#that neither of them want to be alone in the world or empty anymore--

[dent-de-leon]

Obsessed with the idea of Molly being terrified of Lucien, wanting nothing to do with him and insisting that that person is dead because he was scared that Lucien just naturally desired to be cruel and that was something he never ever wanted.

But then Lucien comes back and Molly realising that Lucien largely doesnt WANT to be cruel. But he's been so warped by pain and fear that he thinks that control and possession and manipulation is the only way to keep people from hurting you.

And Molly is like "Oh honey no.... let's get you some therapy."

Molly never wanted to be cruel, ever. But helping someone in pain learn to open up to gentleness and vulnerability? To show kindness? That scares him a lot less and it's what finally leads to their peace. To Kingsley.

Acknowledging and healing Lucien's pain and fear allowed them both to be better

yES!! Mollymauk is so haunted by the little glimpses he sees of Lucien's past, lives in constant fear of those terrifying moments when another life bleeds through. "Whoever it was came to that end, and I want nothing to do with that. Whatever it was, it doesn't feel good when I--when something creeps through, I don't like it. I don't want anything to do with it. I was happy! I liked the circus! The circus was great!"

He crawled his way out of an unmarked grave and woke all alone in the world, reaching for a red moon in the dark. He's always been aware just how fragile his life is, afraid that he'd be sent back to the grave, that his charmed little life at the circus could be torn away from him at any moment--as could his loved ones, like Lestera.

Mollymauk always seemed to believe his time was short, so he always tries to make the most of it. Which involved running away from the past--from anything that could shatter the tentative peace he tried so hard to keep. Whoever Lucien was, Molly knows just enough to instinctively fear him, to believe that all his loved ones would abandon him if they ever knew the truth. During the Zone of Truth, he confesses that, "A lot of this was in the hopes that maybe it would never happen; keep moving, keep quiet."

So I can't agree more--watching Mollymauk face his greatest fear, seeing him finally confront Lucien after all this time--and he's still kind and compassionate enough to try and help him? After everything he did? It's such a pleasant surprise, and just a testament to his character and bleeding heart. I don't think there's many people who'd be able to look at this dark mirror of themselves and have the capacity for love and forgiveness that Molly does.

But of course Mollymauk still wants to help him, still genuinely cares for him. It's, "That's not how we are, Lucien. We love broken things the most." And, "I know what the others think, but the truth is...How do I put this...The world is harsh and cruel, and I don't seem to be able to just walk on by. You see a wrong? You fix it." He saw how much Lucien was suffering, he saw just how painfully alike they are--that they were both "broken," shattered souls--and he couldn't just leave him. He couldn't. Mollymauk just can't bear to abandon someone, and it breaks my heart.

And I think a big part of Lucien's fall also stems from just how much self loathing and disgust he wallowed in, how he clings so desperately to the idea he has this "glint." That he was meant for bigger, better things, that he's somehow fated for so much more--that there's an escape from his painful, bloodstained past in Shadycreek. I think Beau really struck a nerve when she asked, "Do you think you're special, Lucien? I mean, someone who wakes up every day, and thinks they're different, blessed." Because god, he wants to be. He wants to be someone capable and powerful and worthy, craves it more than anything, even as he keeps running away.

He holds onto a stack of letters from his sister that he absolutely treasures, yet he doesn't dare answer any of them--too paralyzed with fear at what she'd think, terrified she'd see the person he'd become. He thinks he's not good enough to go back to her, has nothing at all to offer her. And I think that's part of why he bought into the Somnovem so quickly; he was desperate for a way out. A chance to be more. He needs to have this glint Cree mentioned, because then there's still hope. He can still be someone fortunate enough to take care of his sister, to get them away from Shadycreek forever. He can still be one of the heroes in the little plays he used to perform. He can still change his fate. And, most tempting of all, he can bring his family back.

And it's so sad that his self-depreciation and guilt started so young, that even as a child, he was tormented by all the atrocities his parents forced him to be complicit in. Until Lucien couldn't bear what they'd turned him into anymore, and he makes sure they can't hurt anyone else ever again. "After a while I couldn't let it go on, couldn't look at myself or live with myself, so I burned the caravan with all three of them inside, took my sister, and that was that...No more little songs. No more farces."

Mollymauk is fascinating, because he's another facet of Lucien. He was born from the very same soul. So in one sense, I think Molly reconnecting with Lucien is so beautiful, because it really does feel like a kind of self love and acceptance. But in another way, I think they're almost like family too. It really struck me that Kingsley called Molly a "brother;" just the way that he said, "Everyone should have a brother." It's such a sweet sentiment, especially considering that Lucien had a brother--someone he lost so long ago.

A corpse left buried in the snow. An empty puppet. A hollow, ghastly reminder of the person he once knew. Lucien had a brother, and they were killed, their body desecrated by their own parents. He had a sister, who he was willing to sacrifice everything for, and it still wasn't enough. In the end, even she doesn't trust him anymore, and he's entirely alone. So then here's Molly, and he does the one thing that Aldreda and the rest of his family never did. He decides to stay with Lucien. To reach a hand to him when he needs it the most.

In many ways, Molly is the family that Lucien always wished for. Ironically? If they actually were siblings, I think Lucien would've been very protective of him. Even as things are, Lucien still starts to grow a bit fond of Mollymauk in spite of himself. Starts to slowly regret the life he'd taken from him, as loathe as he is to admit it. "Nothing about this has been easy, and our hard work is at an end. Our chats have been...edifying. Goodbye, Tealeaf. You won't survive where I'm going."

I do think the end of the novel really did reassure me about a lot of why I found C2 heartbreaking, because I like that Molly and Lucien both decided to come back together. That it was a choice they both made, and they both live on as Kingsley. It's Molly getting another chance and yet deciding to bring Lucien back with him, because Molly thinks he deserves it too. It's neither of them being alone. It's both of them returning to the Nein, hand in hand, and deciding to try again--

[m0chisenpai]

Could you consider doing a fwb reader who refuses to be with them because she thinks that they are so toxic (but they are pinning over her HARD because i like my men obsessive over me)

(also i said "they" because i didnt knew who to pick 😭 but this just screams lestat or armand)

The hunt

˚｡⋆ lestat de lioncourt x black!fem!reader x armand

in which neither lestat nor armand can keep their eyes off box one

You joined the theatre after watching your maker burn to a crisp. Truth be told you would have done him in yourself had they not stepped in. He was ancient and delirious, you were a pretty face plucked from the slums.Wrong place at the wrong time led you to several years of torture shackled to his side. You posed as his distant relative, some nights you were his niece, other's his heiress bastard.

And in return you lived a comfortable life of luxuries. It was bearable, you no longer had to scrape for food or warmth nor shelter. Yet none of that mattered did it?

Though you had to bear his unwarranted advances, his unwanted pet names, it all made your skin crawl. Sharing his bed was a rare occassion, but you made sure he was drunk on blood to manage those nights better. Anything to satiate his loneliness and perserve the little dignity you had left.

Tonight he said he needed to attend to his affairs, leaving you to explore the city. A rare treat that you savored in all of its glory. You made unnecessary purchases on his account. New gowns, shoes and fans, head pieces for the upcoming season and gatherings to come. You drained the dressmaker, a fop, and made arrangements with a singer of the opera for the next night.

When you arrived to your Paris manor to find it in shambles and the man burning amidst it all, all you could do was sigh and use his flames to light the cigarette while you watched him turned to ash. Perhaps you were dizzy from the two you consumed, but you felt like you were on a cloud. As though you were outside of your body watching him crymble to dust.

You hardly flinched when the carriage boy screamed for help, at least you asume it was for help he was speaking in french.

What were you to do now? His accounts were already settled in my name, but I liked this home. Now I'll have to replace my belongings, find new lodging, how burdensome.

"Your maker is no more fledgling," his presence startles you but you stand your ground against the elder now standing at your side. Honeyed eyes watching you concealed behind false glasses but he is amused by how you stand your ground. How you don't flinch as his children gorge themselves ont he carriage boy whose wails are quickly silenced.

"I can see," you tap the ashes into the flames. "I was not made aware more of us were in this world. He always as though we alone held the Gift." Arman's eyes train upon you, reading and looking through every memory. And he finds you are in fact right. Dragged into the manors chambers you are locked and groomed there until you cracked.

"Your maker like many wanted you in the dark, fledgling," his eyes soften as you nod. There is emptiness in your eyes, like you are here yet your mind is far away. "He violated the ancients laws, disrespected my coven and reaped the consequences of his choices. He was given multiple chances to make himself known and atone for his actions."

"Coven?" Now he has your attention. You step up to him careful if you were next on this vendetta. "He never told me about laws or covens. Just said to tell him if I saw any more of us in the shadows, he moved around a lot between his homes. I smelled them, but I was too bored to tell the pig."

He should have known. You shed not a single tear for your maker when his children descended upon the maddened vampire. All you could think of was no longer having to deal with him anymore. No longer were you forced to share his coffin, feel his disgusting hands. Armand felt your disgust, it churned his stomach of the images of your Maker.

He saw himself in your eyes. You and him were one in the same. Two broken souls forced into this life, yet you adapted well just as he. A hunger to learn more is clear in your thoughts. He holds his hand to you, "come. Join us. And I can guarantee you will not suffer the same fate."

You stare at his hand, discarding the cigarette next to you. "Will I truly?"

