at you, writhing in a chair as red as all the surroundings. Stranger was dressed all in black, with a deep neckline exposing a chest, a feather collar surrounding a beautiful face. It smiled at you, blood red lipstick decorated its luscious lips. "You shouldn't be," the stranger purred like a cat.

"Who are you? Where am I?" you asked in a hushed voice.

"I can feel that you are still searching for something…" it ignored your question, "there, in my Big Brothers Realm."

"Big brother?" you whispered.

"I suppose I should introduce myself…" the being stood up and approached you seductively balancing its hips, "I am Desire," the enticing low voice penetrated you as it graced you with a wide grin.

"You are one of the Endless. A Morpheus sibling," you stated as your heart began to beat with an uneven rhythm.

"That is what I am, that is what I do," Desire affirmed, "I make you want," Desire moved closer to you and deeply took in your scent, "It is me that you feel in the longing, in lust…." with its fingers it brushed the hair off your neck, "you are drawn to these objects, to these feelings, like a butterfly to the flame. But…" a chuckle escaped Desire's lips, "you already knew that didn't you? And yet, knowing that, you gave in to me so easily."

"I think you underestimate the complexity of human nature," you looked at Desire angrily but Desire only laughed.

"If you think so tell me then, what is that you want? Don't be shy…" Desire grinned widely again, "you weren't shy just a moment ago," it remarked. "Or perhaps I should try to guess?" it looked at you flirtatiously. "You want something sensual, or maybe something precious, or…maybe someone special?" humming laughter came from within it, "or maybe you want all three?"

"Go to hell," you growled.

"Yes. I think that might be just the case." Desire circled around you far too close for your liking, "You know, my Big Brother always thought that Endless are servants to you mortals. But I know what you really are. You are a creature of Desire, my creature."

"I don't belong to you Desire, I belong to him," you looked into their golden eyes with certainty but Desire only laughed derisively.

"Oh, how confident," Desire mocked, "you twist and bend as I require it." Desire ran a finger down your arms, "whenever you wake my Big Brother is taking his leave of you. But I'm not. I am always with you right there in your heart," it stopped its hand on your heart.

"You are wrong," you fumed while looking daringly into Desire's eyes, "You confuse lust with love and devotion, which I think are utterly unknown to you. And Morpheus doesn't…." you bit your tongue, certain that Morpheus would not want you to reveal the details of your relationship.

"Go on, continue, tell me what I don't know about my own brother," it challenged you, "But perhaps you are right. Perhaps my brother has changed. It is true that you are a remarkable being. So I think we will see if you are remarkable enough to change my brother."

"Stay away from us," you snarled.

"Oh is that a threat? I almost felt a thrill of excitement," Desire purred in your ear, " Go away, little witch. I'm sure we'll meet again."

And with those words the red before you disappeared. You were in your bedroom again. Your heart was pounding like crazy trying to keep up with your nervous breathing while you got up from the bed, lit a cigarette and ran to the living room in search of the phone. You needed to talk to John, the only human who could understand what was going on in your life. Once again, he hadn't heard from you for several days, but you were pretty sure there was no signal in the Dream Realm anyway. Traveling in the arms of Morpheus also left no opportunity to take your phone, bag, and other things that were so necessary in the Waking World. You didn't need them anyway. Plugging the phone into the charger, you were sure to see at least a few notifications of missed calls and some messages. One thing you didn't expect was the content of the first message that popped up on your screen.

David is dead. He killed himself.

You froze. You understood the urgency that Morpheus had to investigate. You understood why he didn't want you to go with him. It was your fault.

***

The moment Morpheus no longer detected David in the Dreaming he knew something had happened. The Nightmares he had ordered to torture him had returned to the Realm and were waiting to be summoned for a report. However, he had to see for himself first what had happened. He had to make sure his intuition was not misguided. Standing in the living room of his apartment, the truth spread in a bloodstain before his eyes. A shattered skull fragments of brain and blood splattered on the wall and the back of the armchair on which his lifeless body lay. His jaw hung open, and dried blood oozed from his mouth. The stench of feces and decay hung in the air. "He was supposed to suffer longer," he thought while looking at his dead body with dissatisfaction.

"Bloody hell, the bastard was many things but I never wished him such a death," Constantine also looked at David's body however unlike Morpheus he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, "Poor son of a bitch."

"Do you feel sorry for him Constantine?" Morpheus asked in a murderous voice, "Do you feel sorry for his death?"

"Yes and no," he replied, "Even the worst bastards don't deserve such a death."

"Perhaps not," Morpheus shifted his gaze from Constantine back to David's lifeless body, "Perhaps he deserved a fate far worse than this. Death…Death granted him an opportunity for an early escape."

"I have to report this to the police," John stated and reached for the phone, "Good thing Y/N isn't here. I don't know how she would have reacted."

"You have very poor timing Constantine," Morpheus remarked after which he stepped away from the corpse and looked into space where a swirl of golden sand began to form from which Y/N emerged a moment later. She looked confused first at Morpheus, then at Constantine before finally focusing her eyes on David's body. She took two steps back and leaned against the wall, Morpheus watched as her eyes widened filling with horror.

"Bloody hell, sweetheart! You shouldn't be here!" John rushed over to her trying to block her view but Morpheus was already there. He filled the entire space in front of her eyes.

"I asked you to stay home," he said in a quiet concerned voice, gently forcing her to look at him, "You couldn't listen to me…" There was no emotion depicted on her stunned face, only her eyes betrayed horror, "Y/N look at me," he ordered. And look she did, she looked straight into his eyes, while horror gave way to anger.

"Would you tell me if I stayed?" she asked rhetorically, "Get out of my way, I want to see him."

"Love, I don't think it's a good idea," Constantine interjected.

"And you what?!" Y/N looked at John furiously, "Some bad cop good cop routine you're playing! Since when did you two even…" she didn't finish, "Get out of my way both of you!"

Morpheus felt a wave of power surge out of her teasing his senses like a current flowing through his body. He looked at Constantine who also felt it, much more strongly, as he moved back two steps and tumbled slightly as if protecting himself from falling.

"Beloved," Morpheus tried again to get her attention, "This is not a sight you should be seeing."

"It's my fault," she replied quietly and pushed him away.

Morpheus did not try to stop her again. He knew that his requests and commands would be of no use, not in this case. He could only watch as Y/N approached the dead body of the Nightmare that had tormented her for years and silently looked at the blood stains on the wall, the skull fragments, the dried blood on his mouth, neck and shirt. She did not avert her eyes, did not cover her mouth or nose, she stood proudly like a statue, breathing calmly and steadily, with a statuesque face betraying no emotion.

"It's my fault…" she whispered quietly.

"You cannot say that…" Morpheus stood half a step behind her, in case she would fall.

"But while it's true…" she continued in a cold tone, "It's my fault. His death, his blood is on my hands…"

"Y/N…" he tried to interrupt her.

"If I hadn't met you if our paths hadn't crossed…" her voice trembled, "One thing led to another. There are no words that….It's my fault Morpheus. I wished the son of a bitch all the worst, I said it to his face, I told him that I would like to kill him, that I would like to feel his neck crack under my fingers, that I would like to watch his life escape," she said quietly and calmly, "I meant it. I said I would spit on his grave. And I wanted it with my whole heart."

"You did not kill him…" the Morpheus voice came from deep within grounding her in reality.

"No, I didn't kill him, not then. Even though I could have, even though I wanted to, I told him I wouldn't stain my hands with his blood, that I wasn't a killer…." she turned her gaze away from David's body and looked straight into Morpheus' endless abyss, "So tell me beloved why I feel like I'm the one who pulled the trigger?".

He answered nothing. He wanted to deny it but that would have been a lie. He put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. He saw all the joy disappear from her consumed by Despair.

"Be careful what you wish for…" she sneered, "because dreams do come true…"

Part seventeen: Letting go

~~***~~

Author note: Hi friends! My apologies for the delayed chapter. I had a lot going on last week and the last thing I wanted was to give you some half-ass attempt at the story. This week, however, I'm planning to push a bit more, and hopefully, give you two more. No promises though.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Even if I'm not replying to every single comment, and believe me I'm trying, I am reading each and every one. Thank you so much for all of your comments. You are the best!

For now, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading :)

~~***~~

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[residentrookie]

hi guys!!! this little excerpt is from my marauders ski lodge au fic (it’s jegulus + wolfstar and for context, the black and potter families visit the same ski lodge in wyoming every winter— remus’ dad owns a coffee shop at the lodge) i’m working on this fic for the holidays! this scene specifically is inspired by hozier’s song, abstract, because it means the world 2 me. hope u guys enjoy this sneak peak, i cant wait to show you the whole thing! (cw: death of an animal)

The car ride is quiet. Sirius had put on some music before they left, but it’s playing at a near indecipherable volume. Now he’s humming along to whatever song is playing. He’s not half bad, actually, but Remus is too distracted by the world blurring outside his window to give it much attention. It gets so dark up here in the winter. He likes that about living in the country. The moon, however, hangs over them brightly in the cloudless sky, lighting up the snowy hills and outlining the mountains on the horizon.

“Full moon,” Remus points out quietly. He’s not sure why he even mentions it. Sirius probably doesn’t give a fuck.

“Oh, no way?” Sirius leans up in his seat, scanning the sky and Remus blinks at him a bit. So he does give a fuck. Interesting. Remus has never met a rich boy quite like Sirius. He’s not quite sure how to feel about that yet. “God, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Remus nods back before realizing that Sirius probably can’t tell in the dark. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“And the stars too. You can see them so much better out here than back home. Too much fucking light pollution in the cities.”

That, at least, is true. One advantage to living in the middle of nowhere. The Snow Angels can keep their prep schools and their night clubs and their skyscrapers. Remus will happily take the stars. You can’t very well wish on a flickering streetlight.

Remus shifts a little, adjusting his attitude. After all, Sirius is doing him a favor. “Thank you for um. Driving me home.”

“Hm?” He asks, looking over. Right as Remus is about to repeat himself, Sirius seems to process it. “Oh sure! Sure, I didn’t mind. At all. Seriously. I’m glad you got to stay.”

Remus shrugs. “Well, thanks anyway.”

Sirius drums his fingers against the wheel. “I mean, I wasn’t going to mention it, but this was actually all an elaborate ploy to see where you live. So you know. Forget what I said about not having ulterior motives.”

Remus laughs. To his surprise and Sirius’, whose head jerks towards him at the sound. A pleased smile settles on his face as he turns back towards the road.

“Prepare to be disappointed,” Remus tells him, but something twinges in his chest. They’ve only ever been around each other on the Snow Angels’ turf. But this out here? All this nothingness? This is Remus’ territory. He’s oddly proud of the thought that Sirius will soon see his home.

“If there aren’t idyllic rocking chairs on the front porch, I’m literally suing.”

Remus is about to tell him that his dad might be able to handle that better than he can, but a shape on the winding road before them snatches his attention.

“Sirius!” he shouts, his hand flying automatically to the other boy’s shoulder, gripping tightly.

His breath leaves him in a rush as the car comes to a screeching halt, tires skidding against the pavement. Sirius’ arm comes across the console almost instinctively, as if to soften the blow of any impact for Remus, and if he wasn’t so damn scared, he might have the mind to think about the sweetness of the gesture.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks when everything is finally still, breathing hard.

Remus nods quickly. “Yeah. Holy shit. Are you?”

“Remus.” Sirius whispers, his tone suddenly somber, and Remus looks over to find him staring at the road. At the black shape in the road.

“Oh.”

Roadkill is common out here. A long stretch of road, often quiet and empty, offers animals a false sense of security. Remus is used to it, but it’s never pleasant. Sirius, it seems, isn’t as familiar. Growing up in the city, he wouldn’t be.

“It’s a dog.” Sirius’ voice is so quiet as he stares ahead. So profoundly devastated. “It’s a dog, Remus.”

“It’s okay,” is what Remus tells him. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because the look on Sirius’ face rivals the tortured expression of the dog in the road, like he’s the one laid out on the concrete, bones crushed under the cruel wheel of some unassuming stranger’s car.

Remus looks back to the road and watches the poor animal struggle to stand, eyes glistening in the headlights. It’s still alive. Not for long, but for now.

The sound of the car door opening shocks Remus out of his stupor. “Sirius, don’t—”

“It’s dying,” he says sharply, and the door slams shut behind him.

Remus blinks, alone in the still-running car.

Sirius didn’t say, It’s still alive!

He didn’t say, We can save it, Remus!

He said, It’s dying.

For some reason, that stuns Remus. Sirius can see that the dog is almost dead. But he still got out of the car.

The next thing Remus knows, he’s outside too, the door closing heavily as he walks towards the front of the sleek car. The cold hits him instantly and he stuffs his hands in his jacket, wishing he had brought a heavier coat.

Sirius approaches the animal without hesitation. It growls weakly, a last line of defense, but Sirius remains undeterred.

“Shhh, hi, sweetheart. Oh you’re pretty banged up, aren’t you? I’m so sorry. They didn’t see you, did they? You blend right into the night.”

The dog must like the way Sirius speaks because its tail picks up and hits the ground just once, a clear canine expression of happiness. Or maybe it’s recognition. Sirius makes himself familiar to everything around him.

“Do you mind if I get a little closer, honey?” he asks the dog kindly. Another thump against the pavement. Sirius lowers himself onto the road beside the poor creature.“That’s it, that’s right. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

What are you going to do? Remus wants to ask. What is there to be done? Remus turns his head to make sure no one comes barreling along the road in either direction while Sirius is sat in the middle of it, as vulnerable as any animal would be to oncoming traffic in the darkness.

Sirius scoots even closer, close enough for the dog to bite him if it wished. It must not. He reaches out a tentative hand towards its snout, seeking permission before touching the wounded animal. The dog pushes his snout against his palm, almost begging to be pet by kind hands, begging to be handled gently after life had been so very rough with it.

“You’re a good dog,” Sirius whispers, voice catching in his throat. His hair is escaping from its low bun, the black strands blowing in the wind, in and out of his face. “You’ve been a good dog.”