"Yes, come." There was a softness to his voice. You brought a nurturing side out to him he never knew was there. As he guided you back to the theatre, not once did his hand leave yours. You would spend the first night in his coffin, just in case he did try and kill you.

Armand presents you in front of the coven the following night. You found them off putting, but you would grow used to their presence. All eccentric and coy. From across the world and living many lifetimes. You would adapt just as you did when you were once human.

"Lestat De Lioncourt, one of our actors and founding members," you bow your head to him but he takes your hand in his pressing a kiss to your hand.

"Will this beauty be joining us on stage Armand?"

"No, she will observe with me for the time being until she finds her place and completes her intiation."

The blonde groans looking upon you with a twinkle in those blue eyes, "Ah maitre, it is sin to hide such a beautiful face." He flashes you a cheeky smile which you quickly brush aside, merely offering him a nonchalant tilt of your head. "You would do good to perform on the stage sweet one. The crowds will be in compete awe."

"And I hope you put that charm to use on stage Mr.Lioncourt" you retort stepping back beside Armand. "And you'd do well to keep your hands to yourself, surely your master taught you that?"

"You have a bite in you fledgling, don't lose it."

French boys. You can only shake your head turning on your heel.

They were all the same. Flowery words, thoughts of lust and poetry. Philosophy. But this blonde beauty, this one was different. No thoughts of heaven or hell, evil and good. No his thoughts intrigued you. A hedonistic vampire, he was different from the prudish man you grew beneath.

Perhaps this French boy would appease your appetites.

The first year you find yourself being a production assistant of some sort to Armand. You have your own quarters in the theatre. Filled with your gowns, jewels, your riches. You offer him input in changes, or adjusting scenery in his scripts when need be. Always sitting in box one of the performances, eyes watching yet your hand moves quickly at anything that is the slightest bit off.

He won't admit it out loud but he felt you were the fledgling he was meant to make. Not your old maker.

His affections grew into something else. Was it romantic? No, vampires felt more than just human emotion. This was supernatural. Primal. As he sat in the box, he watched your gaze upon Lestat. You sat up straighter eyes wide with pride and excitement. One of the rare moments where your hand was still.

He wanted you to look at him like that.

"He's off script again," Armand clicks his tongue, he looks over to you. He's expectant that you will agree as you did any other night.

"Yes, but don't you think it sounds better this way. Less boring if you ask me. Let the sweet French boy have this night."

"It would had he done it during rehearsals." His eyes watch as your fiddle with the cuffs of your gown. He takes your hand into his own, now he has your eyes which look up at him.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I just wanted your eyes for a moment fledgling."

"Are you growing soft Armand?" You smirk up at him, sitting up and tilting your head as to suggest you were to kiss him which he anticipates.

"The next act is starting, maitre," you whisper situating yourself to watch the performance. His eyes open, looking now to the stage, where Lestat bows smirking up at the box as you stand to join the applause.

You pace back and forth in front of Lestat who reads from his script. The coven look as dead as their hearts, the poor diva couldn’t get his line. He had been slacking lately as death, and he needed to improve for the upcoming performance.

You wouldn’t admit it, but he played death well. He was as vicious as death. But you needed death to have romance to it. Death was as beautiful as he was fearsome. We all must face it, it steals, it seduces, but int he end Death never leaves epty handed. Hence, why you believe Lestat plays death well.

"Come now Lestat as though you are in love!" Armand exclaims. He reads the line again but it sounds more...harsh than loving. You can see it upon the woman who steps in as your victim for the night. Her lip is turned up similar to your own. Poor thing, you shake your head now standing to your feet to approach the stage.

"Lestat surely you bedded enough women to know how to speak sweet love. Speak as though you wish to lure her, to drink her lust and her blood." You look up at him, he looks down upon you and in one big swoop pulls you to the stage by your free arm.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea," he whispers it tenderly, his hand cups your cheek the other still holding the script in hand though his eyes are trained upon yours.

"My love as deep; the more I give to thee. The more I have, for both are infinite." He is closer now, head tilted as though he were to lay a passionate kiss upon your lips. "How was that, sweet one?"

"Better, now do it with your bride of death tonight." You whisper using your hands to push away from your chest. Walking past him into the wings hoping that he did not see the moment of vulnerability in your eyes.

Armand can't help but watch as you write at your desk, beside the new set of perfumes and fans he recently gifted you. Though you affectionately treasure the fountain pen he had your initials engraved upon. He watches your lips move slowly with the words on the pages. Your French has improved with his assistance. But you slip up, speaking in poor dialect as he calls it.

Poor dialect does not suit beautiful lips he tells you over and over. Therefore he takes it upon himself to spend the few moments before the sun rises reading with you.

He feels a presence all too familiar behind him and fights the snarl on his lips and he doesn't need to turn his head to know who now stands behind him.

"Shouldn't you be practicing your lines, puce."

"My apologies maitre," Lestat speaks in false humility bowing his head. "I wished to practice them with-"

"Unnecessary. I will be speaking with her regarding the performances and coven matters. Check with one of the children, surely another can play your bride well enough.”

“Ahh yes,” Lestat hums with that boyish grin. Taking a bold step to stand beside Armand, who continues to watch your hand move with quickness across one of his scripts.

They don’t know, but you listen. You hear their thoughts and voices from outside of your door. Desires to have you as their own. You know it. Felt it the moment both men entered your lives.

But no longer will you be held captive by another man’s desires. No, the fates of their hearts shall be in the palm of your hand this time. You have tasted freedom and felt what control has felt for once. Who were you to let it slip from your fingers now? You give them your eyes looking at them both now.

You smile, Lestat happily returns it. Armand merely bows his head to enter. He clearly has told Lestat something because he is gone in an instant.

For now, you’ll indulge them. Let them think they are winning. It’s fun when your food is unaware. That is what Armand tells you during one of your hunts. It makes the blood sweeter, and the hunt more invigorating.

Thus begins the hunt.

[sinstear]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— IN YOUR ARMS, WHERE IT’S SAFE.

been thinking a little too much about abby after santa barbara. a once confident, brutal yet adventurous and tactical woman who didn’t let anyone get in her way, to a reserved shell that flinched or panicked whenever something bad happened around her. how her only thought is to make sure lev is safe and protected from the world they’re running from. every night that she goes out to look for extra supplies has her paranoia heightened, making sure to look over her shoulder every step she takes, not wanting to take any chances.

those late nights that she goes without lev to find more food, extra supplies, leaving them back at the small shack they called home, alone, plays on her mind the entire time. worried and anxious if she made the best decision to go by herself, but the other part of her brain didn’t want her to stress so much, she had food and drink to find, to make sure neither of them got sick, to never have that fear or feeling of dying again. 

the place is empty. quite. once, that much quietness had abby on high alert, looking around for any sign of danger, but now? now she was rushing, pushing herself to just find what she came here for. she tries to ignore the way her brain already wants to leave, and keeps pushing herself forward. she promised lev she would be back with food, or at least something for them to eat, and she wasn’t about to break that promise because of her high paranoia. she’s not by herself anymore.

the store clearly had been ransacked hours before, but abby was used to doing patrols and going out for extra supplies, so she knows there is always something left on the shelves, in the drawers, or even tucked away hidden. wiping her forehead with her arm, abby slowly makes her way around the isles while trying to make as quiet of sounds as she possibly could. she didn’t really prepare herself like she would have done years ago, maybe that’s her own fault, but right now getting back to lev alive and well was the second thing on her mind. finding something to eat was the first. 

her stomach grumbled at the singular thought of eating something that wasn’t bread she found a few days ago and sighed softly at the sight of a couple tinned food cans on the shelf near one of the back exit doors. thankful that whoever was here, was in a rush to get what they could to not realize they had practically saved her night by leaving behind a little something that is good enough for lev to eat.

her feet carry her slowly, she’s tired, she’s been walking around for a good few hours to find a place, and now that she’s found one, she can feel the exhaustion in her body. the ache in her bones and muscles that haven’t gone away in months. one good nights rest is all she asks for, but will she ever get that? will there be a day where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder, and relax? even she doesn’t know.

by the time she gets to where she wants, abby doesn’t have enough time to react, she just cowers away into herself when another hand touches hers abruptly, which were reaching for the same canned food she spotted. those eyes go wide when she notices a woman looking at her, then the food and then back at abby with a small curve in her lips. “sorry, was in my own world then, did you want it?”

nothing seems to come out her mouth as she just stares. slightly scared, and the rest of her somewhat calm. she doesn’t know why, but she was.

“didn’t mean to scare you,” they whispered, offering their name which causes abby to relax enough that she can put her arms back down, stop protecting herself to respond with her name.

“abby.”

“s’pretty name. abby” you test out her name, another smile appearing on your face as you do. “nice to meet you,” you lift your hand out towards her and you feel your heart break when she flinches back away from you. “oh, no, i won’t hurt you,” you frowned, shaking your head sadly.

abby’s at a loss for words, really, she doesn’t know what to say or do while you look at her with such a soft look that makes her feel like she is going to explode from how gentle you were, and how slow you approached her. “i promise, if you need the food, it’s yours” you offered again, holding the canned food out for her.

“you got it first,” was the second thing that came out her mouth. looking at you, analyzing you silently.

“are you here alone?”