His fair skin contrasts the dog’s dark coat as he sinks his fingers into the fur, careful to avoid any injuries. He strokes its head, behind its ears, under its chin. Likely all of its favorite places. One last time. Something jingles faintly under Sirius’ hand and he lets out the smallest, saddest sound, his fingers finding the collar buried in the thick hair around its neck.

“It has a home,” Sirius says, finally looking up at Remus. His eyes are shining, water lining his lower lashes. One blink and the tears will dislodge, sliding down his cheeks. “It has a family— people who c-care—”

“We’ll take the collar with us, okay? My dad might know the owner. We’ll find them. Let them know…” Remus’ voice fades, his breath visible in the night air. He doesn’t seem to be making Sirius feel better anyway.

Sirius’ eyes are on the dog’s now. It seems to be looking back.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he tells it softly.

Remus almost feels like an intruder now, his shadow, elongated and distorted by the headlights, stretching over the two of them, almost like the Shadow of Death observing this sacred passing from one world to another. The dog, in a final show of strength, lifts its head enough to settle against Sirius’ thigh and leaves it there until its chest stops moving. For a while, Sirius doesn’t move either, and Remus is left to stand and watch.

He realizes, doesn’t have much of a choice now. It would be foolish to hold onto residual hatred from a one-off situation in his youth after this. After Sirius bared his soul to him without even meaning to. He has no choice but to acknowledge now that he was wrong. That he’d judged too quickly, too harshly and Sirius… Sirius is not who he thought he was. There he sits, a pretty, rich, city kid in the middle of the road without a jacket in December, getting stains on his $500 jeans just to pet a dog while it dies a slow and painful death. Sympathizing with it. Crying for it.

You didn’t deserve this, Sirius had told it.

This radical act of kindness would have never even occurred to Remus, and he’s from here. He’s seen this exact situation from his car window countless times, his heart always aching for the animal, but never enough to fucking stop. To see if it might need comfort as it dies.

Now Remus is experiencing one of those rare moments in time where he feels every aspect of life happening to him all at once. The cold of the air against his cheeks, the smell of the snow melting against the edges of the pavement, the world a dark blue outside of the halo of light beaming from the car. And Sirius. Sirius is happening to him too. His face, the wetness on his cheeks sparkling in the light, the way his hand stills in the black fur, eyes locked on the head still perched against his thigh.

By anyone’s standards, Sirius is unquestionably beautiful. But this is something else. Something other.

He could be an angel, Remus thinks to himself suddenly, absurdly. He looks like an angel.

“We should move it.” Sirius’ voice is barely loud enough over the wind. “To the side. So no one— so it doesn’t have to get hit again.”

Remus just nods, his mind in a fog. They work together to drag the animal as gently as they can, depositing it in the grass beside the shoulder. Remus gently takes off the collar so Sirius won’t have to, stuffing into his jacket pocket for later. When it’s done, they stand together breathing, white puffs escaping their open mouths. The road remains empty, as if knowing they didn’t need to be interrupted.

Sirius clears his throat after a moment. “You probably think I’m fucking insane now.”

Remus’ eyebrows come together as he frowns. “No. No, I think you’re… good.”

He cringes at his word choice instantly, wishing there was a normal way to tell Sirius he thinks he might be fucking divine somehow, but Sirius just sniffs, laughing softly.

“Good?” He sounds dubious almost.

“That was a good thing you just did. Most people wouldn’t have bothered.”

Sirius tilts his head back and forth. “Yeah, well doing good and being good… Two different things.”

“Not to me,” Remus murmurs.

[siremasterlawrence]

Legally Dumb

Officer slave has gotten into a terrible life or death shooting with another man as I had previously plotted to lead to this very moment unfolding.

I walk into one of the top tier Law offices of Jake and Mason closing the door I notice the seats and I sit on a chair patiently awaiting.

He comes through the long over exaggerate like hallway he stands in the middle with this slim sexy toned body in an expensive and designer suit.

He extends his hand out for me as I take it in

my firmly shaking his grabbing his attention finally he seems a bit tense and then I yank his arm down.

Almost instantaneously I can see his hot ass body collapses down and I am able to catch him in my arms slowly laying him onto the floor.

I giggle a bit so happy that everyone is on a bit for lunch I take full advantage of it move it to the side and enter the main hall for the secretary area.

“So you are Mr. Jake Allensworth huh?” I say in the same sarcastic way people insult me.

“What a nice body? What a cute face? I see so much to offer.” I think snapping my finger for my two guys to enter.

“Master! Can we aid you?” Slave cop replies to me.

“Anything! We will love to do it for you.” Slave fire says.

“Load him on your back and take him to his office.” I demand.

“Yes Master!” They happily state lifting him onto both of their shoulders and carry him inside.

“One of you remove everything from his desk”

“Then place him onto the desk”

“Yes Master”

“God outside and block the door “

“Don’t come in till I call for you “

“YES SIR!”

They leave on my orders giving me the time and space I need I open the draws in his desk and get to work spreading his legs to the side.

I grab his tie cutting the top of tie pieces are flying the floor then remove what is left of it to the side and kiss his cheek fully taking all control.

“Listen very carefully Jake, I am absolutely the most power being in your life.”

“I am your soul existence “

“You belong to me”

“You were born to serve me”

“You have no other purpose “

“I am your God”

“You love me”

“I love you “

“Good boi”

“Mmmmm”

“Growing hard”

“Fffffuuuuuccccckkkkkk”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“You are my property”

“Your mind, life, body and soul”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“You are in the oasis awash of nothingness darkness surrounds you.”

“Suddenly a level of warmth over takes you and your body.”

“A door appears you cannot fight it.”

“It swings open with a pull of power calls compels you.”

“Your feet shuffles forward into the door frame.”

“Yes Master”

“It slams hard “

“Where am I?”

“Take a look at the spiral staircase “

“Take one step at a time”

“Forgetting every last detail of your life”

“You can’t fight just move forward “

“I am your lord, master and God”

“I am your world “

“Your extension “

“Your shadow”

“Listen and obey “

“Yes Master “

I prop him up to lay his back onto the desk to hold him up kissing him slowly with such lost.

Undoing his suit jacket I left flow it into the air as it drops onto the plush carpet he is still a mindless puppet.

I marvel at this three piece suit looking so sexy and damn fine because he is all I want and need.

I take my hand placing it on his head on top of his hair shaking his head as it rolls slowly around.

His eyes balls spin rolling upward back into his eyes socket then the eye lids falls back dropping down.

His body now heavy of weight hits the desk again and I have my way climbing onto him as I feel him up.

“Who am I?”

“My God! My life “

“You are shaking under me”

“Quaking with fear”

“You want to be fucked”

“Live to be humped”

“Oh Master”

“You are my man”

“I thought you were straight “

“Not that shit”

“Fuck no!”

“Yyyeeessss”

The end

[xuaxian]

-Waking up in wattpad stories-

-The beginning-

-Part One-

"Oi, where are you taking me?"

The woman in black asked with a scowl. She was getting tired of walking so much behind her friend. It had been a while of aimlessly following him, without answer to where he was taking her.

All of a sudden, all senses of the woman were completely overwhelmed, pain taking over every nerve of her being, no matter how hard she tried to scream, nothing could be done at that split second the train made contact with her body. The memory went by a flash, and then…

.

.

.

-What....What is going on...?

Wait...don't tell me...

Did I seriously die?? Oh you got to be fucking kidding me! Where the fuck am I? Is this...heaven...?-

In the white emptiness, the woman in black floated around aimlessly, with a mix of expressions plastered on her face. No way she was dead. She had to be dreaming… right…? Unbelievable.

A few more curses left her mouth as she raged at the situation. Not knowing how to feel, it’s all she could do. I mean, in this situation, what CAN you do? Wallow in your own misery? Swear that you would haunt anyone who has wronged you? As if that mattered in this moment. She needed to know where she was in the first place before doing anything drastic, not like she could do anything in this white, dull space.

With no memory recollection of what happened on how she died in that split second, she could only make scenarios in her head on how she could have died.

Deep in thought, a subtle static sound could be heard.

"Welcome host, yes that is how you died and no, you are not in heaven"

There was a mysterious male sounding voice heard, which seemed to come from nowhere which startled the woman. Is that who she thinks she is? GOD?

-Are you God? Or am I going insane.-

"No Host. You are not going insane, also I am not “God”."

-You aren’t? Then who the hell are you? The boogeyman?-

She expressed sarcastically, a sly smirk plastered on her face.

"..."

-I was kidding, I'm not that dumb, I just died, am I not allowed to make any jokes here?-

The system felt like punching itself.

"Host please be serious, this is a serious matter"

-Fuck fine, I am curious on where I am. Also where the fuck are you?? Literally I don't know where to look, I don't see you anywhere. Maybe you ARE the boogeyman.-

Turning around in circles, there was still nothing but white nothingness, not a person or reflection in sight. Hearing a sign from the system, the woman chuckled.

"Host, I am not a physical being in the current moment, however let me finally start to explain as to where you are.”

-Oooh I'm talking to a ghost.-

She started making ghost sounds, not taking anything seriously. She couldn’t. She can’t.

No.

It was hard for her to accept her death, so she tried to see if she could break this “illusion” or dream by messing around instead. She can’t start having a breakdown out of nowhere.

The system rolled it’s non existent eyes and continued.

"To start off, I am an entity known as System 22. Where you are standing, more like floating, is a vast of negative space where time is non existent."

Yeah, she didn’t understand any of that.

-Ohhhh I see I see.

…

……

A bit of panic started settling.

-Why the fuck am I here, I can’t be fucking dead can I? I mean I was so young and all and if this is what death is after life then it’s completely heartbreaking to find ou-

The system immediately cut her off, not wanting to listen to useless rambling.

"Host, please be quiet and let me explain, you're making things more difficult for me.

Fine, she won’t talk then.

-...-

"Anyways I won't be wandering around the topic. Yes host, you are dead. Normally you would go either to heaven or hell, however due to your… unique capabilities, you were chosen for this mission and bound to me.”

What now?

-Uhhhhh.... What...?-

The system continued.

"Looking through all of your memories I can clearly see tha-"

-You. Went. Through. My. Memories..? BRO AT LEAST LET THE DEAD HAVE SOME PRIVACY??-

She was not pleased at the fact she was immediately exposed to some unknown entity who called itself some stupid system.

"Host please, this was a matter of selection, I go through a lot of peoples memories"

The woman rolled her eyes. Still invasion of privacy much?

-Whatever, why am I here and when can I go to heaven, I got an appointment with the big man of the skies.-

She joked. Or maybe not. She really didn’t want anything to do with this purgatory BS.

"Host, why do you have to be like this, I'm starting to regret choosing you. The reason as to why you're here is confidential information as of now. And unfortunately, you're not allowed to leave until you complete the mission you will be given.”

-W h a t.-

How was this fair???? She just died and having no time to process her emotions, she was dragged into this weird place, with some thing expecting her to do tasks just so she can rest in peace? Give her a break.

"You have no say in the matter, you can refuse for as long as you like but that will only waste your time and mine.”

Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. Calm. It’s okay. Just go along with it. No matter. This is how you dealt with things, making a joke about everything. No matter how serious the situation was.

-Jesus Christ, here I thought that after death I would finally be able to rest go ur eternity while playing cards with god or something. Wait... speaking of death, how the fuck did I die?-

Curiosity finally won as she asked the question she had been dying (Literally) to ask.

"Host, you were hit full force by a moving train."

….

……

Huh?

How the hell?

-I'm pretty sure I wasn't on the rails...right...?-

"Enough of the nonsense host"

What nonsense? Everything she was feeling was human. Give her a break.

-Jeez I'm only trying to have fun here. Fine. So... what is my mission?-

Finally getting back on track the woman in black stopped messing around and was curious on what was going to happen next. Not like she can fight her way out of this anyway.

The system was delighted at hearing this.

"Host, your mission is to go in different parallel worlds and changing the fates of the individuals you will be living as, while also collecting fragments of that world.”

-Fragments? Changing fates? How many fragments?-

"There are 8 fragments total, host."

The system beamed.

The woman thought for a second, wondering if she could refuse and see if she could do something else instead.

-You know... System 22 now is it, I'm going to have to decline, I'm not getting anything out of this anyway.-

"..."

-So I recommend you choose someone else for the job.-

"Host, do remember that you will be living the lives of rich and powerful people"

Hearing this, her ears perked up and her attitude seemed to change with the flip of a switch. She gets to not have to struggle with money? Sign her up!

-Where do I start, sign me up, I've always wanted to live like the rich. Also, can you stop calling me host, it's weird, call me by my name, Lorica.-

It felt weird having the system call her host.

"I cannot do that Host. Now, you will be transported to your new world where I will proceed to explain the rules to you and what you need to do.”

As Lorica was about to say something, everything went dark.

Eyes fluttering in the sunshine as Lorica woke up in a plush bed.

She quickly looked around to see she was in a room not belonging to her.

Suddenly the same voice popped out of nowhere.

"How is it, host?"

-Yo, this is sick. Also are you in my head???-

It felt strange having someone in her thoughts.

"Yes host. This is so no one else can hear me. Anyways, it's best I start explaining how things work.”

-Please do because I am so god damn lost right now.”

"Someone sure is enthusiastic. While you travel worlds, I'll tell you the plot of that dimension, or story per say, this is transmigration. In each world, you are either the main character, the villain or a completely unrelated side character. In some way you will be associated with the main character."

Too many words.

-Bro what. Get to the point already.-

She wanted to quickly get things done, so she could enjoy her life of luxury.

"Don't rush me, host. Continuing on, there is a rule you MUST follow no matter what."

-And that issss.....?-

"Do not act OOC"

-What's OOC?-

"Out of character"

-What the fuck does that mean.-

"By that I mean you're supposed to act like the character in whose body you are, for example, the character you are right now is someone who is quite shy and cannot stand up for herself.  Meaning you have to act shy and not act any different.”

How in the world was she supposed to change the dates of the characters she was playing by not changing their personality?

-But that makes no sense?-

"I know host, but I know you'll be able to do it. Unfortunately it was not this System who made this rule so I cannot change it."

The system added regretfully.

-This is gonna be such a pain... also I know I'm supposed to find those fragments you were talking about earlier, but how do I do that?-

"Finding the fragments can be a difficult task and can only be achieved when you have changed the fate of the individual you are now.”

-Really now? Do tell me of whose body I am in right now.-

It felt strange inhabiting the body of someone else, almost like she was possessing the person. It felt… wrong. Something was off.

"Gladly, host. You are Alice Smith, daughter to a regular family. You only have your mother in your life who works 3 jobs and is rarely home. You just transferred into a new school after moving."

Nostalgia hit Lorica like a train.

-Bro, this sounds like a Wattpad story.-

The system ignored Lorica’s comment, continuing.

"In the original plot the main character falls in love with your typical bad boy named Raven. And like you mentioned, this is very cliché. The ex of Raven gets jealous of Alice and ruins her reputation. Raven, finding this out, gets rid of the ex by asking his father to expel her. And there we have your happily ever after. The way you need to change this story is to never get Raven's interest and live a normal life while also in search of the fragment. The fragment will only materialise when the plot has changed significantly."

….

…….

………

The long silence made the system wonder if it’s host was even listening.

"Is there a problem, host?"

The system laughed nervously. It knew what the host was going to say next.

-Yes there is a problem! Why the fuck am I doing this?? You told me I would be living in riches. Oh my fucking god I know everyone here is gonna be so wattpady like, is that even a word? Well it is now because of the amount of BULLSHIT you’re spewing. I want out.-

Lorica was cut off before she went on a never ending rant.

"I understand your frustration, host. However, if you ever need any help, don't hesitate to ask. I'll always answer your call. The contact has been made since you met me so it is impossible for you to leave. You must do this.”

The system tried to reason with its problematic host.

-Fine… I better have some drama to live for or something.-

She needed some sort of entertainment. All this supernatural business made her dizzy.

"I'll alert you when the fragment is materialised. Also when you find each fragment you get to choose to continue living the life you are in or go to the next one. However to go to the next world. You have to die."

-Has anyone told you that you speak a lot?-

…

…..

Once again, ignored.

"Anyways host, it's best you get your day started, and good luck."

With that, the presence was gone and silence filled the room that Lorica, now known as Alice resides in. She slowly got off her bed leaving the soft haven and went over to the large mirror to see how she looked like in this world.

“I look exactly like a wattpad character. I mean what else did I expect?”

Rubbing her nose bridge, she took a deep breath.

This was going to take a while.

-A/N: I wrote this a while ago so the writing style is not the best, and there will be mistakes, so please, I hope it doesn’t bother you. I hope you enjoyed at the very least.-

[igothighonce]

I think we're criticizing each other too much. If you're so smart then learn to mind yo own damn business. If you're smarter you'd know that comes with nuance.

We truly were never meant to have access to so many people

Also wtf am I doing here

God I feel like I was put in a ball pit suddenly

God

Wow

Okay

Uh

You know

God toothpaste

I'm happy guys

Like aaaa

I wish I had better emotional regulation

Uh oh god

I'm

Fuck dude what???

"well when you're tired of chaos and need a little boredom try hanging with me. I'll probably get a little high a day or two but that's much it. Probably go out to a park and enjoy the view."

I wanna eat my heart out

On today's news the lad is thinking every thought

My God he's really doing it

He's thinking his own thoughts oh God! No one told me he could do this this is unprecedented! My wife! Is going to leave me please make the horrors stop! Cut the video! Someone help! *Gets vorped into the ever expanding consciousness of the aforementioned man* wow....... It's beautiful....

Yo so what if the brain invented itself and is so far removed from its ability to comprehend the idea of making yourself?

I'll explain one day. But for now I'm literally cooking

Like I promisedni wouldn't be on the phone while cooking

But ma called and now we're sharing recipes

Also she's wondering what that tapping sound is because for some God damn reason phones make a tapping sound when typing on the phone. Like ugh! Why only some ya know? Gonna jump a man called phone design. Watch out. I'll curse him and his family of consequences.

Anyhow I'm cooking by writing 4 some fourth dimension entities. I'm a fan of the incomprehensible horrors. Cosmic horror is my favorite. So for a while I've been writing some things and it's fun but I promise you'll be confused at first. They always are. How it goes is that it follows the premise I will now lay unto you as I have figured about the universe. It is my speculative belief that the third dimension is a matter of perception. Yes nothing new. But that this perception is, in reality, the fourth dimension in conjunction with the 3rd. I argue that the fourth dimension are a state of being. It isn't entirely like a "State of being" but also a state of perception. It's gonna get a little confusing so bare with me. The 3rd ... Uh okay okay so I argue seven total dimension, or six. 3rd, logic and reason, 4th state of existing/states of happening, 5th

*pee break* you know I feel like how the sims talk to each other when I talk with people. As in I just gotta do some weird shit like babble nonsense and hope for the best. But as I've grown I think that's okay. I'm happy with it. Its simple that way.

*break over* 5th are still states of happening but we'll call it the "great pushers" for later reasons, 6th becomes more refined into the nothingness and totality of one thing or the other, 7th is the end of infinity.

It's fun I know. So check it uh it's hard to explain without starting from the most complex but to really ground it and build the logic up I'll need to start from the simplest

So uh that's a bid of an issue because you'll get wordy... At least I will. But I'll try

Remember speculative belief.

Uh so the third is perceived by itself since it is comprised of , say, patterns. At what point will a pattern recognize a pattern? Say something became to see a pattern so much it say patterns. Patterns belong belief. So complex and so vast. This is ego death. When the aware becomes aware to the point it finds no logic in how it is aware. It begins to believe what it must to move forward. Because it is the 3d limit. The 3rd limit to accepting that all things are tangible. See I argue that a pattern entity can gain consciousness by only reaching a higher dimension of patterns. This is why I also argue that the ideas of a "second brain" thing have truth. Because it's a consciousness holding in-between perceiving two different things entirely but "speaking to each other" to get things done. Which is why we can't multitask in the sense of doing things at the same time to the same efficiency. Confident that there's only more skilled and not actual multitasking people. Correct me if I'm wrong tho. So I argue that our second brain is doing and thinking a whole different ball game. At this point though that's not tangible. To create "thought" capable of a higher sense you'd have to exist as something. Because it's at this dimension that logic has no meaning. So remember that. Meaning yes that my reasoning has no meaning after this point and can be anything but shh. So this second brain perceives that dimension as it is. Right? Maybe? This is the idea though. So I think that perceiving something up there creates things down here. Because if the idea that "the reality we see is created by how we see it" holds then we'll jump and say it holds throughout. Who knows we could've had something right with that. So I think that our brains create things based off of what we see in the natural world. Is cannibalistic but I argue that each brain takes images from each other to create a form of reality for itself. Imagine your self half in and half out the water. Your body is experiencing two things at once. Put your eye in and leave one out of the water. Youre looking at entirely different things. Or at least having a semi different experience than your other half. This I argue is true to the 4th dimension but with information and perceived energy. The 5th is the force that pulls us. Time is created by us in our fourth because it's how we saw the universe. Think about now your head above water, eyes closed, trusting your senses, you suddenly feel the water move, so you begin to move, because all you knew was moving. So the 5th I argue is the backstage of reality. Something behind the curtains is pushing time and time is pushing us. I think newtons "things moved will continue until stopped" and vice versa is dumb. But if it holds true then why can't we argue the same of another dimension? If we can't then I argue we can't say the same about us. Because if something pushed, definitely the origin point, then what pushed that force and so on? I argue a force moved in the 5th dimension moves the 4th, moving the 3rd. Maybe it's a shape? Maybe it's whatever you want to call it. But I argue it's something specific. It's not like ... Well as a 3d entity can be partly the 4th so can the 5th and the 4th. So the 4th are the true state of things. "True" as true to the 3rd dimension can be but the fifth isn't really perceivable? So imagine the above water part of you. You then find out you're in some like indoor pool. But the interior of the indoor pool is covered, in so much detail, shapes all around. Take note of how everything is covered in some sort of shape. Now imagine those shapes moving. Any direction. They're flooding the room and don't leave a part uncovered. Now that's the state of the 4th. But things are weird here because "Something always moves something" so now we've gotta imagine "something" moving those shapes. Maybe the wind, the idk gravity, ECT. But you see the issue? Can only comprehend so much. Logic -> tangible concepts -> states of happening

The 5th is just something that's happening that's causing the 4th dimension to move. The stuff of horrors. On to the 6th. Here's where fewer forces are applied. Tbh anything is anything at this point so argue that there's more but don't @ me when I said these are my thoughts. So the 6th is huge sources of energy. Whole time each dimension has its own form of energy to inflict on another. But imagine more energy used in the 6th and becoming less in number. Because I also argue that this energy breaks down and becomes "more abundant" but "less useful". So this is where totality truly comes to life. It's blurred with the seventh because you can make the same arguments. But here is more of totality because all it takes it a few decisions to have it effect an untold number of entities. As in few "happenings" of whatever is involved up there doesn't logically need to happen much. These terms are used so loosely omg. You have no idea. Think the pool, still half in, eyes open, patterns moving, the air is moving the shapes, there's a giant outside waving a big fan.

Logic -> tangible concepts -> states of happening -> fewer states of happening

So here I posit that I have no clue multiplied by infinity. I've made it my job to think about infinity in its totality. It's a path that had lead me to only see the world in an amalgamation of fluids. I feel like I'm going crazy. Picturing infinity is picturing nothing. It's realizing that there is an end to infinity no matter how large. But it's also realizing that you'll never see it. Understand it. Perceive it. Because the cosmic horror you have yet to face is yourself.

Anyway I argue that the 7th is like "God" or whatever. It's the end of the infinity in its totality concept. Infinity ends somewhere. Trust me on this. I'll just never live long enough to tell you guys. Even if I were to type logic and reason into this website. It would be too much for all things to withstand. 7th is even fewer happenings happen. An original or less source or energy viewed only by one that also views, and viewed, all in its happenings. The infinity infinity. Raise is what act like it'll matter. Arguing about a 7th dimension is disproving all known logic. But nonetheless this is what I argue for our fabric of reality. That we are not alone and the real 4th dimension entities are not only us but others too. We're not the only solar system that moves.

[fruitcoops]

The Theory of Flight

My final @oknutzyweek submission, a day late! This is a gods AU that I’ve been thinking about for a couple months now (and co-writing one version of with the beloved @veryspacecowboy in the noot discord), and I really wanted to share it with you guys, too! Sweater Weather characters belong to @lumosinlove--thank you for making so many amazing OCs. This week has been a delight.

TW for mentioned death (everyone is fine, it’s a prerequisite for the story)

Of all the things Leo was expecting when he up and fucking died, this was decidedly not it. Tears? Sure. A touching ceremony? He figured he had been decent enough to deserve one. Wailing and rending of clothes from the people who knew and loved him? Maybe it was egotistical, but a guy could dream. He never thought it would happen that soon, anyway.

But becoming a god? Not exactly on his agenda.

It was made all the more confusing by the fact that he was not alone on his immortal life-after-life journey, and everyone he met seemed to expect him to just…deal with it. Just casually get good with the fact that he would be alive (in a fashion) for literal eternity. A kindly older man—Pascal, god of…Christ, there were all sorts of things—had given him the brief rundown, but it didn’t feel like enough. Perhaps therapy would be a better option. Really intense therapy.

Leo blinked. Was he still allowed to say ‘Christ’?

“—and over here is the garden sector,” Finn said brightly, apparently oblivious to his charge’s internal meltdown. He cast a lopsided smile over his shoulder and tugged Leo along by the wrist, sandaled feet slapping comically on the shimmering path.

Ah, yes. Problem number eight fucking billion of getting spiritually suplexed by immortality. Gods weren’t all old and bearded and uncomfortably muscular like he had expected—they were hot. Like, really hot. Red-hair-and-pretty-eyes-and-freckles hot. Hot with a capital ‘Holy motherfuck, where were you while I was alive?’. Leo thought it was a little unfair that all the cute boys came by while he still felt like a sentient wet noodle and probably looked like one, too.

Finn was still chattering about the gardens and a few of the gods Leo could expect to meet there, apparently content to play tour guide while Leo tried not to have a panic attack. He remembered being dead. Sort of. At least, he remembered thinking ‘oh, god, I’m going to die’ and then nothingness, before a deep inhale and warm golden light filled his lungs with a strange new sensation. Leo let his eyes wander along the strong bands of Finn’s arms and forced himself to follow one whorl of blue paint where it sliced through the smattering of freckles—focus, he reminded himself. Breathe. The line dipped out of sight at Finn’s elbow, then reappeared partway along his forearm and trailed down to his slender wrist.

Leo didn’t notice they had stopped until he nearly ran right over his guide. “Whoa, easy,” Finn laughed, steadying him with a hand on the shoulder. The gentle brown of his eyes reminded Leo of a deer he had seen once in the woods, lithe and regal as it stepped over frozen leaves. Still fawn-freckled in the dappling sunlight, but nearly as tall as him.

His brain stalled out. Leo was sure he looked more than stupid, goggling at Finn with his mouth open, and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Did you die, too?”

Finn’s brows shot upward so fast they disappeared beneath the front curls of his hair. “What?”

“Oh, shit,” Leo mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. So much for ‘focus and breathe’. “Sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t—ugh.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” There was a laugh in Finn’s voice again, but it wasn’t cruel. It was the laugh of someone who just enjoyed laughing. He pulled at Leo’s wrists, guiding his hands down. “Were you wondering if I was mortal once?”

Mortification burned hot in Leo’s chest. “I just—I was wondering if I was the only one, or if that happened to everybody, but it’s intrusive. You don’t have to answer. Sorry. This is kind of a lot to process.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Finn ducked his head to try and catch Leo’s gaze again, and smiled. “Really, it’s alright. It’s normal to be curious. Yes, I was mortal, and then I died, and now I’m here. That happened to a lot of gods.”

“Not all?”

Finn shrugged one shoulder; the brooch holding his shoulder strap together caught the sun with a flash of bronze. “Some of them don’t remember.”

“And you do?”

“I remember enough to know this is different,” was an answer Leo had not expected. The corners of Finn’s eyes crinkled and he started walking backwards. “We’ve covered most of the boring stuff, so I was going to take you to the meadow. A lot of my friends are there. Do you want to meet them?”