“i have lev at,” she paused, eyebrows furrowed in a tight frown. “at home. so i’m just trying to find something for them to eat”

“would you,” it was your turn to stumble over your words as she wiped her face again, huffing at herself softly. “want to stay with me? i have warm water, you could have a shower, it’s hard to find that lately, i can make you something to eat. i have a room you can sleep in, if you want. you don’t have to, i would just feel safer knowing you are safe” you rambled, waving your hands around.

the blonde is at a loss for words again, she’s met a few groups of people since that night, but none of them had ever offered to help her and lev. let alone offer to let them both stay in their house, and you could tell she was fighting with herself at the sudden stare she was giving you. more confused and terrified this time. “i can’t ask you to do that. we will be okay”

“you’re not asking me, m’offering you to stay with me. for however long you want. there’s no pressure, but company is always nice. i would really like company, especially when finding that company is really hard now”

“i- we would have to go back home, and get lev first, and make sure they are comfortable staying with you. i’m fine with it, but i’m all they have left. we are all each other have now”

abby’s heart thumps in her chest at your sudden bright smile, and nodded up at her. “s’okay, there’s no rush. as long as you are both comfortable with it. oh, your food!” you laughed, looking away as your face heated up. “please take it, you had it first”

“you had it first, actually.” abby laughed softly.

the sound had your heart thumping loudly in your chest this time.

taking the tins from your hands carefully, abby finds herself blushing as your fingers graze hers before pulling away just as quickly with a clear of her throat. “shall, shall we go?”

“lead the way, abby”

your house wasn’t one that she assumed you would live in. she expected something small, or tiny, not a complete farmhouse. and you offered to let her and lev stay here? after quickly agreeing, saying where they lived was too small for the pair of them, and multiple panics about abby taking a little longer than usual, the blonde reassured she would always come back and this was a chance to change their life. have something they haven’t had in a while. comfort and safety.

abby’s cautious of when she steps foot in the small home that you’ve made for yourself. her once bright eyes, now almost lifeless, bore into everything. silently making sure nothing is going to pop out and hurt lev here. when you notice the worried look on her face, you take a small step towards her, a soft smile on your lips and you simply hold your hand out for her. “i won’t hurt you, i promise” you assure her, even though you don’t have to. you’ve already been good enough to let her and lev stay here, so she just nodded at you, looking at your hand before holding hers out for you. slightly flinching when you hold onto hers softly. “it’s okay,” you smiled again. your smile suddenly becomes her favorite sight.

even after you’ve made something for them to eat, she watches you closely, especially with the way you rub lev’s shoulder when you place both bowls of stew on the table and that if there is anything else they want to eat or need, just tell you and you will gladly make it or get it for them. she still watches you when you make your way into the kitchen. and there’s a sudden drop in her stomach upon hearing the latch of the back door opening that has her bolting off her chair, looking for you with wide eyes.

“hey, i was just going to— abby? what’s wrong?” you frowned in your spot, noticing her now sweating and crimson face looking down at you. “hey,”

“where are you going?” she found herself asking, a little too rushed for her liking.

“i’m just going out to hang the laundry,” you smiled tiredly, chewing your bottom lip gently. “m’not going anywhere. do you want to come with me? lev is happily eating in the living room, so you’re more than welcome to join me. you are a little taller than me so, you can hang up some stuff for me”

abby doesn’t hesitate to agree. her sudden urge to be around you constantly peaks through as she turns around a final time to just check on lev, who was reading one of the books you left out and eating away at their food. with a final nod to herself, abby rushes herself through the small kitchen and through the back door, where she finds you already hanging up some of the cleaned clothes with that soft smile still on your face.

“need help?” abby finds herself smiling this time. a real one.

“always. get over here”

the blonde already knew she could trust you. just by how gentle you were with her. not pushing her to talk about something you knew was making her uncomfortable. you didn’t ask about the scars on her arms when you saw them, you just simply pressed a soft kiss to the ones on her hands and continued your task. she asked you about your life, and how you got here, which you gladly shared. with each word you gave, it drove her closer to you. she continuously found herself not even doing what you asked her and simply watched the way you spoke, the way your eyes lit up at the mention of something you loved doing, or how you spoke with your hands at times.

you still noticed the way she would cower away or flinch you when touched her as the night came and the stars shone in the sky, or a loud noise rang out but for the most part, abby apologized and said it wasn’t you, it was trauma that she’s been dealing with, still dealing with and you constantly reassured her that it was okay. she doesn’t need to apologies for being jumpy with certain things. the one time she let you touch her without flinching, was when she dropped the laundry basket because you had slammed one of the chicken cages shut, and rushed towards her and held her hand tightly, without another thought you rubbed the back of her neck comfortingly and and smiled against her temple. assuring her that everything was okay.  

that same night, when lev is finally at peace and can get a good rest, she is the one who can’t fall asleep, like usual, she finds herself knocking on your bedroom door, thanks to the soft bed lamp shining under it. stumbling and blushing once you yell a soft ‘come in’ and she finds you curled up on your bed, reading a book. “you okay?” you ask, closing the book, leaning over to your side table and placing it down carefully before looking over at her again. “can’t sleep?”

“no,” abby pauses, chewing on her bottom lip harshly. “can i stay in here with you?”

“of course, come here”

and she could cry at how you open your arms for her.

the second she practically slumps her body on yours, and you rest one of your hands on her back, and the other instantly goes to her hair, she breaks. quiet and reserved abby cries in your arms when you, the first person to see her like this, thread your fingers through her hair, whispering against her forehead how she’s still so effortlessly beautiful. she doesn’t say anything though, she doesn’t have to, she just lets you comfortingly scratch her scalp at crazy hours of the night because you know she’s struggling to fall asleep peacefully.

“m’not gonna let anything or anyone hurt you ever again, okay?” you promised. hand slowly rubbing comforting circles on her back under her bed shirt. “you’re both safe here. i promise to protect you both with my life. you are safe, everything is okay”

for the first time in years, abby could finally close her eyes that night. both her and lev were safe. the safest she’s felt in a long time. because with your arms around her, and lips against her forehead in a hushed promise that you were here for her, she felt better. she felt content. she felt at home. 

your promise of protection meant more to her than she could ever tell or show you.

[kinzhae]

"Left Behind."

Gojo x Reader, angst with no comfort, reader and gojo drifts away as they enter jujutsu high, being left behind, reader sacrificing her life in order to keep gojo safe.

The first time Satoru left you behind, you brushed it off.

“Gojo Satoru is going to change the world,” you told yourself, smiling as you watched him walk off with Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, his laughter echoing down the hall. His carefree attitude was infectious, and while you were happy for him, it hurt to know that you weren’t part of that laughter anymore.

It hadn’t always been this way. You and Satoru were inseparable once, bound by childhood promises and shared dreams. Back then, the world wasn’t complicated, and neither was he. The cocky smile he wore now was once reserved just for you.

But Jujutsu High changed everything.

---

You noticed the shift slowly. It started with missed conversations—whispers in the hallway you weren’t invited into, a glance over your shoulder to see him too far behind to call out to. Satoru didn’t mean to push you away. You knew that. But as his new friendships deepened, it became clear that your bond wasn’t the unbreakable connection you once thought it was.

Suguru was kind, brilliant, and calm—the perfect foil to Satoru’s chaotic energy. Shoko had a quiet wit that matched his sharp tongue. Together, the three of them felt untouchable, like the rest of the world could only stand by and watch as they carved their own path.

You were no longer part of that world. You tried to let go, you really did.

Even as the ache settled in your chest, you told yourself it was enough to simply watch him thrive. If Satoru was happy, wasn’t that all that mattered? You repeated those words like a mantra, trying to ignore the sting when he barely noticed you anymore.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But the cracks in your heart didn’t care for reason.

One day, everything changed. You were heading back to the dorms after a long day of training when you overheard the conversation.

Two voices in the shadows.

One familiar, one chillingly foreign.

“Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes... He’s too dangerous to keep alive,” hissed the first voice—a higher-up whose name you didn’t dare utter. “The balance he disrupts, the power he wields... If he continues unchecked, no one will be able to control him.”

“And what do you propose?” growled the second voice, raspy and cold. It wasn’t human.

You froze, your blood running cold as you peeked around the corner.

“I want him gone. Do it cleanly. I’ll ensure you have what you need—resources, bodies, whatever it takes. Just make it happen.”

The curse smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Consider it done.”

Your world tilted.

They were going to kill him.

Satoru.

The boy who laughed too loudly, who stood by you even when the world felt too heavy, who once promised you that you’d always be by his side.

You had already been left behind. But you wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

That night, you sought out the curse.

Its presence was suffocating, the weight of its aura pressing down on you as it materialized in front of you.

“And what do you want, little sorcerer?” it sneered.

“My life,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Take my life, my powers—anything. Just leave Satoru alone.”

The curse’s laughter echoed around you, harsh and mocking. “Anything, you say? Bold. And what makes you think I’ll honor such a deal?”

“Because if you don’t,” you said, lifting your chin, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A lie, of course. You were no match for it. But the curse seemed amused enough to agree.

“Very well. Your life for his. But once the deal is struck, there’s no turning back.”

“I know.”

As the curse’s claws reached out, you closed your eyes, picturing Satoru’s smile one last time.

You disappeared that night.

No one saw you leave. No one even knew why. You left behind nothing but questions and an empty dorm room, your name slipping further from their lips as the days turned into weeks, then months.

Satoru didn’t notice at first. You hadn’t been close lately, after all. But as time passed, he started to feel the absence.

It was subtle at first—a glance around the training field, expecting to see you standing at the edge, watching with a small smile. Then came the ache, the nagging sense that something was missing. He asked Shoko, then Suguru. Neither had seen you.