The logical answer was a loud and resounding no. How could he possibly meet a whole flock of superpowered gods when he was barely keeping himself upright? How could he make conversation with people that had been dead for hundreds, thousands, of years? The only thing Leo wanted was a hot bath and a long nap where he could lose his mind in peace. The only thing he wanted was to be alive again, where things made sense.

Finn’s brooch glimmered again, the same color as his lashes in the light of the garden. The rough green fabric of his cloak was woven with golden thread, and when he turned just so, Leo swore he saw the same gold forming a soft glow around his body. “Okay,” he said quietly. Finn had been kind to him, patient despite Leo’s anxious silence. His friends couldn’t be too bad.

“You’re sure?”

Leo took a shaky breath. “As long as you stay with me.”

He felt a squeeze on both wrists, grounding him. “Stuck at the hip,” Finn promised. “And whenever you’re ready, we’ll leave. Nobody will be offended.”

They started down the path again, but Leo balked. “What if—” His cheeks heated, and he looked away when Finn turned. He should’ve just sucked it up and kept walking, but it was too late to back out now. “What if…I’m new. What if I’m too new?”

What if they don’t like me? Finn seemed to sense the unspoken question, because his face softened. “Leo.” Leo closed his eyes at the sound of his name in Finn’s mouth. He was the second person to say it in this new world. It was a comfort and agony at the same time. He didn’t feel enough like himself anymore to deserve it. “Leo, they’ll love you.”

“I don’t know anything yet.” Unwanted tears thickened his voice and he blinked rapidly, swallowing them back. Breathe, Leo, you can’t cry on your first day. Inhale, exhale—there was no real relief from breathing. The thought made his throat go tight. “I don’t know why I’m here, or where I am, or what I’m supposed to do. And they’re gods. They’re important. I’m just an idiot who died.”

“We’ve all just been idiots who died,” Finn said firmly, moving to hold Leo’s hands between them. Something suspiciously close to Leo’s heart gave way at the reassuring touch and he sniffed. “Hey, no, listen to me. Do you think any of us knew what the fuck to do when this happened? No. I was fighting, and then I was running until I couldn’t, and then I woke up and some dude with a beard told me I was a god. What the fuck is all that about? I sat in the bathtub and cried for, like, three days when I got here.”

“…is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes.” The earnestness in Finn’s expression took him off guard. “Whatever you’re feeling, however you want to deal with it—we’re here for you. You’ll figure it out, Leo. Someday you’ll know what your purpose is, but until then, your only job is to keep on going. Something out there believed in you enough to make you a god. I trust that it knows what it’s doing.”

The air was cold against the trail of a tear as it slid down his cheek, followed by a second, then a third, until he squeezed his eyes shut. Finn let out a slow breath before releasing his hands and guiding him into a hug; Leo clutched the back of his sash like a lifeline. He expected the fabric to be as coarse as it looked, but it was soft as a cloud. “I wasn’t special,” he choked out through heaving breaths. He refused, refused, to let the sobs catching in his chest see the light of day. It was horrible enough to tremble in the arms of a man he hardly knew. “Finn, I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“Then you must be good enough on your own.”

The relief of letting go was river-sweet. Finn held him tight even when Leo’s knees buckled under him, murmuring soothing words and rubbing his back. It’s going to be alright, he said, gentle while Leo fell apart. You won’t be alone. Its going to be okay. Catharsis rushed through his body and mind, easing the terror running riot through every part of him. Despite his mortification, Leo was grateful not to be alone for the first flood.

One chapter of his life was closed forever. Another had opened, and he didn’t even know the first word of it, but he knew he wanted Finn to be there on every page.

“This is new,” Finn said when Leo had moved on to shivering. “It’s scary. If you need anything at all, let me know and I’ll help.”

Leo sniffled. “What are you, the god of friendship?”

Finn laughed again, and it sounded like the hum of a pan flute. “Good guess. But no, I’m just a messenger.”

They stepped away from each other, remaining within arm’s length; Leo was surprised to find his face was dry to the touch. The sticky, overwarm feeling of a good cry was absent, though he still felt the knot in his stomach begin to unwind. He offered Finn a wobbly smile. “The friendship part is just for fun, then?”

“Exactly.” Finn’s hand found his wrist again. “C’mon, I’ll show you the way. We’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

Leo followed him through fields of swaying grass and past towering mountains; through the edge of a dense forest full of glowing lights and past a distant ocean with boats rocking in the harbor. Environments he could never have imagined as a mortal cropped up in every direction, each cast in shining technicolor. The air was clean and fresh, and he let it carry out the trickling streams of his breakdown. Something caressed his face—at first, it felt like simple wind, but a wisp of a giggle siphoned out when it tumbled away. Finn let go of his hand after a few minutes and Leo couldn’t help trailing a path in the high wheat, rolling it between his fingertips just to watch it float away on the breeze. He could smell the sea, salty and deep; he could smell the forest, all thick loam and crisp leaves. With every tilt of his head, the whole world changed.

“What should I expect from your friends?” Leo asked as they passed the coast and headed down into a valley. He was glad Finn had taken them the long way around. His breakdown had stolen what fragile strength he had gathered since dying, leaving him drained. The dipping, winding path was just what he needed to get his head in order long enough to survive some small talk.

“The first thing to know is that they’re all lovely people,” Finn explained, hopping over a tortoise with a jewel-toned shell. “The nastier gods don’t go where we’re going.”

“Nastier gods?”

His freckled nose wrinkled. “Not everyone is as sweet as you when they’re blessed with obscene power. But don’t worry, they’ve been smacked around enough by the older gods in the gang to knock ‘em down a peg. Pascal got involved once, and we haven’t seen the other guy for a couple hundred mortal years.”

“Pascal is the one with the beard at the entrance, right?” His eyes had been brown, too, but darker than Finn’s. More paternal, less playful. His voice had sounded like a thundercloud come to life.

Finn nodded. “That’s him. Solid dude, his wife is amazing, and their kids are adorable. Anyway, the second thing to know about our group is that we’ve got a whole range of ages and backgrounds. Don’t be surprised if someone starts talking about when the world was all one big clump of land in the ocean.”

Pangaea. Some of them lived during Pangaea. Leo took a deep breath, and then another one to clear the dizziness. “Got it.”

“Also, you might see some of the really really old gods wandering around. They won’t usually trouble themselves with us, but feel free to say hi.”

“How old?”

“I delivered a message to Inanna last week from Oshun.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, he stops by from time to time.”

“No, I—nevermind.”

Finn didn’t appear to notice his hesitation. “Note number three is that they will all invite you to dinner at some point, and while you’re under no obligation to go, it might be a fun way to mingle. I’ll warn you of the ones that can’t cook but will try anyways.”

“I like to cook.”

Leo pressed his lips together as soon as the words were out—he hadn’t meant to speak. Mortal cooking could never compare to what gods were used to, and he wasn’t even sure he would know what to do anymore. Would his hands remember how to knead dough? Would his tongue remember the taste of stew in the winter? Did winter exist in this blissful, perfect place?

“That’s good,” Finn said, unbothered. “I can’t.”

“I’ll have you for dinner sometime, then.”

The passive thoughtfulness on Finn’s face melted away into surprise, then settled into a sideways smile. “You’d do that?”

Leo shrugged. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I like to cook. You don’t know how. It works.”

The smile grew, and with it came a faint pink dusting over Finn’s nose and cheeks. “It does.”

Finn was still looking back at him when they crested the hill, but Leo couldn’t stop his quiet gasp. The wheat field tumbled into vibrant green grass studded with wildflowers that blanketed a large meadow, bookended by the woods and a flat lake. Trees crept in one by one, a birch here, a fir there, low branches sweeping down in arcs. Someone had constructed a floral swing from one of them; with every push from the breeze, petals cascaded down in a waterfall.

And everywhere Leo looked, there were gods. More gods than he had ever seen in any of the other places, tall gods, short gods, gods in as many shapes and colors as the flowers at their feet. They splashed in the lake’s lapping waves and lounged catlike in the sun—now and then, one would vanish in a shimmer of color, or another would appear at the outskirts. Some had brought furniture to relax in, while others had claimed various bits of the glade as their resting spot.

“Welcome to The Den,” Finn said, his chest puffing with pride. “The best realm of them all.”

“This is…” Leo trailed off with a shake of his head. The aura of radiating peace clung to his skin and cooled the heat of the sun.

“I know.”

“Is this some sort of godly spa?”

“No, but I see why you’d think that,” Finn laughed. There was an extra skip in his step as he headed down the hill and gestured for Leo to follow, like he had been looking forward to being there all day. “I’m not sure why it feels so different. Probably because there are so many of us here all the time, and not a lot of conflict. It’s a common space. If someone wants to start shit, they don’t do it where everyone will think they’re a dick.”

Leo didn’t doubt that for a moment—the ground hummed with power. The Den may have been plainer than many of the other areas they had walked through, but it had been charged by the mere presence of dozens of gods cycling in and out. There was something tangy in the air, almost like oranges. He wondered if that was what magic tasted like.

“See that guy in the water?” Leo squinted to follow Finn’s line of sight to the lake, where a man stood waist-deep and traded splashes with a long-haired young woman. Excess water sloughed off his dark skin when he returned Finn’s wave. “That’s Talker. He’s a major river god and his girlfriend Noelle’s a rain goddess, so they expanded a stream into the lake.”

“How long did that take?”

“For them? Ten minutes, give or take.”

Talker flicked the water Noelle’s direction and a wave washed over her; within seconds of resurfacing, she opened a black cloud over his head, sending a curtain of rain down with a burst of laughter. A thin blue shimmer connected the tips of their hands with the arcs of a leaping dolphin.

A young woman sitting on the shore with a book gave a lazy swish of her hand—thunder shook the surface of the lake, and Finn nodded to her. “That’s Aubrey. Sydney’s probably on call right now, but she brings the lightning. Oh, hey, Bliz is here!”

He let Finn usher him further down the hill, doing his best not to slip, and went willingly under fluttering hands that gestured toward the motley crew of immortals. Focusing on their ethereal glow and range of clothing diverted Leo’s attention from the warmth of Finn’s hand between his shoulder blades; he stubbornly ignored the thrill in his stomach when the smell of fresh rain and old books washed over him each time Finn grew close.

“We call him Bliz, but his real name is Kasey,” Finn explained, pointing to a blond man with broad shoulders. “He’s a winter god. Old as shit, too—I don’t think his original people exist up north anymore, but he was big for them. His partner Natalie is a music goddess, though I’m pretty sure she’s actually one of the nine Muses and is fucking with me. My brother Alex is dating them both.”

Leo raised a brow. “Your brother? He came with you?”

“Hmm? Oh, not really. I don’t know if I had mortal siblings.” Finn tilted his head from side to side while he thought, as if he was searching for the right words in the air. “It’s a bit tricky to explain, but a lot of us come from similar cultures or have similar enough realms of power that we stick together, like siblings. Alex is a wind god, I’m a messenger god, so it just…I dunno, it fits. He’s more family to me than the others for sure.”

“That’s wonderful, Finn.”

The dusty blush returned and he ducked his head a little. “Maybe you’ll hit it off with someone. You never know.”

“I’ve got enough time,” Leo joked, earning himself a snort of amusement.

“You can say that again. Uh, the big guy over there is Kuny, and then the one next to him is Nado. They’re usually out and about because their realms are more specialized for a bunch of small things, but it’s always good when they can stop by. Next to them are Lily and James, who came from the same pantheon and control autumn and spring for a few different worlds. They only started dating over the past thousand years, though. Pretty young relationship.”

“What counts as an old relationship?” Even as he asked it, Leo wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A millennium was a mere blip to the gods. It felt kind of terrible to think it would become the blink of an eye for him, too.

“Well, Pascal and Celeste are as old as the earth and sky, but…” Finn hummed and surveyed the Den, then made a happy noise and turned Leo a little to the right. “See those two?”

He found only a handful of dozing gods and shook his head. Then Finn took him by the chin and moved his head for him, stealing the breath clear from Leo’s body. His touch was gentle, yet steady. A soft sigh escaped Leo when the touch fell away; he had to blink a few times before centering his vision on the pair Finn was trying to point out. “Under the tree?”

“Mhmm. That’s Remus reading, and Sirius is—per usual—all up in his personal space.” They looked quite content in Leo’s opinion. Remus, cloaked in plain brown, didn’t seem bothered by Sirius’ dark head occupying his lap in the slightest. Hazy silver-gold surrounded them in a woven heartbeat. “They’re one of the rare couples that started in different pantheons, not that they recall which was which. Neither of them had an easy trip up here.”

Leo frowned. “What do you mean?”

But Finn appeared not to hear him, or at least did a very good job of ignoring the question. “Their realms overlap because they’ve been together so long. It’s kind of interesting, actually, since they started out on opposite ends. Remus was a healing god at first, and Sirius was a death god.”

“And now?”

Beneath the ash tree, Sirius plucked a small lupine from the grass and tucked it between the pages of Remus’ book. “Remus is still a healer, but he also helps those who die gentle deaths along. And Sirius has always had some little realms, children and loyalty and a couple others, but those grew stronger the longer they stayed together. Less doom and gloom, more of the things he enjoys.”

It may have been the most confusing and panic-inducing day of Leo’s life (or rather, his afterlife), but he could have heard the wistfulness in Finn’s voice a mile away. He glanced away from the lovers under the tree and to the right, following the tilt of Finn’s face.

Another god sat alone, a sword at his hip, oiling an armguard. In the sun, his tan skin made him look like a burnished statue come to life. He looked up as if he could sense them watching, and his scowl of focus dissipated like morning mist into a smile the moment he saw Finn.

Oh, Leo thought. The other god set aside the armguard and raked a hand through his hair—he felt Finn’s chest hitch. Oh, shit. Finn may have been the expert in the history of the other gods, but it seemed he had a complex story of his own that was still unfolding.

“Finn, light of foot,” the god called as he sauntered over with a hand on his sword hilt. “Messenger of worlds, swiftest, nosiest, and most irritating of the gods.”

A smile struggled to break through Finn’s solemn expression. “Logan.”

“You brought a friend.”

“Maybe.”

“A rookie.” Logan’s eyes were the brightest green Leo had ever seen; something a little like fear, a little like excitement tumbled through his stomach when they flickered up and down his body before settling on his face. Whatever Logan found there, it made him cock his head to the side. “What do you do?”