When he went to your room, it was stripped bare, as if you had never existed.

Satoru wasn’t the sentimental type, but the emptiness you left behind gnawed at him. He tried to brush it off—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. He didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t need to.

But late at night, when the silence grew too loud, he found himself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of the way you used to scold him when he pushed himself too hard. Of the way you had always been there, steady and unshakable, even when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping out of control.

He searched. Of course he searched.

But you were gone.

---

Satoru never stopped looking. Not really. Even years later, long after the grief had settled into something dull and hollow, he still found himself scanning crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He told himself it was guilt—guilt for letting you slip away, for not noticing how far apart you had grown. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He had left you behind.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

How would the RO's change if they were to lose their MC?

Warning: this answer is a heavy one, with mentions of tw: suicide. Proceed with caution.

Morkai: He'd turn somber and silent. Eerily so. The man of loud voice and even louder heart would be gone, buried under a shroud of his own grief. When the MC left, they took all the animation out of him with them. Mute and empty-eyed, he waits for the final bow.

Straasa: He'd become withdrawn and reclusive. Social contact sustains him, but the one he wants is gone. Anything else feels hollow, fake, a betrayal. So he hides himself behind a brittle smile and a veil of snow around his heart. He aches for the day he will finally be reunited with the only one who can make the snow melt.

Daelynn: She does not allow herself to feel it or comprehend it. She does not allow time to force her to face it..... What is knowledge, truth, if you don't have the time or capacity to parse their meaning? She ends the conversation before reality settles in. This is pretty dark, but...Daelynn would follow right after her MC.

Eledwen: She is tired. Tired of being strong, tired of always moving forward. Tired of being alone. So, she loses herself in the memories. Time to move back. She will wander among the places of the past, places from her and the MC's life together. An unending tribute to the love she lost, her feet forever staying in motion.

Manerkol: Nothing matters anymore. Not his purpose, not kingdoms, neither dragons nor mortals. At the end of a very dark tunnel, his MC brought in the light. They were the only thing that mattered. And they're gone. So Manerkol will now keep the promise he once made to them. Wherever you go, I will follow.

Sielthan: Sielthan knows how to bring the MC back. They know the cost for it. And they're willing to pay it. Whatever they have to become, whatever they have to turn the MC into--it doesn't matter. They'll take the smallest crumb over losing the MC altogether. You can be broken and twisted together.

Rai: They become arrested in time. Frozen forever in the place when realization settled in. When they realized their MC is gone. They would withdraw. Foreswear any meaningful contact with others. Lose themself in work until they are ground to dust. Not because they care, but because it's the only way to forget.

Mornie: Any pretense at humanity would be gone. Sheer, unadulterated fury would cover everything, red and sticky and murderous. She goes on a killing spree and does not stop shredding, does not allow for anything but death--for them, for her. It is the only future left for any of them. If she lives long enough to weep, she eventually crumbles and sobs until she meets her end.

Cy: They would lose all reason. All their grand plans--everything crumbles. Feral and near delirious, they'd try anything to bring the MC back. They'd sacrifice the world to do it. There is no price they are not willing to pay. And if all fails, they follow after their MC.

Zach: They would feel like they've lost the ground beneath their feet, survived a train collision, and become a ship left ruderless. All their unshakeable confidence and passion--extinguished. All their grand works, a heap at their feet. They turn grey and old and cold. And they learn to hate.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 7 Infamous Lover

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6.5k

Chapter 7/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Some things are set into motion in this chapter.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

It was an unusual morning for the two of you. Natasha stood in your kitchen, looking more at ease than you felt. Her mug was half-empty, cradled in her hands, while yours sat untouched on the counter before you, its steam curling upward in lazy spirals. The silence was deafening as you tried to process what Natasha told you. Isabella was still asleep in the other room.

Allowing Natasha to stay over had been a line you weren’t ready to cross, but the look on her face last night—the heartbreak she tried so hard to hide—left you with no choice.

You cared about her more than you could put into words, which made this more complicated. You didn’t want to be angry, but the way she’d shown up, raw and vulnerable, with a piece of her past you didn’t know how to navigate, was testing your patience.

Natasha broke the silence first. “I’m sorry for showing up like that. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

"Don't apologize for coming to me," You shook your head. You checked the time on the stove clock. 8 am. Neither of you had gotten much sleep. Isabella would be up soon, but she'd have many questions and comments. To feel like you had a handle on the situation, you began to make breakfast. Something simple. French toast and eggs. "It's just, I don't understand why she would call you, of all people."

"I don't hate her..." Natasha began. Then she stopped. Those weren't the right words. She set her mug down and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not what you think.”

You paused, spatula hovering over the skillet. Your tone was even when you spoke, and it wasn't as hard as before. "Then explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she still has a hold on you."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “She called me out of nowhere, drunk, stranded... I didn’t want to leave her like that. It sounds stupid, but I felt I had to help.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you said firmly. “She’s not your responsibility anymore, Natasha. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Natasha replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “But it’s hard. Carol... she was a big part of my life for a long time. Walking away from that hasn’t been easy.”

You softened at her admission, the frustration in your chest giving way to something more tender. “I get that,” you said after a moment. “But you’ve got to figure out what you want, Nat. You can’t keep one foot in the past and expect the future to wait for you.”

She glanced up, green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the vulnerability in them. You weren't sure what else to say, but before you could come up with something, Natasha closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. You held your breath as she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

"I want you," she whispered, her words feathering against your lips. "I'm trying. I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw us up."

"Then don't," You muttered. "If this isn't what you want. If there's even a chance you want her, then you need to be upfront with me. If this is just sex for you..."

"It's not," Natasha said firmly, her eyes flashing with something fierce and protective. "It's never been like that. You know that."

"Do I?" You asked. "I'm trying to be levelheaded. You tell me your ex calls, and you go running."

"Not like that," Natasha sighed.

"You went to her," You pointed out.

"Because she was alone, drunk, and in trouble," Natasha shook her head. "I wouldn't have stayed. I just... wanted to make sure she was okay. That's all."

"Did she try to kiss you?"

"What? No," Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "God, no. She was drunk. Really, really drunk."

"So, nothing happened," you asked.

"Nothing," Natasha nodded.

"Okay," You nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," you said, returning to the stove and plating the food you'd made.

Natasha hesitated, then slid her arms around your waist, pressing her front to your back and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "I promise."

You hummed, leaning into her warmth. The knot in your stomach loosened, but it didn't completely disappear.

"I trust you," You nodded to yourself. It wasn't something you had to convince yourself to believe. She came to you. She told you the truth.

"That's good," Natasha nodded, a relieved smile gracing her face. She kissed the side of your head and then your neck.

"Mm, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Nothing," Natasha smirked.

"That doesn't feel like nothing," you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but a small voice interrupted.

"What are we talking about?" Isabella yawned, shuffling into the kitchen with messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes.

"Nothing," you and Natasha said in unison, the words tumbling too quickly to sound convincing.

"Whatever," Isabella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, as she climbed onto one of the kitchen stools. Her gaze shifted to Natasha, and she grinned. "Natasha, you're here."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded, taking a small step back from where she'd been standing close to you. She looked unsure, her hand brushing awkwardly against the counter. You understood the hesitation—it was a delicate situation, having her here when things between the three of you were still so new.

But Isabella didn't seem to share your reservations.

"Good," Isabella chirped, swinging her legs under the stool. "I was wondering when Mama would let you come."

Your cheeks flushed. "Bella," you said, trying to keep your tone even.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I like her. You do, too, right?"

Natasha stifled a chuckle, and you shot her a look.

"Natasha's just visiting," you said, redirecting the conversation.

"Sure," Isabella said with a sly grin, clearly not buying it. She turned her attention to Natasha. "Anyway, Mama, could you do my hair today? In a different style? Something that isn't babyish."

"You are a baby," You pointed out as you slid her a plate of French toast and fresh fruit.

Isabella rolled her eyes again. "I'm almost ten, Mama."

"Still a baby," You stepped around the counter to wrap her in your arms. "My one and only baby."

Isabella squirmed away, giggling. "Mama," she whined. "Stop. You're embarrassing me in front of company."

"Sorry," you apologized, smiling at Natasha, who was watching the scene with amusement. "Old habits die hard. I'll think of something to do to your hair. Eat your breakfast now, and we can walk the dog."

"Yay!" Isabella cheered.

Natasha's hand found yours, her fingers entwining with yours and squeezing lightly.

"We?" Natasha asked softly.

"Yeah," You nodded.

Natasha gave you a soft smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made your knees weak. You were falling for her, and there was no stopping it.

********

A part of you was glad Isabella was talking to Natasha. The other part was concerned. There were still things you needed to talk about that you hadn't figured out yet. And this whole Carol situation last night had left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't like the idea of her and Carol reconnecting. Not when it meant Natasha was spending time with someone who had hurt her before. Especially when that someone was her ex, especially when that someone was Carol Danvers, you didn't hate the girl. You barely knew her. Simply hearing of her reputation was enough for you.

You didn't want to get too in your head. Not as you were walking with Isabella and Natasha around the neighborhood.

"I'm in intermediate-level gymnastics," Isabella explained to Natasha. She held loosely onto Bear's leash as the dog pulled her over to a random bush. He really was a good walker most of the time.

"That's pretty cool," Natasha grinned, her hand holding yours. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Since I was six," Isabella boasted.

"She's pretty good," You added. "Gymnastics, ballet, and dance. She's the busiest kid I know."

"It's fun," Isabella smiled. "Keeps the mind going and the body healthy. Did you play sports as a kid?"

"I did ballet," Natasha admitted."Yeah, it was a long time ago."

"Did you like it?"

"I did," Natasha nodded. "I was good at it, too."

"Were you any good?" Isabella asked.

"Kind of," Natasha chuckled. "It was a long time ago."

"When did you stop?"

"Well, I didn't quit," Natasha explained. "I got older, and my body changed. The type of moves they have us do can be hard on the body."

"Oh," Isabella nodded, a little less cheerful. "So, did you ever hurt yourself?"

"Not seriously, no," Natasha shrugged.

"That's good," Isabella sighed, relieved. "I hurt myself last year. A twisted ankle."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded.

"I cried because it hurt," Isabella continued.

"Of course, it did," You smiled. "We'd take a break until you were feeling better. Then you were back at it."

"Yeah," Isabella sighed. "Rookie mistakes."

"You could say that," You grinned.

"Are you busy on Wednesday, Natasha?" You could see by the smile in her eyes that Isabella was about to ask her something without your permission.

"Wednesday? What’s on your mind?"

Isabella's face lit up with a mischievous grin, her eyes darting toward you briefly before returning to Natasha. "We have this recital rehearsal, and we get to bring a helper for some of the moves. Can you come?"

You groaned internally, already anticipating how this was going to play out. "Bella, we talked about this. You’re supposed to ask me before inviting someone."

"I know," she said innocently, twirling a strand of her hair. "But Natasha’s really strong. She’d be great for the lifts!"

Natasha glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lifts, huh?"

"It’s true!" Isabella insisted. "And besides, you said you used to dance. You’ll understand better than Mama. No offense," she added quickly, glancing your way.

"None taken," you muttered, trying not to roll your eyes.

Natasha seemed thoughtful for a moment. "When is it? I could probably stop by," she said, looking at you for permission.

"Great!" Isabella cheered, jumping up and down. "It starts at four on Wednesday, and we can pick you up."

"Or you can meet us there," you suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Isabella said, waving her hand dismissively. "Can we go to the park now? Pleeeease?"

"I think we can manage," You said, reaching out and taking Bear's leash. The dog had been patiently waiting during your conversation. You didn't think he'd wander off but didn't want to risk it.

"Yes!" Isabella cheered, throwing her hands up.

"Actually, I have a studio session now," Natasha checked her phone. "I'm pretty late, and Wanda's going to kill me."

"Oh, well, do you want us to walk to the house with you?"

"No, I have my car keys," Natasha denied. "I'll find my way."

"Oh, well, okay," You nodded. Isabella gestured for you to kiss her goodbye. You rolled your eyes at your kid and pulled Natasha down the sidewalk out of earshot. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"You bet," Natasha nodded. She pressed her lips to yours, giving you a sweet, tender kiss. You leaned into it, savoring the taste of her and the feel of her. You'd never get tired of this.

"Okay," You whispered as you broke the kiss.

"Okay," She smiled, squeezing your hand. "Bye, Isabella."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella called.

"See you, little one," Natasha smiled, winking at her before leaving.

You watched her walk away, admiring the view. It wasn't until she disappeared around the corner that you rejoined your daughter.

"You're in looove," Isabella teased.

"Maybe," You smirked.

"You should totally marry her," Isabella commented.

"Oh, should I?" You asked. "It hasn't even been that long."

"When you know, you know," Isabella said sagely.

"That's very true," You nodded.

"She makes you happy, right?"

"She does," You agreed.

"And I like her." Isabella listed. "You should totally marry her."

"How about we take things slow, okay?" You chuckled. "Let's see how things go."

"Whatever," Isabella giggled.

"What's with you and this whatever thing?" You wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Isabella shrugged dramatically, leaning into your side. "It’s just a vibe, Mama. You know, like, whatever happens, happens."

You couldn’t help but laugh at her sass. "I don’t know about you, but you’re too young to drop wisdom like that."

She grinned mischievously. "Maybe, but someone’s got to keep you in check."

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you hugged her tighter. "I think I’m the one who needs to be keeping you in check."

Isabella hummed, content to let you have the last word for now.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the morning together, laughing and playing and making up silly songs.

******

When Natasha arrived at the studio session, initially, she didn't know what to write. She'd had a list of songs in her black book that she knew she wanted to lay out. But for the last hour, she'd been staring at the blank sheet, her pencil hovering uselessly over the staff.

"Are you writing?" Wanda asked.

"I am," Natasha nodded.

"Then why aren't we recording?"

"Just... a little writer's block," Natasha said.

"Writer's block?" Wanda repeated. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do, but..." She shook her head. "I try not to write such personal things. I have a melody and a couple of lyrics in my head, but I don't know if I should do it."

"Becuase you're in a love triangle?" Wanda guessed.

"No, it's not even a love triangle," Nataha shut her book. "It's not even a love anything. Carol is my ex. I blocked her number. Y/n is my now."

"So why the blockage?" Wanda asked.

Natasha paused momentarily, trying to figure out what was holding her back. Her heart told her to write, but her head told her to be smart.

"It's not like I haven't written love songs before," Natasha started.

"But these are about Y/n," Wanda nodded. "And Carol. I get it."

"Carol was a long time ago. What we had... it wasn't good. We didn't end things on good terms. Y/n, on the other hand, is something I want to try. Someone that means something to me."

"Then write about it," Wanda shrugged.

"I just don't know if I should," Natasha said. "Writing a song about Carol? Fine. We weren't happy. But Y/n. She's someone special. If I write about her and it doesn't work out..."

"You can't live your life worried about the what-ifs," Wanda pointed out. "If you want this relationship and're serious about her, then you must be willing to put yourself out there. That's what people do. They take risks. They have faith in one another. It's a leap of faith."

"When did you become a philosopher?" Natasha teased.

"I'm not," Wanda chuckled. "I just think you're overthinking it. Write the damn song, Natasha. Or I will."

Natasha opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. "Okay, it starts like this..."

"I love her, I want her, but my heart cannot recover,

Stuck in a whirlwind, won’t you get me out?

Fading in and out of what we were before,

But I'm losing me when I keep begging for more."

Natasha sat back, tapping the pen against the notebook's edge as she let the words flow through her mind. Wanda watched her carefully, a knowing smile on her face. Natasha had always been cautious, especially regarding matters of the heart, and Wanda had seen it enough times to recognize the hesitation.

"You know," Wanda began, leaning forward, "that song is pretty powerful already. The emotions are raw. You don't have to have everything figured out right now. Sometimes, you just need to let the music do the talking."

Natasha nodded, eyes still focused on the page, her mind racing with the thoughts of Carol and you of the past and the present. The confusion between what she'd been through and what she now had with you. It wasn't easy, but it felt right.

"You’re right," Natasha finally admitted, her voice softer. "I just... I don't want to mess things up with Y/n. She’s different, Wanda. She’s... real."

Wanda reached over and squeezed her hand, her expression gentle. "I know, and that's a good thing. It's a sign that things are changing for the better. Take it one day at a time, and don't overthink it."

"That's easier said than done," Natasha sighed.

"True," Wanda chuckled. "But I'm always here for you, even if it means reminding you not to be so damn stubborn all the time. Now, let's write some more of this song."

Natasha grinned, picking up the pen and turning back to the page, her fingers already itching to start composing. "You know, I'm glad we decided to work on this project. It's been a long time coming."

"Me too," Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up. "And hey, we might actually finish something. We recorded three songs with the guys. If we finish this and like it...we might actually be getting somewhere with the album."

"Don't jinx it," Natasha laughed. "But I wouldn't mind recording more. Especially with this."

"Yeah, yeah," Wanda waved her hand. "Let's just get this song finished. Then we can talk about the next one."

"Deal."

As they worked, the two women found themselves in a comfortable rhythm. The back and forth between them was familiar, and they quickly lost track of time. The song began to come together, and Natasha found herself getting more and more excited. This was the kind of music she wanted to be making—deep, soulful, real.

They spent the rest of the day working on the song, taking breaks only to eat or use the bathroom. When they finally called it a day, both women were exhausted but pleased with their progress.

"Okay, now for the next one," she said with a knowing grin.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Another one already? You don’t waste any time."

Wanda chuckled. "What can I say? We’re on fire. So, I thought… maybe we should try something different for the next single."

Natasha tilted her head in interest. "Different? How?"

"I’m thinking we stick to the punk vibe, but… I want to experiment with something soulful, a voice that's a little outside of our usual sound." Wanda's eyes sparkled with the excitement of the idea. "I was thinking Y/n could be a good fit for it."

"Y/n? As in, my girlfriend?"

"Yes, and my friend," Wanda nodded.

"You think she could do it?" Natasha asked, her chest warming at the mention of the you.

"Yeah, absolutely. She's got a great voice, and her lyrics are killer. Plus, she's not afraid to be vulnerable. That's the kind of emotion we're going for. What do you think?" Wanda began to pack up her things.

"I think it's a big ask," Natasha said. She sighed, her thoughts racing. "I guess I get the appeal. It’s just… Y/n's got her own sound. I don’t want to pull her into something that’s not authentic to her. Plus, she doesn't sing anymore."

"I get it, and I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think she was right for the song. I've heard her sing before. She's got the range and the passion." Wanda looked at Natasha, her expression serious. "It's worth a shot. Maybe if she hears the song, she'll feel inspired to sing again."