“I…died.”

Amid his overwhelming embarrassment, Leo wondered if it was possible to shuffle off an immortal coil in addition to the mortal one. “That’s it?” Logan raised a brow, more bemused than anything. “You don’t seem like a ghost.”

“I’m not.”

“What’s your realm?”

“I have no idea.”

“Lo,” Finn began, and Leo only had a moment to be surprised by the casual nickname before Logan held a hand up and narrowed his eyes.

“How long have you been immortal?”

“Like, two hours.”

Logan poorly stifled a laugh. “What’s your name, rookie?”

“Leo. Knut.” Thank you for finally asking a question I can answer. “Like the lizard.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out, Leo Knutlikethelizard.”

“It’s—” Leo faltered, then sighed. He didn’t have the energy to argue with a god whose attention had already turned back to Finn. Not today. Not fucking today. “Thanks.”

“You’re playing tour guide?” Logan sounded surprised, though it was hard to understand why. Finn was a messenger god—it only made sense that he would be the one to show newbies around.

Finn half-shrugged. “I had time. Good day?”

The humor drained from Logan’s face, dimming the vivid shine of his eyes and dulling the tan of his skin. He stood a good six inches shorter than Leo, a detail that had gone unnoticed until now amidst his bluntness and broad shoulders. Leo wanted to kick Finn for asking a question that so clearly upset his new friend. “It was a day,” Logan answered. “I would have preferred being a tour guide.”

“You hate being a tour guide.”

“I hate Duvost more.”

Finn frowned deeply at the name. “Why would you—”

“War is war.”

“There are other gods—”

“And they asked for me.”

“I—”

“Finn. Enough. It was a day and it’s done now.”

The corner of Finn’s jaw ticked, like he wanted to keep pressing the subject, but he carefully smoothed it out and straightened. “I’ll bring you dinner later, once Leo’s settled.”

Logan shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I already ate.”

A look crossed Finn’s face, then, a combination of hurt and frustration and want that made Leo’s fingertips tingle the way lightning felt just before it struck. Apparently, he had not imagined the emotion in Finn’s voice before. Less doom and gloom, Finn had said of Sirius. More of the things he enjoys. A heavy burden alleviated by a friend-turned-lover. Oh, there was history there, no doubt. He could see it in the way Logan leaned toward Finn like a habit and in the pulsing, roiling, viciously red mist between them that neither spared a glance toward. Maybe not the kind of history either of them wanted, but one they were both fighting.

Leo just wished he knew which direction they were fighting it, so he could—

So he could—

Well, shit. He wanted to calm the strange thing between them until it stopped thrashing, wrenched in different directions but refusing to die out in spite of its missing pieces. He wanted to spend days and days with Finn while they wandered across this strange world; he wanted to see Logan smile again without the weight of whatever duty he was called to fulfill.

Leo had expected a lot of things when he died. Falling ass over teakettle into the third spot of an immortal love triangle was not one of them.

It appeared chapter one of the story of his next life had begun.

[teddy06writes]

With Ghastly Consequences

Part Two of A Dangerous Game

{I wasn’t going to do this till later but ThE IdEaS were flowing}

Requested by this anon: “I don’t mean to be a bother but if you could possible make a part 2 for the “a dangerous game” fic that you made? It was amazing!!”

and this one: “ Dude I need more poly Dream team with SBI family reader what if reader came back as a ghost but it’s like Ghostbur so she doesn’t remember everything?”

Sooo....

Dream x George x Sapnap x Reader + sleepy boys x sibling!reader

trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, mentioned character death (its you, you died in the last one)

premise: after your death, everything was hazy; this is an account of the events sparked by your ghostly return

(y/n/n)- your nickname

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’d drifted, for a while, in a greyish abyss for a while, knowing that there was a choice to make. 

The void, though being of course, a void of nothingness, was peaceful, and gave you time to come to terms with what had happened, and come to the solution to the question. 

And as soon as that happened-

You were gone again. 

~~

“Philza!” 

The man froze over the brewing stand, the bottles in his hands beginning to tremble, “(y/n)?” 

“Dad!” You grinned as he turned around, looking dumbfounded, “I didn’t know you were coming here- when did you get in? Oh I can’t believe you finally came!” 

“D- Do you not remember?” His voice was low, shaking almost as much as his hands. 

“Course I remember- well I remember some stuff. Like you and Tommy and Techno and Home and- and Pogtopia- and Dream and George and Ni- Sapnap- oh- wait-” your voice dropped to a whisper, “You know how they were- y’know, my partners?”

Your father nodded. 

“Don’t tell Wil,” You said quickly, “He’ll get mad.” 

He nodded blankly again, still staring at you. 

“Well what's with you? Why’re you looking at me like that?” 

“Y- It’s just- your back. I- I was devastated- more than- when WIlbur- er- when you died. But n- but your back.” There was quiet relief in his voice. 

You nodded, “Course I’m back. Like you could get rid of me that easy.” 

Phil dropped the bottles onto the crafting bench, rushing forward in an attempt to embrace you. 

You shuddered as he passed through your spectral form, sadly mumbling, “Uh, yeah. I kinda pass through things now.” 

Phil smiled sadly, “Still, your back, come on, come on, lets go find Techno, he should still be around here.” 

You nodded, following him down that ladder, “That's what I wanted to ask, where is here? Why are you out in the arctic?” 

“Oh, uh, just to get away from everything, you know who Tech hates his governments.” Phil attempted a joke. 

“Oh, yeah- I wouldn’t want to be there with Shlatt either. Strange he didn’t just go back to pogtopia though.” 

Technoblade looked up from where he was sharpening his axe, at first his face reading confused, then guilty, the carefully blank, “Things have changed (y/n). People, change.”

“Like Wil? I rember Wil being mad about something- do you think- no it wouldn’t be that, I was careful.” 

Techno winced, glancing Phil’s direction, “Uhh, we- we don’t talk to Wilbur any more. Not- not since he- er- not since you died.” 

“That man is no son of mine.” Phil spat.

You looked at him confused, “What happened? Did you get in a fight?”

“It’s- not our place to tell you.” Techno said finally. 

“hmmm, okay! So what have you guys been up too?” 

~~

You hummed a tune, drifting down the prime path, headed towards L’manburg, toward home

Phil and Techno had warned you that things had changed since your death, but that didn’t deter you from going back.

Coming over the hill, you looked over your beautiful country, the walls, which you knew were gone, seemed to be partially rebuilt, and distantly you could see Fundy over seeing construction.

At first glance everything seemed fine, but as you got closer the atmosphere seemed to change, a sort of anxiety hanging in the air over the city. 

Slowly you floated up to the platform your nephew was standing on, “Fundy! You’re rebuilding the walls!”

The fox jumped, “(y/n)?” 

“When Techno said things had changed I didn’t think he meant Shlatt was putting the walls back!” 

“(y/n)- your- your back?” 

“Course I’m back,” You chuckled, “You miss me fur ball?” 

“I- you- your back?” He repeated.

“Yeah, what’s going on round here? Why’d Shlatt have a change of heart- wait- did we win? Did I die and miss us winning? Is Wilbur putting the walls back-” 

“Wilbur isn’t here any more.” Fundy interrupted bitterly. 

Your brow furrowed, “Why is everyone mad at him?” 

“Come on, lets get you too Ranboo, Tommy and Tubbo, they’ll-” He sighed motioning for Jack Manifold to take his place, “Well they should tell you at least part of it.” 

He led you down off the platform, toward the podium that still stood in the center of L’manburg, at your look of confusion explaining, “Ranboo’s a new comer. Uh- he’s- different, half enderman, we think, eye contact isn’t his thing, so be aware of that.” 

You nodded as he pushed open the door, “Hey- guy’s drop what your doing, this is important-” there was a small thud, “No not literally Ranboo- it’s a figure of speech.” 

You drifted past him into the room, smiling at the flustered looking enderboy, your brother, and his best friend, “Hello!” 

Tommy’s breath hitched, his lip beginning to tremble, “(y/n/n)?” 

“Hi Tommy! Hi Tubbo! Hi person I’m assuming is Ranboo!” 

The tall boy waved awkwardly, “Hi?” 

Fundy cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uh, I have t’get back to work. They’re- confused. I-” He gave Tubbo a ‘this is your problem now’ look before quickly turning and leaving. 

“Uhh... (y/n). You’re- back?” Tubbo laughed as if he couldn’t believe it. 

Tommy was still staring at you in shock, “(y/n)?” 

You drifted across the floor to be near him, “Tommy what’s wrong?” 

Your brother burst into angry tears, “I thought you were gone! I thought that he took you away from me! He- he fucking thought- that bitch thought he could take away my sibling! Just- just because of some- of some fucking-” He fell off into hiccups, tears still falling down his face.

“That bastard! He- he fucking killed- he- and for what? Cuase he didn’t fucking like who you were seeing?” Tommy muttered, moving back past Ranboo to sink into a chair.

“Who? Who didn’t like it?” You asked. 

Tommy let out a bitter laugh as Tubbo looked at you sadly, “It’s- nothing.”

“Hmmm, well, what’s going on here then? Did we win the war?” 

Tubbo nodded, “Wilbur- isn’t here anymore, he- he- sort of betrayed us, and we chased him out. So we’re rebuilding the walls, so he doesn’t do anything else, and me and Tommy are co presidents.” 

You nodded, but were still confused, “What did Wil do? Is it why Phil said he wasn’t his son any more?”

Ranboo gulped awkwardly, “Uh- from what- er I- uh heard, yes.” 

“hmmmm, I hope it wasn’t anything too bad.” You sighed. 

You stayed with them for another hour, talking about L’manburg, and the presidency, until Niki arrived, breathless, having heard you were back, “(y/n/)!” 

“Niki!” You looked over her, something seemed off, less bright, less Niki.

She glanced around the room, “How about we go for a walk, to catch up?” 

There was something desperate in her voice, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore it, “Of course.” 

She gave you a strained smile, motioning to the door, “Let’s go then.” 

Soon you were out wandering through the city, many of the crowds were gone, though you could see signs of life in open windows, and small restaurants, “Niki what’s going on here? Something isn’t right.” 

“Nothing is right, not since we got rid of Wilbur.”

You looked up at the walls, now seeming to loom twice as tall as they once did, “Tommy and Tubbo- they’re anxious about something.” 

Niki nodded, “The whole country holds its breath. Tommy is angry, and Tubbo is paranoid. They think Wilbur will blow up the country, and that he’ll have help, the walls, the security checkpoints- none of this is what L’manburg was founded for.

“The people are terrified, everyone tells them something different, they’re waiting for the country to be driven into the ground.” 

You gulped (can ghosts gulp?), “Well that isn’t good. Maybe- Maybe- hmmmm, Maybe you should be in charge Niki! You- don’t tell the others- but I think you’d make a better president than any of them!” 

“If I could I would (y/n), but it’s not that simple,” She smiled sadly, looking around with a sigh, “Why don’t you go find your boyfriends? Have you gone to see them yet?” 

~~ “Georgie!” 

The King blinked, quickly pushing back the small sense of hope, he was just imagine things again, he thought to himself, he had to be. 

“George what’s wrong?” 

The voice was closer now, and it was the cold sensation at touched his shoulder that convinced him it was real enough to look, blinking in surprise again at your gray form, hovering next to his desk, “(y/n/n)! Oh my god! (y/n/n)!” 

You grinned, “George!” 

“Your back!” The goggles were quickly pushed off his face, dropped down onto the top of the desk, “Y- your really back!” 

You nodded eagerly, “I missed you! Well- I mean, it wasn’t that long that I was gone. At least I don’t think- anyway I missed you!” 

“I- (y/n) it’s- it’s been nearly a month.” 

You cocked your head, “Huh, that's weird.”

“George who are you talking...” Nick trailed off as he entered the study, “(y/n)?” 

You could see the tears in his eyes as you awkwardly waved, “Hi Nicky.” 

“Holy shit.” He muttered, “I- we thought you were gone- I mean- when- when Wilbur...” 

“When Wilbur what?” You asked with a chuckle, “Everyone keeps saying he’s done something, but no one’s told me what.” 

Both men froze, sharing a looking, “Don’t worry about it.” 

Nick quickly swiped away tears, “So your back?”

You nodded, “I’m back- hey, have you guys noticed how L’manburg’s being all weird now? Niki says Tommy and Tubbo are running the country into the ground.”

“Well- they’ve refused all foreign aid, we tried to offer them help- after the war, paying for damages and such after they sorted out there Wilbur problem,” George sighed, “And so far only Eret’s tried reaching out to talk to us, help with our Dream problem.” 

“Yeah, where is Dream? I miss him and I can’t ping him, cause ghosts don’t have com tablets.” 

“Even if yours hadn’t broken it wouldn’t help. He disappeared after Wilbur- did that thing,” Nick sounded all to broken for your liking, “He hasn’t answered any of our messages.” 

You frowned, “Well that's not like him. Maybe he just left his tablet somewhere- or maybe he just got busy doing something again, you know how he gets during manhunts.” 

“(y/n),” George tried gently, “He- smashed his com tablet, said something about going off the grid, undermining the server. He probably isn’t coming back.” 

You froze, hover in silence for a moment, “No. No that’s not true- he wouldn’t- he wouldn’t leave us! You’re lying to me! He loves us! He’d never leave! It’s not true! He wouldn’t do that! Your lying!”

Nick seemed shocked at the outburst, “(y/n)- we were just as upset but he left- gone insane-” 

“STOP LYING TO ME!” You exploded, “He wouldn’t do that! I know he wouldn’t! Your just lying!” 

They watched you sink to the floor, spectral tears flowing down your cheeks, mumbling, “You’re lying, you’ve gotta be lying, he- he wouldn’t he wouldn’t do that.” 

~~

“Wilbur!” 

Your brother flinched, he’d planned for this, he reminded himself, as soon as he heard the rumor's. 

“(y/n).” He stood up, turning to face you, ignoring how he’d begun to shake. 

He didn’t regret what he’d done. 

At least that was what he told himself. 

He knew what he had had to do, and he done it, and he had no regrets for his actions, because it was all in the plan.

“Wilbur what’re you doing outside L’manburg? I thought they said they chased you out.” 

“I missed it.” He said simply, forcing back the choked noise that had started in his throat upon seeing your grey floating form. 

“Did you miss me? George and Nick said I was gone for almost a month, that that was how long you and Dream were gone for.” 

“Don’t fucking talk about that man.” Wilbur spat. 

At your face of shock and horror at what you said Wilbur grinned, “Oh yeah, I know all about them (y/n). Them, and You, and everything before your death.” 

“Why do you hate them so much?! Can’t you see that they make me happy?! What did they ever do to you?!” 

“THEY TOOK AWAY MY SIBLING! MADE YOU TURN AGAINST ME! AGAINST L’MANBURG!” Wilbur yelled. 

Tears started to slip from your eyes again, “Wil, I never turned against you- your my brother, I love you. Why is it so hard for you to see I’d never turn on you? Who I love has nothing to do with it.” 

“Oh it has everything to do with it!” He laughed, finally managing to shut off the tiny part of his brain that screamed at him to stop, “You’re fucking dead because of it!” 

You blinked, “N- no! It’s not because of them! I died in the war! Dream was trying to protect me! I died so we could be free again!” 

“No (y/n)! You are so fucking stupid! Your dead because I killed you! I killed you because you were turning against me! Because it was the only way to get those fuckers to get there hands off you!” 

You let out a choked sob.

“And guess what? I don’t regret anything. I killed you so that they would suffer! Suffer from loosing you the way I had! And it worked and so none of the cost matters!” 

“No wonder everyone’s mad at you,” You sad shakily, “You’re a monster Wil.” 

“And I’m not the only one.” 

He sounded almost proud, gesturing his chin upward, at a patchwork of scaffolding as being stretched across the sky above L’manburg, distantly you could see someone in a neon green sweater running across the top. 

~~ “Dream, what are you doing?” 

The man only sighed at the serious voice, “Getting revenge. It’s what they would have wanted.” 

“Is it?” 

He finally turned away from the contraption, staring through the slits in his mask at the Spector that hovered in front of him, “So you really are back.” 

“Dream,” You could almost see the wall he had put up when you died, repeating, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to destroy L’manburg.” His voice was cold, steely, too close to that which you remembered from the day he and Tommy had their duel. 

“You think that’s going to make things right? You think that’s going to put me- my spirit to rest?” 

He faltered, “It has too. Wilbur killed you, and now he’s going to pay.” 

Slowly you moved closer to him, across the narrow walk way, “Clay why did you leave them? When did you break your com tablet? You knew they needed you.” 

“I- I had too.” The smile on his mask was all to haunting, a broken reminder of the past. 

“They needed you and you left them. You put them aside, for this? To be a villain?” 

“If I’m a villain then so be it.” 

Down below the people of L’manburg were beginning to raise alarms as you spoke, “They love you. I love you. You don’t- you don’t need to be the villain my love.” 

Slowly he reached up, slipping the mask off his face, “I know, I know but- but this is the only way.” 

Gingerly you reached out, hovering your hand right where it would rest to cup his cheek, “It isn’t the only way. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to cause this destruction.” 

“It’s the only thing I know how to do,” There was anguish seeping in to his voice, “I don’t know if I can do anything else.” 

You longed to embrace him as he fell to his knees, “You don’t have to do this Clay.”

“I don’t know how! I don’t know any other way to make Wilbur pay!” 

“Clay look at me, look at me, there is another way- you don’t have to do this, We love you- we miss you- Nick, George and Me, we can just, climb down and go and find them and then run away together, leave this all behind!” 

“Keep them safe.” He sniffed, wiping away angry tears. 

“Yeah- yeah- we can build a little cottage, and plant flowers in the window boxes- and forget all about this,” You were phasing back into the material world, nearly by Dream’s sheer willpower as he pulled you into his arms, “And we can forget all about this, but only if you don’t do this.”

“I don’t know if I can... (y/n) I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” He sobbed. 

“You are darling. You are. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this Clay, we love you.” 

He sniffed, sitting up a little, one of his arms reaching away, both of your breathing unsteady as you looked up at him, desperation in your eyes...

And then the tnt hit the ground. 

The world exploded into fire, ripping away his words: 

“I love you too.” 

[yourflxnnelcure]

Hello!! Can i ask for some rime angst? If you dont write rime then felix Literally any type of angst i dont mind 😎

RIME ANGST‼️ RIME ANGST‼️ RIME ANGST‼️

[tw: mentions of ,, murder and death ]

Rime pushed the heels of his palms to his eyes, enjoying the dull press that prevented the tears from escaping. God, how could he have been so fucking stupid? He was worthless. A throwaway side character in Felix’s life—in your life. He had come back expecting that he was the only thing to change, that Felix would be waiting with open arms when he returned, would be there to pepper his face in kisses and tell him that he still loved him; that he’d waited for him.

Seeing Felix’s lips pressed against yours instead tore him apart inside. It felt like he was dying all over again. That sharp ache, the way his hands fumbled to grab at the crumbling cliff that represented the small piece of hope left inside of him. It was as if you had ground your heel into his fingers, smiling wickedly while he fell into the nothingness that was the unknown.

He had thought maybe if you were out of the picture that Felix would want him again, but even in death you were all Felix thought about. What Rime would give to have Felix want him in his every form, to want him even when his skin paled and he breathed short, dying breaths in his arms, to want him when he was nothing but a lifeless corpse. If Felix were to die, Rime would still hold him, would still love him—pale skin and all.

“…Rime?” Of fucking course, you had come to check on him. Because you were just so good and perfect. So fucking perfect.

His head snapped up, eyes dilated and wild. He sniffled, eyebrows furrowing, not bothering to wipe the tears now freely falling down his freckled cheeks. “What, Y/N? I’m not in the mood to hear your grating voice right now.”

You flinched at his tone, picking at the skin around your nails, swallowing before speaking your next words. “I just wanted to see if you were okay…You ran off pretty quickly after the meeting. Felix told me you were fine, but well—I’ve seen enough rom coms to recognize that look.”

Rom com? What the hell were you saying? Even more of a reason that you weren’t right for Felix, your words were always weird and jumbled. He stood up from his place against the wall, stalking towards you. You held your spot, looking up at him once he was close enough. He reached up, taking your face between his hand, tilting it this way and that with a sharp eye.

“You really aren’t much. What does he see in you?” His words were quiet, almost as if he was simply thinking out loud. Your gaze flickered to his hand, then back to his face, scrunched up in anger.

“Is that what this is about? Me and Felix? You told him you were fine with it.” He scoffed, dropping your face harshly.

“Well obviously I fucking lied, Y/N. He’s clearly not with you for your brains.” He turned away from you, hands itching to hit something. “You took him from me. I had no one else—no one. Just one good thing in my life to return to, and here you are batting your eyes and taking my one source of comfort. You’re so god damn selfish.”

Your cheeks flushed in anger, how dare he blame you? It wasn’t like you knew he existed up until a bit ago, it wasn’t your fault that Felix loved you. And you weren’t going to let Rime’s insecurities make you feel bad for caring for the necromancer.

“You don’t get to do that. You’re allowed to be upset, but you don’t get to take it out on me. I love Felix, and if you really loved him, wouldn’t you just—oh I don’t know—want him to be happy? Even if it’s-” He turned back to you, eyes narrowing. “-not with you.”

The silence echoed around you, thick and suffocating. He wanted to kill you. Wanted to rip you limb from limb, wanted to squeeze your throat until your eyes popped, wanted to make you feel the equivalent of the pain he was going through. He wanted you to suffer. But you were right. That wouldn’t make Felix happy…and that’s all he’d really wanted.

His shoulders hunched and his cries didn’t sound angry anymore, just empty and broken. He looked down at the ground, eyes scrunched up, he was sure he looked pathetic—all snot and shaking limbs.

You looked him over, unsure how to help. How did you tell someone it was okay the love of their life didn’t love them back? You couldn’t.

“Can I…can I hug you?” You were quiet, careful to not startle him into fleeing. He hiccuped, nodding after a moment. You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his waist, reaching up to pull his head down to the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.

His tears soaked through the fabric of your shirt, loud ugly sobs encasing the both of you. His hands buried themselves into the fabric, balling up into fists. He hated you so much. Hated your stupid face and stupid smile. Hated how you always smelled of vanilla. Hated that—that he couldn’t ever hate you. Not really. Hated that you were everything he wanted to be. Hated that he would always hate himself for leaving felix alone, hated himself for losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

[ppersonna]

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float?  - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic.  this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot.  i think it flows better that way!  i hope you enjoy this.  this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on.  this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions.  while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed.  please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.  18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong.  Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware.  The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day?  He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years.  He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved.  Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs.  He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.  

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other.  Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.  

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed.  Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released?  Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better?  Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built.  He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.  

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.  

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him.  Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.  

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.  

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here.  I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all.  “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.”  She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely.  Words wouldn’t fix the wounds.  She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed.  The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced.  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.”  Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured.  Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds.  And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money?  He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved.  He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived.  It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet.  Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes.  It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat.  “Happy for you.  I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words.  Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously.  “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much.  I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed.  Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar.  You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him.  I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.  

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs.  He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack.  Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone.  He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered.  “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly.  You stole a look back at him, at his words.  

“Yoongi, you need to see someone.  You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay.  I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed.  He was thin, so sickly thin.  While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks.  His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.”  All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed.  Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets.  Yoongi’s body was trembling.  He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan.  He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.  

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.  

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.”  There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized.  The kiss was slow, gentle.  You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own.  Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.  The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans.  This wasn’t passionate or steamy.  It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.  

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.  He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.  

He didn’t want to fuck you.  He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him.  He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.  

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging.  Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent.  You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely.  You missed him.  You loved him.  You hated him. You never felt more complete.  The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow.  The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off.  His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point.  Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again.  He felt alive.  

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain.  He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close.  Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him.  Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man.  Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features.  Fuck.  

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him.  He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.  

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness.  Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals.  There was crying.  There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning.  He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time.  Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie.  He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend.  He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him.  Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.  

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T.  He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction.  He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in.  He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother.  He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers.  She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy.  You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension.  He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones.  Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud.  “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.  

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped.  “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him.  You were proud.  Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay.  It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation.  He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had.  He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his.  He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.  

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances.  This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative.  Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself.  Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you.  Yoongi loved himself, as he was.  Broken and healing.  Addicted and sober.  Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety.  Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you.  He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain.  Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried.  Jesus, he cried so much.  He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.  

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks.  The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy.  He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.  

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.  

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts.  You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.  Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it.  Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had. 

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no?  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees.  Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good.  You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering.  You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face.  No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago.  No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.  

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.  

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most.  The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.  

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display.  He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most.  Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body.   His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have.  I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess.  So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue.  He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”  

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly.  Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.  

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over.  It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself.  You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.  

You were his, again.  He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love.  All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby.  You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself.  Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.”  He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love.  Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”  

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together.  Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun.  Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed.  You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed.  You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly.  Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7.  He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.  

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything.  Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes.  Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation.  Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful.  Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.  

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself.  Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief.  Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.  

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside.  Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.  

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[wdwmarveldisney]

She’s gone

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: Peter and reader are dating when she finds out she has hodgkin lymphoma and makes a few videos for Peter.

Masterlist

A/N: I don’t know why I wrote this but I did. I was also emotional when doing so, so that’s probably why it turned into angst. This idea has probably been done before but eh.

Tw: Talks about Hodgkin Lymphoma (a type of cancer) and death of a character.

(Gif isn’t mine)

The camera was unfocused, the bright light that shone in the background making her a blurry silhouette. Slowly everything became clear, the girl in the driver's seat tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and staring ahead. From what was passing by the window, the people seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, passing the nothingness as they went. The last few seconds of a song faded out and another began, the girl immediately smiling to herself and reaching it over to turn it up and scream the lyrics. For You by Why Don't We was a great song but not exactly the best with her out of tune screams of the words. "HEY! SHE SAID 'I REALLY MISS THE OLD YOU'! THEN FOUND SOMEONE BETTER!" A laugh had escaped the lips of whoever filming, camera shaking as the girl finally turned to face them. "Peter, put it away! I swear to fucking god!" She reached over, the car seeming swerving every so slightly making Peter laugh at her panicked expression. "Stop being such a dick! Stop recording!"

"No, it was adorable," Finally Peter spoke before the camera flipped and moved so both of them could be seen. His eyes were practically glowing in the light, his brown hair reflecting in such a way the ends looked golden. He pouted slightly at her when she held up her middle finger to him. "Fuck you Parker," her little annoyed mutter made him smile as he faced her, intertwining their fingers and resting them on the compartment in between. "You do," the girl's jaw literally dropped as she glanced between him and the road, stuttering out responses that were really just noises strung together to make up nothing translatable. Peter's laugh echoed once more but this time his grin was captured in the shot too. It was wide and as bright as the light that filled up the car with this vintage kind of vibe. Finally, his laughter subsided, his eyes going to her and then the camera. "Anyways, I'm recording because I think it's cool to document moments like this. So future us and anybody else watching this video, me and my wonderful girlfriend here," she pulled a stupid face to the camera, tongue sticking out and nose scrunching up, before looking back to the road, "Are on a road trip. We just visited her extended family and are on our way back to her apartment where her mum is waiting and the roads are basically empty,"

"And Peter almost killed my grandma!" This time his jaw dropped, a blush making its way to his cheeks as he shook his head repeatedly. "I didn't, I swear. All that happened was that I gave her a hug and with my super strength, it hurt her like a tad," she shook her head this time, looking to the camera as she spoke, "She has bruises," Peter had a guilty and sorry expression on his face that made her laugh as she continued, "And yet, he still got more birthday cake then me. On my birthday!" They both laughed this time, the camera zooming in on her perfect grin before the video ended.

~

This time, the camera was on Peter who sat leaning against the headboard of a bed on his phone, no doubt scrolling through some form of social media. The camera was moved so it became propped up against something and once again the same girl was in the shot, sitting next to Peter whilst glancing between his screen and his concentrated look. She moved to rest her head in his lap, the boy moving the phone to see her cheeky smile. He grinned back, turning his phone off and immediately playing with a strand of her hair. "Hi," she mumbled and it seemed to make his grin go wider as he leaned down and pecked her lips, "Hey," the girl sat up and reached over to the camera to stop the video, Peter's arm going round her waist as she did so.