"Maybe," Natasha said, though she wasn't sure. The thought of you singing again filled her with hope, but she didn't want to get her expectations too high. You'd clarified that singing wasn't part of your life anymore. Still, the idea of having you collaborate with them was intriguing. "Okay, I'll bring it up with her. But no promises."

"Fair enough," Wanda nodded. "I'll let you take the lead. Just don't wait too long. I think it could be a game-changer for us."

Natasha gave her a skeptical look. "A game-changer? Isn't that a bit much?"

Wanda shook her head. "Nah, not when it's true. Besides, the world could always use more soulful artists. It's a win-win."

"All right," Natasha relented. "I'll talk to her."

"Great," Wanda smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Wanda," Natasha said, waving her off. She had a lot to think about.

The question was, where did you stand on all of this?

---> next part

[hayakawalove]

Valentine's Day

A/N: Will I ever stop writing poly satosugu? No. No I won't.

Summary: You had been with your two boyfriends for years, and each February they brought a smile to your face. This year seems a bit different although.

TW: Smut, polyamory, choking, AFAB reader, female reader, alcohol mention, alcohol

W/C: 5,664

Your boyfriends were theatrical, Satoru especially. Suguru, if given the chance, much preferred to do things under the radar and special. But then again he was not above putting on a show for you. Especially if Satoru was involved. 

Because of this, it kind of surprised you when neither of them mentioned Valentine’s Day. It was the 12th already and so far there had been no mention of the holiday. You thought it might be because they were busy, but that didn’t mean they would forget, right? You knew you could have said something, but the boys usually planned things. Because of that, you didn’t want to get in the way of anything. So you decided to be discreet about it. You wandered into the kitchen and found them both sitting at the table, meager discussion floating from their lips. 

“Hey.” You murmur, fiddling around the kitchen. 

“Hi bunny!” 

“Hey baby.” 

Your eyes flick up and notice the two giving you smiles. Satoru’s eyes brightening up significantly, his smile akin to something like the sun. Suguru’s head tilted, his grin matching something much more graceful. The moon perhaps. Your sun and moon. You supposed that made you their stars, didn’t it? 

You narrow your eyes before looking down at a spare cup. 

“What do you guys wanna do this week?” You ask, hoping not to be too obvious. 

You fill your cup up with water and lean against the counter. 

“Oh, there was that new movie I was telling you guys about. It comes out on Tuesday.” Satoru thinks out loud. 

“Whatever you want to do baby.” Suguru responds with a tight lip smile, his eyes gently closed. 

Had they really not had anything planned? It was odd, but you didn’t want to push it. 

It wasn’t like you particularly minded doing nothing for Valentine’s Day this year.

That’s what you told yourself at least. 

It was finally Valentine’s Day and you had willfully resigned. This year you were just not going to do anything, and you tried convincing yourself it was okay. You requested the day off in advance, figuring that something would be planned, but it didn’t seem needed anymore. So, you were going to use the day to do nothing. 

When you woke up in the morning, your bed was empty besides you. You had long gotten used to the feeling of your bed being filled to the brim, hot and stuffy after a long night's sleep with multiple bodies. Not seeing the two boneheads made you sad. 

Your eyes float over to the corner of the room, where you stuffed each other their Valentine’s Day gifts underneath a pile of your clothes. Even if you weren’t going to be doing anything today, you still wanted to surprise them with it. 

You get out of bed and patter around the house trying to see if they were anywhere else. Much to your dismay, the house was empty. 

Your stomach grumbles while you pad your way to the kitchen. Normally, Suguru would be whipping up a storm in there while Satoru sat nearby to pester him. The kitchen was empty today, much to your chagrin. With a sigh, you grab leftovers and sit on a stool, flicking your phone open once you see Satoru’s name pop up. 

“Hey! Thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

“Might’ve if I wasn’t alone.” You grumble. 

You hear Satoru chuckle and you look at your food distatefully. The conglomerate of leftovers suddenly becoming the most unappealing thing in the world to you. 

“Poor bunny.” 

“Where are you both anyway?” 

The line is quiet for a second as if Satoru was speaking to someone. 

“Just had to pick up a few things for tonight.” 

“Okay. Will you make sure to get milk too? We’re out.” 

The line cuts to silence once more which confuses you. Usually Satoru had a lot to say, normally you had a hard time getting any words in during a phone call with him. After a couple seconds of silence and what sounds like the phone being muffled, his cheery voice comes back. You and Satoru begin talking again before something rouses you from the conversation. Your doorbell jolts you from the call, but you quickly glaze over it. 

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” He asks. 

“No, probably has the wrong address.” You say and pick at your nails. 

“I'm not so sure.” 

For the sake of entertaining him, you hop off your chair and make your way to the door. Once you open it, you find a black shopping bag on the ground. You look at it in confusion before leaning down to pick it up. 

“Yeah, no, this definitely is the wrong house.” 

Satoru sighs loudly causing you to pull the phone away. 

“Just look in the bag!” He complains like a child. 

“Alright alright.” You sigh before shutting the door, lugging the bag inside. 

Usually you wouldn’t put up much of a fight, but today you were less than amused. 

Once you arrive to your room, you plop the bag down on your bed and rummage through it. There was a white card on the top, peaking your interest. Your name was scrawled in gold on the front, the font looking much too fancy, as well as text on the other side. It read, “Your treasure awaits”. 

Your heart begins to pick up. Satoru was on the line still, but there was no noise coming from him. With shaky hands you open the bag more, finding something else. As you pull it out you notice it’s a tight black dress, exactly your size. At the bottom of the bag there was another white card. On the front end it said “Suguru’s favorite place.” Flipping it over you see what’s written on the back. “You slid into my heart.” 

“Satoru, what is all this?” You question. 

“Looks like you have to find out.” He says joyfully, clicking the line, leaving your mind reeling. 

You pull the dress on and look at yourself in the mirror. It looked really good on you. The boys really enjoyed picking out outfits for you, flaunting you like their own dress up doll. You didn’t mind really, not when they always paid for it. You hold the card in your hand, eyes flicking back and forth over the lettering. Suguru’s favorite place? He wasn’t very picky, he enjoyed lots of places. 

Suguru really enjoyed the museum, you knew that. Images of him walking beside you, reading you all the placards filled your brain. He also liked the cafe that was nestled between stores several streets over. None of those made sense with the clue, though. 

With a deep breath you close your eyes and think back. Each thought brought you back to one place. A park he liked seeing. 

You stuff their gifts in a bag before setting off. 

It was a quaint park. The grass was always green and there was a large field that families enjoyed picnicking at. Off to the side was a playground for children, a long plastic slide crossing the play area. You journey to the playground, eagerly walking to the slide, thinking back to the note that was left in the bag. You see another small bag on the slide and your stomach twists in excitement. 

Opening the bag you notice a small box and another note. The note reads “Satoru’s sweet treats” and on the back says “I’m such a nerd for you”. You chuckle to yourself and open the box, seeing a bright necklace packaged inside. The chain was dainty and it held a diamond at the very end, one that shined brightly in the sun. It was hard getting the necklace on on your own, but you were able to manage after a couple minutes. 

The next location wasn’t any easier to figure out. Satoru had many places he liked going to for sweets, so it was hard to narrow down. 

You think you understood the game now. There would be a present at each location with a card hinting at the next spot. You couldn’t help but notice how the game was so very like the two men. Cheeky, but swirling with romance. 

You had no idea why you were so worried they had forgotten the date. 

After much inner debate you decided to go to his favorite candy store. It was fairly decent in size as it had to accompany the wide range of treats stored inside. It looked mostly empty when you entered, rows of colorful concoctions lining the walls. Your legs carry you down the aisles while you think back to the hint on the card. It made you want to check for their selection of nerds and sure enough, there was another bag nestled between boxes. This time it was filled with a bracelet, matching your necklace. The employees blush and comment to each other when you walk up, requesting help for your bracelet. They wished you a happy Valentine’s Day and you’re left to exit the store. The idea of Satoru and Suguru coming inside to hide your gift and explaining to the workers what they were doing made you chuckle to yourself. 

The day continued much like that, each time you were led across town to find more gifts. The final note was the most confusing. All it said was “back to where it all began” without any other clues on the back side. You thought back to where you and the two had spent your first date. It was a secluded forest, a canopy of trees surrounding the three of you. You remember Satoru laying on his back, Suguru reclined with his hands keeping him up behind him, and you sitting with your legs crossed. You talked for hours. 

Once arriving, you find the last bag. Inside was a hair clip, donning an amethyst and a turquoise. The two men fit so well together it was no wonder their birthstones did as well. The card inside the bag only had a phone number on it, so you flipped open your phone to dial it. A nice man answered, asking if you were Satoru’s and Suguru’s girlfriend. With a blush you confirm, hearing an engine starting on the other end. He told you he would be there shortly to pick you up. 

This game was fun, and you really enjoyed all your gifts, but you were hoping you would be seeing Satoru and Suguru soon. Material items were nice, but they meant nothing if your partners weren't there by your side. 

The car ride was relatively short but still felt extremely glamourous. You rode in a black sleek car, cushions softer than any other vehicle you had been in before. The driver drops you off at a five star hotel, bidding you a farewell before speeding off. You get the room number from the front desk and rush to the room. You nervously look at the door in front of you before knocking on it gently. While you wait, you bounce on your toes and heels and let your mind wander. The game had lasted hours, and your nerves were about to swallow you whole. 