~

It was the same place as before where the camera was propped up except this time it looked like a sunset or sunrise, Peter sleeping whilst his girlfriend filmed herself. "Hey Pete. Okay so, I want to just quickly point out how fucking adorable you are for starters," her hushed tone was a clear sign that she didn't want to wake him up but the over the top pointing could of easily hit him in the face. "But what I really wanted to do is say I love you. I've got a secret from you but by the time you see this, you'll know and so this is just me, telling you again, I guess. I know I'll tell you soon because I can't lie to you," tears had welled up in her eyes, a small sniffle being heard as she faced the sleeping Peter, "Oh god. I don't want to leave. You deserve so much better than this. Ok," she took one deep breath, calming herself as she looked to the camera again, new tears already flooding down her face like an overfilled river. "Um, I recently found out that I, er, I have," there was a pause, the next bit being too hard to say, "I have hodgkin lymphoma. It's a, um, a type of cancer," she took a shaky breath, her focus on her fingers that had reached across to a sleeping Peter's hand and began to fiddle with his, "And I'm having treatment but, it's bad," Peter began to stir and she had been quick to wipe at her face and shut off the camera, cutting off the her actually telling him.

~

Peter was shown having a slushy, holding hands of the person holding the camera. He smiled brightly, face scrunching up, no doubt thinking it was another picture and not a video. "Ok, we are going into that store over there and you are picking out clothes for me and some for you and I'll pay for all of it," the girl from behind the camera spoke and Peter's face immediately dropped as he finished his slushy and chucked into a bin not too far away, "You will not pay," the camera flipped round to face her, her chapped lips twisted into a teasing smile, "And they say chivalry is dead," she was suddenly standing up, half of Peter's face visible in the shot before he placed a peck to her cheek and hugging her, the girl simply continuing to film over his shoulder. "I love you," his calm whisper into her hair was muffled but she could still hear it, responding in a small voice, "I love you too,"

When they got into the shop, he disappeared with a small "Bye," and his girlfriend moved to the side, sitting down in the shoe area and holding the camera up. "So a public place isn't the best area to do this but I wanted to have happy moment before each of these because that's what we are. And this is the first video of a few. I love you and I know you better than anyone else. Maybe not May, but still. The point is, I know when I'm gone you're going somehow flip the blame onto you. You've already started doing it since I told you and I hate it. This isn't your fault and it isn't mine. These things can happen and I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that it's happening to you. Because I know and have excepted that I'm going to the unknown but you, you have to live with this and you are so strong. You been through so much and you're still the best fucking person I know and I can't believe that had the privilege to know you let alone love you. You are everything that is good in the world rolled into this little package of adorableness and no matter how many punches you take, you always get up and laugh with people and make jokes and be the best human being to ever exist. So this first video is me telling you, don't blame yourself and move on. Because you deserve more than anybody can give you and I want you to be happy for the rest of your life," she was full on sobbing, looking extremely weird to passers by. "I need to go so then you don't know I did this because I cried my fucking eyes out," and once again the video stopped.

~

A loud bang followed by a frustrated scream was the first thing that filled the speakers. Peter had the camera on him, staring off at something out of shot with this dopey grin on his face. "You okay there?" He asked cautiously, hand running through his curls. Suddenly his grin was wider, rushed footsteps in the background, and he stumbled as if just pushed or hit by something. The camera lowered to show his girlfriend hugging him. "School fucking sucks," She looked at the phone, pouting slightly as she snatched it out of his hands. "That's mine," he laughed, hugging her from behind as she aimed the camera towards them, "Yeah I stole it. I was texting Ned on there 'cause mine's out of battery," the girl gave a small nod, moving her head to snuggled closer to his neck as he pecked her cheek.

Another bang was heard from elsewhere and Peter sighed, glancing behind him. "That's May. I've gotta go help her," one quick kiss to her forehead and he was gone and her smile slowly faded. "This isn't exactly how I planned to do this one but I'm gonna go with it. Hi again, this is the second one and I want to start again with I love you. I want you to do something for me. I know I live with my mum and I've rarely met the Avengers but I also know you deflect pain. Most of the time it's to helping people but when it's all too much, you get angry and you yell at people at random points 'cause you're bottling it up and I know that it's just going to be those heroes who get it. So I want you to, every time you want to scream and shout and blame someone for some small meaningless thing, I want you to tell them how you're feeling. I want you to talk about everything because as much as I love you, your dumb as fuck to not see how many people care for you and are willing to hear you out. I don't care if you don't want to burden anyone, okay? 'Cause you're not. They are there for you so be a man and talk about your feelings. I'm sure they'd prefer helping you than being at by you, okay? You're probably going to get back soon so I should go but, um, there's only one more to go and I love you,"  The camera shut off, her wobbly smile and tear stained cheeks being the last things to be seen.

~

The camera zoomed in on the intertwined fingers before going to the ridiculous amount of snacks and finally to the movie playing on the screen. Then it faced the side where Peter was shoving a hand full of popcorn into his mouth and trying not to choke when he saw the camera on him. He had a buzz-cut now, no doubt recently shaving his hair off. "It's movie night! Put it away!" The camera flipped to show his lovely girlfriend who now had no hair. And yet, she was still smiling and laughing despite things not exactly being okay. She then turned to get them both in the shot, a massive grin on her lips. "Look what this amazing human being did for me! How am I so lucky?" Peter snatched the phone, turning the video off. 

~

There was a lot of shouting in the background, laughter mixed in. the camera faced the cream ceiling, pieces of hair visible every now and then."You can't Peter! It's bad luck! Get out!" His laughter became muffled after the slam of a door and the camera finally showed the girl, no different to the time before except maybe slightly paler and she had a little bit of makeup on. She smiled brightly to the camera and moving over to some sort of desk to prop her phone up. "Ok, so no happy moment before this one because if you can't tell by the dress I'm wearing or the me just kicking you out my room, it's the non official wedding," Her hands went to the waistband of her white dress that ended at her knees and looked like something you'd wear to a prom. "You're a terrible husband if you don't remember that and I want a divorce," She let a breathy laugh leave her lips, placing her hands on her head. "In case you actually don't remember or there's someone else watching this, MJ did the ceremony, Ned walked me down the aisle and was best man and Harry was the maid of honour but he refused to wear the pink dress I got him because it didn't work with his eyes so he's got that blue dress that he's wearing. Right, this is the third and last one. I can't believe you set this up. I told you that I was so upset that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life with you and wouldn't get to have a wedding with you and you set this up because legally we can't get married so we're getting fake married. My mum and May are literally the only guests and they are getting flowers so I'm alone right now in my room until they get back and fuss over me," 

She sat down in the swivel chair, smile still present on her face. "Alright, this one is pretty much what I've been saying the last two videos except I'm actually saying it this time. I want you to look after yourself, okay? I don't want you doing anything stupid when I'm gone like getting yourself hurt overworking as Spiderman. Take a break, there are other heroes out there who are more than willing to help you if you can't do it. Move on, please. I know that it's going to be hard but I'm always going to be a part of your life, whether I'm there or not and you just have to accept that. Also, I know this probably won't help with the move on but can you check in with my mum every now and then. She's trying to act all strong but she's just like you and she's losing a daughter so just, keep her happy, for me? Please. Just be good to yourself  and move on. Ok this is the last one and I'm about to talk to my mum about sending you these when I'm gone so, I love you," And the camera stopped, catching the girl's broken expression rather than bright beautiful smile.

~

There was cheering, the video focus on Peter and his girlfriend kissing, whilst the few people around them clapped and cheered for the 'married' couple. Peter was lightly brushing away tears from her face when they pulled away, her doing the same to him. He suddenly smiled wide and picked her up bridal style, kissing her once more. "Ok Parker, you can stop kissing my little girl now!" Her mother shouted, Peter smiling sheepishly towards her but was soon brought into another kiss. When they pulled away, she stuck her tongue out to her mum before turning to Peter and pointing down the makeshift aisle. 

~

The lights were dim but the video was still clear. It was the two dancing, swaying to the slow song as Peter rested his chin on the top of her head. She was clearly crying as was Peter, the two looking like they were holding on for dear life. Sweet whispered 'I love you's were shared and then the video stopped.

~ 

Peter wiped at his eyes harshly. It was the third time watching them since... And he still sobbed his eyes dry. I mean, of course he did, it was his first love. He hadn't even told the Avengers, whenever they asked if he was going to bring her to another party or if they'd get to meet her again, he'd just walk out. Go try not to break down somewhere where no one could see him. But he felt okay watching this on the big screen in the living room of the compound because no one was home or at least that was what he thought. And to begin with, they weren't. Actually it was the time he took to set up linking his phone to the TV that they all walked in quietly. That they all saw everything on those videos. That they finally understood why he was holding back from missions or patrolling every night. Why he wasn't free for dinner every Wednesday because 'he and May had dinner with someone important'. Why he wasn't spending his entire day talking about you anymore. They had thought it had been a break up, like a really bad one but it wasn't. So Peter sat sobbing on the couch, the superheroes crying behind him, yet to make their presence known. Even Natasha and Bucky were crying.

"Hey kid," Tony finally managed to say, Peter jumping up and spinning round to see them all there. "Um, how long have you been... there?"Just from their faces he knew, trying to cover up the fact he'd been crying but Tony immediately held his hands out as if it would stop him. "Wanna talk about it?" He looked like he was going to say no but then his eyes met Tony's and he had launched himself at the man. "She's gone," He cried into the man's shoulder, holding on like he was a lifeline. 

"Y/N's gone,"

[daisylore-au]

Honesty is the best policy! Talk to Q

10 votes to talk and 5 votes to leave him alone ,, looks like they’re talking >:)

tw: torture, anger, emotional distress, fighting / arguing (sort of?), angst

“Q?”

There’s a different tone to Sapnap’s voice when he sits down beside him: flinching from it, ashamed to have been caught like this, Quackity’s wings close around him more than ever, and with a choked noise, he tries to compose himself. “Hi,” he manages, voice wrecked, “this is— um, this is awkward. I didn’t— I didn’t mean for you to catch me like this. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sapnap replies, and, very cautiously, threads a hand through the visible strands of hair peeking over the top of his wings. “I didn’t want you being upset alone. Do you… wanna talk about it?”

There’s that different tone of voice again. Quackity stiffens. Sapnap definitely knows something big is coming. “I don’t—” He begins, only to cut himself off sharply when his words tremble. “I should. I should talk about it, I need to— I wanna tell you before anyone else does. Or before you find out.”

Sapnap’s fingers still in his hair. “Only talk if you wanna,” he says, quietly, “can you pull your wings down? I wanna see your pretty face.”

Normally, the compliment would be enough to draw a string of teasing from him, as well as a flush. But Quackity only shifts his wings listlessly, revealing his tearstained face and red eyes. Sapnap’s face melts when he sees him, cupping his hands in his. Quackity could cry at the physical affection.

“I can’t even ask you not to be mad.” He sniffs, looking away in shame. “I can’t even— ‘Cause you will be, you’re going to be so fucking mad at me, Sapnap, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry—”

“Hey, hey.” Shushes Sapnap, eyes creasing in concern. “You’re gonna send yourself into a panic attack, alright? Relax. It’s okay. Okay?”

It’s not. But Sapnap will realise this soon enough. Taking a sharp, desperate breath, Quackity tightens his hands in Sapnap’s, meeting his eyes for a fleeting desperate second. “It’s— It’s about Dream.”

The affect this has on Sapnap is instantaneous. Something shifts in his posture, and Sapnap shuffles a little closer on the bench, nerves passing over his face. “Is it about… You visiting him?” He probes, tentatively. “In prison, I mean?”

Quackity’s head jerks up. “You know?”

“I know you visited.” Sapnap glances around, furrowing his brow. “Chat told me. That’s all I know though, basically. …I figure they were lying about the whole Book Club thing, though.”

“Book Club…” Quackity cringes. That’s a cruel way to taunt him about what he’d actually done. “Um… yeah. Yeah, that was— sort of a lie. I-I mean, I did visit him— I did visit him for a book. Remember— Remember how he brought Tommy back to life?”

Sapnap frowns, curiously. “Yeah. With the… Oh. You wanted the Revive Book?”

It’s getting hard to breathe. Has the air always been this thin? Has his chest always been this tight? “That’s why I started visiting him,” he agrees, voice trembling, “Um— yeah. Yeah, I wanted the book. Badly. I… I really wanted that book, Sapnap.”

And something clicks behind his partner’s eyes, understanding dawning sharply and with no small amount of horror. “…Someone in Chat said it was like a life or death situation,” he replies, voice almost inaudible, and Quackity flinches at the sound, “they weren’t lying. Were they.”

And it all comes pouring out, with Quackity getting increasingly more distressed as he speaks. He talks of the early prison days, where he’d get his job done and leave and that was it — he talks of the way Dream had held against him, taunting him, defying him, attempting to fight his every move. He talks of the later days — how Dream had lost his fight, how the sessions would last longer and longer each time, sometimes spanning hours and hours, of how he was beginning to enjoy it. And then, through tears, Quackity speaks about Dream giving him the book.

The scene is so clear in his mind. Dream, lying still barely conscious on the floor. Scrawling the words down painstakingly, struggling with every letter. Quackity stooping to pick up the book, a soft finally leaving his lips — a condescending good fuckin’ dog, Dream following not long after. He talks about rushing back to Las Nevadas to translate it. He talks about heading back the next day to torture Dream because some of it was too hard to translate. He talks about heading back the day after that to torture Dream because—

“—I liked it.” The words rip themselves from his throat, weak and horrified. “I liked hurting him, I liked— I liked the power, I liked how it made me feel. And at the time I didn’t regret it one bit. And then— Then, when he escaped, I was so, so fuckin’ scared he would tell people, so I ordered the nuke strike, and…”

His voice trails into nothingness. All of a sudden, his words fail him, leave him run dry. It’s impossible to look at Sapnap’s face, nevermind meet his eyes, so Quackity has no idea what he’s thinking or what his face is doing. It’s too terrifying to think about. There’s so many more things he wants to say, so many apologies, excuses — but they all fail him when he needs them most.

Sapnap doesn’t speak. He’d pulled their hands apart at some point during the rant, and they sit clenched in his lap, spine rigid, muscles tense, but other than that, he’s completely motionless, wordless.

Eventually, Quackity can’t take it. “Say something. Please.”

“…I’m gonna pack my inventory,” Sapnap says, very slowly, “and I’m going for the day. I don’t trust myself around you right now.”

As he gets up, Quackity feels like he’s tiny, eyes widening with the terror of being left with his own thoughts. “You’re— You’re leaving?”

“You want me to stay? After that?”

“I,” Quackity says weakly, but only stammers, “I want— I didn’t want this to change— us. I didn’t want—”

“You should have thought about that before you tortured my brother.” When Sapnap spins around, his eyes are glowing — it’s been a while since he’d lost control of his fire abilities, and it’s frightening to see him so close to doing so now. “God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it, Quackity.”

Quackity. Not Q. Quackity feels like he’s falling apart. “Will you— You’re coming back?”

“If this was permanent, I’d have made you leave instead,” Sapnap snaps, and buries his head in his hands for a moment. When he looks back up, the flames are gone, and in their place is sorrow. “I need space. Jesus Christ. Just— Go inside, Q. I need time to process this or whatever— and so do you. Just go inside, calm yourself down— Fuck. Dream, fuck.”

Quackity doesn’t respond to him. He doesn’t cry out for him to come back or yell after him or try to apologise — he doesn’t even say anything when Sapnap storms to the stable and rides past him on his horse Blaze, going at a reckless speed. Instead, he sinks back onto the bench and stares ahead, blankly. He doesn’t think he’d have the ability to get to his feet if he’d tried.

It could have gone worse, his mind tells him softly, but all he can focus on is the horror in Sapnap’s eyes, and the absence of another hand in his. Twisting the wedding band round on his finger, Quackity slumps back, and wonders if Sapnap will ever forgive him.

[i-like-writing-stuff]

empty [five hargreeves x reader]

request: I loved the “four months” Five fic oh my 💕💕but, What about a Fic where Five finds reader dead?? Like just imagine the pain, sorrow and anger Five would feel to find reader, the one person who stuck with him in Comission, that dealt with his grumpyness, who actually liked him and viceversa and risked it all for him and his family, was killed by Commission :”) Obviously you don’t have to do it if you don’t have to, don’t feel pressure!!

a/n: first of all, thank you!! and i tried my best to follow your request, but as i said in my previous x reader, i really suck at angst??? i tried to keep it as sad as i could and i hope it turned out at least decent?? i feel like i kinda shifted from the request idk lemme know your opinion on it! xoxo

btw, this is not set in the canon timeline, since i could not find the right time for this to take place in. it is around season 1, before they find out vanya has powers, but let’s just take as an AU in which they had more than 10 days to save the world idk

as always, here’s a gif off google lol, but this time iss a sad five:(

summary: five tries to deal with his feelings as he loses his significant other at the hands of the commission

Empty.

A big pit of emptiness had made itself felt inside of Five, as he was slowly letting the reality sink in. 

He was never going to see you again, he was never going to talk to you again, he was never going to touch you again. He was never going to see your smile again, he was never going to hear the sound of your laughter again, or feel you in his arms whenever you let excitement take over you and engulf him into a hug- he may not have been a very touchy person, but whenever you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, Five felt happy.

And he knew, right now- he knew well he’d never be that happy again.

It was a fucking nightmare to him, honestly. That’s what he’d say if you were to ask him; his past few days had been horrible. Not only he returned to his family ten days before an apocalypse that in the past killed them, and he had no idea how to stop it, but now he lost the person he was so madly in love with.

At first, he spent a decent amount of time in denial, not willing to accept the fact, but it slowly started feeling real to him. He was slowly accepting it, and as he did so, he was feeling inside how most of his emotions were slowly draining out of him.

Until he was left empty.

And he did prefer it this way, rather than the mixture of feelings that overwhelmed him in the beginning. He was angry, he was pissed of, but he was also sad, miserable. He was furious with the Commission, but he was more furious with himself for not being able to protect you and have your back, like you had his.

Ever since you and Five met years ago in the organization, you had taken a liking to the man. You spent your entire life focusing on your job and forgot to have a life of your own, but once you met Five Hargreeves, it all changed. 

The Handler assigned you one mission to go together on, but ever since then, the two of you realized how well you worked together and how much more efficiently the work was getting done, rather than working by yourselves.

It was only a matter of time until you two decided to partner up, so. You had been through a lot of events and mishaps together, you got into fights and shared good laughs, you even fell in love with each other... 

You had been through so, so much, that it was slowly killing Five as he remembered the good times. 

“Five?” Allison softly knocked on the boy’s door, “The others figured it was time.”

The sudden presence of his sister startled him a bit, but he softened back. He knew it wasn’t only him that suffered- his brothers and sisters were in grief as well. When Five made the big jump from 1963 to 2019, he took you with him to save the world from the impending apocalypse, as well as his siblings that he loved, deep down.

They took an instant liking to you, even if they didn’t have much time to get very close to you. At first, though, they seemed baffled with the fact that you had so much patience with Five. You had been dealing with his grumpy butt, and you weren’t even his wife? How could one person be so calm when she spends so much time with one sarcastic asshole who doesn’t really owe her anything?

“Right.” Five sighed, getting up from his bed with lazy movements, “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Allison nodded, letting him change back into his usual clothes, making her way back to the rest of the family. 

Five put on his uniform, staring into nothingness. He felt exhausted, like he had lost the game of life. If he hadn’t loved his siblings so much that he couldn’t stand losing them as well (again), he probably wouldn’t have even bothered to save the world anymore. 

Even in his numb state of mind, he still hated himself for not being able to save you. His self-inflicted hatred was so strong, he couldn’t even sleep at night, as your lifeless body is the only thing he could see when he closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Five’s voice was low, as a lump had formed in his throat once he took in the scene before him.

He was waiting- hoping, for an answer, but, oh God- he knew he was not going to receive one. 

The room was an entire mess; there were clear signs of struggle. The cushions on the sofa were scattered around the living room, many expensive statues and vases left around as decor on tables were broken, as well as pots of flowers. All the drinks on the shelves behind the bar were broken to bits, alcohol was spilled on the floor.

As well as blood. 

And many bullet shells.

Five ran towards the bar, rounding it. When his eyes fell on the floor, his heart dropped out of his chest.

You were laying on a side, with your hair all across your face in a pool of your own blood. Five couldn’t care less about the broken glass surrounding you, as he fell to his knees, pulling your body into his arms;

“Y/N!” He yelled, feeling his vision blurry, as he took in your state.

His clothes had already been stained with blood so many times, but never in his life did he think that he’d dirty himself with yours.

Your eyes were almost closed, but he knew right ther eon the spot he’d never be able to forget the emptiness inside them. The spark you had whenever you smiled, or even looked at him had disappeared. They were dull and out of any emotion.

Your skin was pale and cold, as Five’s hot tears fell on you. A mixture of emotions was filling his body, unsure of what to make of the scene before him. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, as he softly stroked your hair, unable to do anything. 

He had seen his fair share of corpses- he knew how to recognize one, as much as he didn’t want to.

Cha-Cha had returned to the Hargreeves house that day, once again. After a long dispute with her partner who wanted out, she decided to start the mission the Commission had sent in; eliminate Y/N Y/L/N, since you had a big role in stopping the apocalypse.

You were all by yourself at the house, as you had been sore after a fight you had the previous night with the Handler, so you took the day off. The Hargreeves siblings left in their own business, and you figured you’d be able to enjoy the big house to yourself for the day, since Pogo and Grace had done the same.

A few hours had barely passed, when Cha-Cha had barged in with two hand guns, all serious. When you first started fighting, you were grateful for returning to your younger body, since you were able to put up a good fight even in your sore state... but it all went sideways when the woman managed to shoot you in the leg after throwing you over the glass coffee table.

You were already out of stamina, so it didn’t take long for her to pull you up by the shirt and throw you over the bar, right into the shelves full of expensive liquor.

Cha-Cha knew that did it, so she left before any of the siblings could return and catch her. As for you? Well, as it had turned out in the autopsy performed by Grace, you had suffered a horrible blow to the head which took you out when you were thrown over the bar. 

Not long after Five, the rest of the family shortly came in, but none of them could ever be prepared for that scene- seeing all the chaos in the living room, the bullets, the broken glass, the blood... their heartbroken brother who was clutching onto the lifeless body of the woman he loved, sobbing heavily.

“Wh... What happened in here...?” Klaus wondered, as tears were already dwelling down his eyes.

“Is she...?” Ben asked, covering his mouth in shock- even if he had never spoken to you since he was unable to, he liked sitting in the back and watching you deal with his brother. He was really happy he had someone that loved him that much, even if you were not willing to admit it yet to his face.

“Oh my God...” Vanya breathed out, feeling her bottom lip tremble, as Allison was too shocked to even say a word, starting to cry heavily into Luther’s chest.

“Whoever did this... is going to pay.” Diego declared, clenching his teeth.

The following days had been hard to digest for any of them, especially for Five. He thought he was too clever to ever want revenge on someone, but your death had Commission written all over it. He knew very well that Cha-Cha and maybe Hazel had struck again- after all, they barged into your home one time before in the search for him, so why not do it again? After all, last time, from what he’s heard, they dropped the chandelier in the hallway on Luther.

“I’m going after the Commission.” Five declared, as his family stood in silence after having scattered your ashes in the backyard you and him had first popped out in.

“No, you are not.” Luther said, as his siblings turned to him curiously, “We are going after the Commission.”

Diego placed a hand in comfort on Five’s shoulder, as the siblings nodded in agreement, ready to avenge the loss of their loved one.

“I’m quite flattered.” You sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at Five, trying your hardest not to cry because of what could have been between the two of you.

Ben shifted beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder, as he noticed the sadness in your tone, “I’m here for you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Ben.” You turned to him with a smile, as you tried to lighten up the mood, “At least Klaus has two guardian ghosts now.”

[deathandthedying]

Dry leaves fell on my face. I guess that was the issue with sleeping under a tree. Looking up at the tree, it was obvious why the leaves had fallen. Him, sitting in the dead branches.

”I didn't mean to wake you, sorry.”

I tried replying, but it was mostly just a grunt. A little yawn and a cough set me up again. "It's fine." Gravelly and awful sounding as always, it was audible, at least.

"You come here a lot, don't you?"

"I guess."

"Do you like it?"

"It's fine." I fumbled in my pocket for my glasses and shoved them on my face. Usually I wouldn't bother, but he complimented me on them last time we'd talked.

"It's fine, huh?" He pauses a moment. "Yeah. It's much prettier than the anti-void."

A chuckle escapes me before I know it. "You could say that again.."

"You don't have to stay in there, you know." Again, he pauses. He paused a lot. I don't know why. It's not like saying the wrong thing would make me try to kill him. You can't kill death. "You won't die if you leave."

"I know that."

"So..why do you spend so much time in there?"

".. Dunno. There's too much stuff out here, y'know?"

"..Mm." He leaned back in the tree, more leaves swirling to the ground as they're jostled off.

"..But it's quiet here, so it's not so bad."

"Yeah."

His voice was really nice. You'd expect death to have an awful, demon voice like mine. But his was calm. Soothing, almost. Like every word that came from his mouth makes you feel better.

I brush the leaves off me and stand.

"Oh, are you going..?"

"No, I just figured I'd sit up there with you. If that's okay."

"Go ahead. You get a better view of the stars this way."

A few moments later and I sat on the branch beside him, strings making sure I didn't fall.

"The stars reflect in your glasses, you know."

"Hm?"

"The stars. You can almost see them in your eyes."

"Oh. Uh.." I don't know if that was a compliment. It seemed like one, but I didn't have much to compare it against.

"...Sorry."

"It's.. okay?"

Another pause. This one didn't feel good.

"Hey, Error?"

"Mhm?"

".." He opens his mouth and looks at me, but doesn't say anything. One second, two seconds, three seconds, just looking. Like he was frozen while talking. "...Ah, nevermind."

"No, what was it?"

"I know you don't remember much, so it'd be useless to ask."

"I can try."

"...I don't know if I want you to."

That was ominous. Though I suppose when you're death, you don't have much of a choice but to be super ominous. "Oh."

More silence. Bad silence. This always happened. He'd come and talk to me, only for it to descend into nothingness. Not that I minded, he's nowhere near as annoying as Ink or Dream.

"How do you deal with people dying, Error?"

"What?"

"How are you supposed to deal-..with people dying?"

"Shouldn't you know that? You're Death -"

"Yeah. I just do the deed. Everyone I know is a god, we've been around forever. None of us really die."

"..Right. If none of you die then, why does it matter?" As soon as the words left me, they started yelling. That was the wrong thing to say. You're an idiot. You should die. Go back. You don't deserve anything but the antivoid.

"..Just curious, I guess."

It really didn't seem like that. Shut up. I'm thinking. Stop it. Go back.

He leans his head against the tree. "Thanks for talking to me. I know I don't show up at the most convenient times."

"Ah, it's fine. I like your voice, anyway." Oh god, oh Christ, I deserve a fate of torture in hell for saying that. And they definitely agreed with me for once.

But he laughs. Until it wasn't a laugh. "Ahaha- hah...thanks."

I could only really nod and grunt. This was so awful.

"Don't worry, I get a lot of compliments from pretty guys." He wasn't looking at me. Why wasn't he looking at me, I fucked up so badly.

*Pretty-?*

He laughs again. He was laughing at me. It was a bad laugh. Was it? I can't tell anymore, shut up!

"Ah crap, I..i got a leaf in my eye." He rubs his sockets with his hands. His voice was tense, he's pissed at me. He must be.

"Hahah- hah." Bad laughing. Bad laughing. Not happy laughing. He must be angry. "I'm sorry, Error. I didn't..mean to..take this out on you."

"Uh."

"... I'll see you around. Hah.."

And he's gone.

After several hours of freaking out about everything, I could sleep. If he'd never talk to me again, at least I could still nap.