The door swings open, the force making your eyes widen in surprise. Satoru stood there in a white button up, eyes wide and frantic. 

“Hey.” You speak, your eyes slowly trailing across his body. 

Satoru’s hand flies out and grabs you, pulling you into the room. Your back is pressed against a wall and his lips are on yours. Part of you wanted to tell him to slow down, but the way his mouth felt against yours had your mind swimming. 

Satoru’s tongue glides out, sliding against your bottom lip before you part your mouth open. His hands roam across your body, not settling anywhere for too long. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating and somehow not enough. 

More, you needed more. If it was possible to fuse souls you were sure you would’ve by now. 

Your hands clutch his shirt, if it wasn’t as expensive as it was there was a real chance you would’ve torn it. 

“Satoru, I was only gone for five minutes.” A familiar voice speaks behind Satoru. 

He pulls his lips from yours and stares deeply into your eyes, the tension palpable. 

“Couldn't resist.” Satoru speaks, his tone heavy. 

He pulls away from you and you feel yourself deflate, body aching for more. 

“Our girl is just too beautiful.” 

Satoru pulls you away from the wall, presenting you to Suguru. His hands hold your waist still while his chin rests on your shoulder. 

You look at the man in front of you. Suguru was dressed in a black button up, his hair swept up into a bun. His fox eyes slowly slide down your body, taking you in. 

“You look beautiful baby.” Velvet words grace your ears. 

After all this time, still, still he made your heart flutter. 

He takes a step forward, lifting up your hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours, before pulling your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day princess.” 

Suguru’s words float over to you, but you’re almost too distracted by the both of them to fully understand what he said. 

“Thought you guys might’ve forgotten.” 

Suguru pulls you away from Satoru and further into the room, and you notice a table in the middle of it. There were two candles placed on top, with three plates spaced evenly. Only now do you recognize a heavenly scent filling the room. 

“Us? Forget Valentine’s Day?” Satoru laughs, pulling your chair out for you. 

Satoru sits in one of the chairs opposite you, watching as you take everything in. 

“It’s possible! I was about ready to order take out all by myself and watch the notebook on repeat.”

“Unfortunately you’re stuck with us.” Suguru graces you with a small grin. 

“What’s for dinner?” You ask, watching Suguru carefully lift off the lid over your plate, then moving on to remove his and Satoru’s. 

“Steak! Although Suguru insisted on making it himself.” 

Suguru raises an eyebrow at Satoru before sitting down next to him. Scents from the meal slowly waft up to your nose, making your stomach grumble. 

“I’m pretty sure you told me you liked my cooking better than anyone else’s.”

“And you caved immediately!” Satoru responds cheekily, making Suguru huff in annoyance. 

Suguru was stuck trying to defend himself while you and Satoru were ignoring him, beginning to cut your steak. He eventually gave up, grumbling to himself before popping open a bottle of champagne. 

“You should’ve seen him. He was running around the big fancy kitchen trying to prepare everything. I wish I caught it on tape. Do you think I could ask the hotel for their security footage?” Satoru rambles, popping a piece of steak in his mouth. 

“I can picture it perfectly. How’d they let you in anyway?” 

“Satoru bought their silence, he’s a sneaky dog.” Suguru answers, pouring champagne into both of your glasses, purposefully avoiding Satoru’s. 

The meal tasted just as wonderfully as you could’ve imagined. It melted on your tongue, Suguru’s cooking never failing to amaze you. You were glad that Satoru convinced him to cook. You had fun eating at restaurants with them, but nothing quite compared to Suguru’s cooking. 

“How long do we have the room for?” You ask, looking around at the wide open space. 

You had never been in such a fancy hotel before, you didn’t even wanna know how much one night costed. 

“Satoru just gave them his card so we can stay for as long as we like.” 

“Is there anything your money can’t buy?” You cast a look over to Satoru who was happily humming while eating. 

“Nope!” 

The rest of the meal you and Suguru poke fun at Satoru, teasing him for treating money so fickly. Your laughter filled the room, making it feel even more homey when paired with the food. 

Then again, you were sure anywhere would be home as long as they were with you. 

Champagne flowed through your veins and you swore the bubbles did too. It felt like your skin was burst alight, your body floating on happiness. 

You hum and reach out a hand, grabbing onto Satoru’s hand. 

“Wanna dance.” 

His eyes light up at your request and he turns to Suguru. The two men share a look before Satoru is hopping out of his chair, quickly heading towards you. The air of excitement he held only floated over to you, raising you up even higher. 

You felt so good. 

You kick off your heels and tiptoe carefully to the middle of the room. Satoru’s arms latch onto you, getting in position. It wasn’t long before Suguru strolled over to sit on the bed and watch, his phone held tightly in his hand while he played music. 

You couldn’t follow the beat even if you tried, luckily Satoru was there to guide you through it. He teases you, his airy laughter tickling your ear. You could feel Suguru’s gaze on the both of you as he watched his lovers sway back and forth. Satoru’s body felt warm pressed against yours, his firm hand gripping your lower back. 

Suguru leaned back and continued to leisurely sip from his glass, affection pouring over his features. He was thinking back to your earlier conversation. Could you really think they would have forgotten? Never in a million years would they forget you. 

The room was spinning. No, wait, shit, were you spinning? You didn’t care. Your laughter echoes off the walls as you stand on your tiptoes to attempt to reach Satoru’s height. 

You stop for a breather, hand clutched tightly in Satoru’s shirt. Suguru excuses himself to remove the plates of food, wanting to clear up space. 

“That was so much fun.” You say breathlessly. 

“Yeah? Want to have some more fun?” 

You arch a brow but your question was answered before you could even ask it. Satoru had backed you up against the bed, making you collapse on it. You pull him down with you, relishing in the feeling of his full body weight against yours. 

“Yes.”

His lips are on yours in an instant, fanning the flames under your skin. You could tell he was restraining himself a bit, his hand clutched tightly next to your head. 

“Touch me, Satoru.” Your words leaked desperation.

“Fuck, don’t say that. We gotta wait for Suguru.” His actions don’t align with his words. 

His tongue caresses against yours, his skin tingling once his tongue dips into your mouth. He had kissed your mouth billions of times, but each time he did he swore there was new territory for him to mark and explore. 

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself tonight, Satoru.” Suguru chides from behind him. 

Satoru pulls away and you feel an ache underneath your lips, begging for his lips once more. 

“She started it.” 

“Yes, we do have a needy girl on our hands, don’t we?” 

Satoru moves out of the way, exposing Suguru to you. Your breath hitches at the sinful expression he holds while staring down at you. 

His hands reach out to grab you, pulling you up to stand. His presence is overwhelming as he turns you around, pressing you against the empty table. You follow his motions to guide you down, his lips ghosting over your skin. 

“Look so wonderful for us darling.” His words muffle against your skin as he places chaste kisses against your neck. 

You can feel yourself shake beneath him, desperate for more. He was teasing you, but what kept you through it was knowing how satisfying everything would be once he deemed it time. 

“Need it Suguru.” You whimper, fingers dug into his shoulders. 

The heated atmosphere shifts, now drowning you in a lake of fire. Suguru pulls you up from the table and makes you lay on the bed. Your skin is prickling in anticipation, staring up at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, quelling the fire inside. His tongue feels plush against yours as he drags it through your mouth. Suguru pushes your dress up to pull it off your head, only parting from your mouth to get out of the way. His tongue glides against yours and you taste the bitter bite of the drink, and you wondered if you could get intoxicated off the taste of it alone. Then again, you could always get drunk on him. 

Suguru pulls back and kneels against the bed, spreading your legs open for him. He dips his head down, pulling your underwear off you at an agnoizing pace. Satoru whistles, causing you to snap your head up to look at where their gaze lay. Your underwear peeled from your pussy, strings of need attaching to it. 

“Fuck.” Suguru whispers under his breath as he glides the clothing down your thighs. 

You’re suddenly filled with insecurity, wanting to close your legs. Their eyes stared deep into you, mesmerized by your lust. 

“Don’t just look…” You whimper. 

Suguru refocuses himself and smiles, trailing fingers up your thighs to spread you out. 

“My apologies princess.” 

You want to scoff but the noise doesn’t make it out of your throat in time before a whimper escapes. You can feel the eagerness building up inside you as his lips ghost over you. The first time you feel his tongue press against you, you let out a guttural moan. It appeases Suguru, his tongue diving in deeper. He laves it against your clit, tasting the sweet nectar you leaked. You watch as the tendons in his hands flex as he clutches your thighs, bringing you down further against his mouth. 

Your hole clenches pitifully as he pleases you. The warmth of his tongue teases your clit, moving in a circle. 

The bed dips beside you and you see Satoru next to you, his hard cock in his hand. His eyes were glued to the way Suguru devoured you. 

“Satoru.” You say in a whiny voice. 

Precum leaks from his tip like a faucet, the sight making your heart pound. 

You reach up and grab his cock, experimenting with a couple slow strokes. His chest heaves in response, echoes of low moans falling from his lips. 

Suguru wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, your heels digging into his shoulder blades. He could feel the way you trembled beneath him, causing his cock to stiffen below. 

Not yet, this was about you. 

You pick up the pace, tugging Satoru much faster, mind caught between the bliss of Suguru’s mouth and bringing Satoru to the edge. 

“How’s he making you feel bunny?” 

You hang your head back, unable to focus on anything besides the primal desire within you. Suguru’s tongue strokes against you, working you up. 

“Good- so so good.” The words sound foreign coming from you, your throat dry. 

“Gonna cum on his tongue, right?” Satoru asks. 

You moan louder, your thighs a mess of spit and your fluid. 

“Yes, fuck need to cum.” 

You squeeze the tip of his cock before sliding your hand down. Satoru whimpers lowly as he tries to not thrust into the palm of your hand. 

Suguru dips his tongue once, twice, into your hole before bringing it back up, teasing your clit once more. Your mouth hangs open as you look back down at him, truly believing god himself was between your legs. Your legs twitch on either side of his head while you shamelessly grind further into his tongue, so close you could almost taste it. It rushes over you suddenly all at once and you’re cumming on Suguru’s tongue, body thrashing underneath him as he tries to hold you down. It gives him a burst of excitement seeing how you lose yourself beneath him.  

He reluctantly pulls away from you, watching how you glisten below him. You try to regulate your breathing but fail miserably. Heavy hands work their way across your skin, attempting to bring you back down. It looked like the two were exchanging places. Suguru sits next to you on the bed, nudging a piece of your hair out of the way. His eyes were filled with warmth, nothing but admiration and love in the way he looked at you. It almost made you want to shy away from how intense it felt. He looked at you like he didn’t give you an earth shattering orgasm less than a minute ago. 

Satoru’s thighs nudge your legs open wider, bringing your attention back towards him. His hairline was lined with sweat, desperation to feel something, anything corrupting his body. His cock stood at attention, in front of you. 

“Please let me fuck you princess, need it, need you.” His voice sounded helpless. 

You dig your teeth in your lip and nod, eager to feel him inside you. His tip slides down your opening and you force your eyes shut. Pleasure courses through your body, the idea of feeling more made your mind reel.

Satoru slides inside you slowly, his cock beginning to stretch you out. Your mouth hangs open and suddenly you can’t breathe. You could not get enough oxygen. It felt like you were surrounded by their love, surrounded by the lust you three shared. 

He moans, struggling to keep his composure. His fists clench against the bed as he bottoms out completely. 

A moment of silence is shared between you while you appreciate the other, enjoying how each other's skin felt. 

“Ready, bunny?” He asks breathlessly, his patience running thin. 

You nod, trapping his hips in between your legs. 

He thrusts in, starting to fuck you. 

Your moans bounce off the walls around you. You try to grasp onto something, anything to ground yourself. The force of his cock was knocking all the screws loose in your head, you couldn’t think. 

His eyes squeeze shut as he goes. It looked like he might have been mumbling something under his breath. 

Your clit throbs at the neglect, needing to feel pressure. You grab one of Satoru’s hands, guiding it between your legs. 

He lets out what sounds like a breathless chuckle. Taking the hint, he begins to circle your clit with his finger. 

Suguru moves on the bed, kneeling behind your head, his cock above your face. It’s inches away, the mere sight of it making you salivate. 

“Wanna do something for me, beautiful?” He asks.

Your elbows prop up bringing you closer to him. You close your eyes and stick your tongue out, sliding up against his sensitive balls. He grunts lowly above you. Your mouth felt like heaven to him as you carefully suck his balls. 

Satoru picks up the pace, the sight of you pleasing Suguru searing into his brain. He couldn’t focus on all of it at once, it felt like his brain was short circuiting. His hips stutter as he leans forward, desperate to get Suguru’s cock in his mouth. 

Suguru’s chest heaves. The sight in front of him bordered on something holy. His two beautiful partners were in front of him, cherishing his cock. How lucky was he? 

Your mouth gently glides over, paying attention to both sides of Suguru’s delicate flesh. Satoru slides his tongue against Suguru, feeling his cock twitch in his mouth. 

Suguru pulls Satoru off, an audible pop ringing out. Satoru pouts up at Suguru, wanting to suck him off even more. 

“Fuck, you have to stop or I’m gonna cum.” Suguru chastises, his eyebrow twitching. 

You place several kisses around, ignoring him. Only when you feel Satoru start slamming into you harder do you come back to the moment. He holds your hips, keeping you in place as he molds your pussy to his cock. 

You hear lip smacking above you, the sound of Satoru’s moans being muffled against Suguru’s lips. Suguru holds his face steady while his tongue swirls inside Satoru’s mouth. The taste of his own precum mixed with Satoru’s saliva made his brain feel hazy. 

“Feels so good, feels so good!” Satoru pulls apart to chant. 

Suguru smiles as he watches his boyfriend fall apart in front of him. 

“She does, doesn’t she? You should be thanking me Satoru, for allowing you to let you use her first.” 

His words have your pussy clenching around Satoru’s cock, making it borderline impossible for him to keep fucking you. 

Satoru whimpers helplessly, his hands digging into your tender flesh. 

“T-thank you Suguru, thank you!” Satoru’s gulping down oxygen. 

Suguru hums, seemingly placated for now. 

“You’re so welcome.” Sickingly sweet. 

Satoru’s movements lose all rhythm, all reasoning thrown out the window as he chases his high. 

“Gonna cum.” He murmurs, looking down and watching how your body all but sucks him in. 

“Ask for it.” Suguru orders. 

“Please let me cum now, please I can’t, she’s feels so fucking-“ 

Suguru slides two fingers into Satoru’s mouth and he eagerly wraps his hand around his wrist while sucking. 

“What a good boy, of course you can.” 

You feel Satoru’s hips stutter before his cum shoots out inside you. 

Satoru moans loudly, all noises slightly garbled from Suguru’s fingers. Ecstasy fills your veins as you watch the sight above you. Beautiful beautiful men. His cock stills inside you while he pulls off Suguru’s hand. His body weight feels heavy against you as he leans over, pressing soft kisses along your throat. Suguru whisks himself off the bed leaving you only a moment of reprieve before he took Satoru’s place. He spread your pussy and grinned to himself. 

Oh how he and Satoru loved to make a mess out of you. 

“How we feeling pretty girl?” His voice calms your body. 

You can’t find any words to say so you just grumble and wiggle below him. He chuckles before nodding his head, dragging his hands up your body leaving goosebumps trailing behind. 

“So good for us, always so sweet.” He utters praises in between kisses down your chest. 

“Just hold on a little bit longer princess.” 

His tip rubs through your folds and you feel your body react instantly. Suguru pushes the head inside and revels how your back immediately arches up, hands clawing at his exposed chest. 

“Relax, relax. I’ve got you.” He speaks so quietly you swear you feel your heart stop beating for a moment 

He lowers himself down until your skin presses against each other. His nipple and belly piercings drag against your sensitive skin as he sinks deeper into you. Suguru’s lips part, mirroring yours while he watches your face contort into complete pleasure. 

You try not to acknowledge the fact that his caramel eyes are flicking across your face. You wouldn’t be able to stand it if you saw how much he adored you. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead before he begins to fuck you. His cock drags in your walls, Satoru’s cum making it easier to slide through. Suguru tries to keep his composure as he watches you beneath him. He snakes a hand between you two and massages your clit. 

Your body jolts beneath him as you moan into his neck. Both of them made you feel so good it almost made you wonder. Were humans allowed to feel this good? 

Suguru hits deep inside you, his quiet moans mingling with yours. You look up and make eye contact with him, his pools of caramel swallowing you whole. His fingers speed up and you could feel yourself falling closer. You reach up and wrap a hand around his throat, bringing him down closer to your lips. Your lips smash together while he winces, your hand still wrapped around his throat. 

“Fuck, yes, just like that baby.” His voice sounded husky, a combination of the pressure on his throat and the lust that consumed him. 

You were going to be sore tomorrow but you didn’t care. You feel yourself start to cum and Suguru keeps pumping into you, bringing you down even more. 

“Good girl, good girl.” Your chest twists and turns at his voice. 

Suguru listens to the melody of your moans surrounding him while he slams into you. His cock forces itself into you even deeper as it twitches, cum draining out into your tight walls. His cum mixed with yours and Satoru’s, creating something sinful as it leaks down your body. You could hardly catch a breath as he started to drag himself out of you. 

You suddenly felt extremely empty and exposed, feeling the two men’s eyes bore into you. 

They share two kisses before Satoru is cleaning up between your legs, his loving cooes escaping his lips. 

After you get all cleaned up you cuddle in the bed together, basking in each others presence. 

“Oh, my gift is gonna seem lame now.”

Satoru turns to you and Suguru’s eyes widen. They hadn’t really expected anything from you. You bought them something every year, but they always told you you didn’t have to. 

“You got us something? Where?” Satoru’s voice peaks. 

“It’s in the bag by the table.” Your eyelids start to feel heavy. 

You sink further into the bed, enjoying the feeling of Suguru’s fingers stroking your side. 

Satoru hops off the bed and brings the bag over, rummaging through it. A big box of chocolates, definitely for Satoru. For Suguru, a teddy bear. 

“Too cheesy?” You ask, feeling self conscious. 

They had got you this hotel room, even going so far as to create a whole game to lead you to them, all of it was better than perfect. 

Satoru tackles you on the bed, quickly placing kisses all over your face. 

“It’s perfect bunny!” His words are slightly muffled from your face. 

Suguru grabs the teddy bear and grins, holding it close to his chest. 

Joy bursts from your skin and you try your hardest not to show your excitement. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” They say back, pulling you close.

[dittobtch]

I'd like to hear about leatin

ah yes my favourite topic:

leah, just a lonely girl living in a lonely world. a girl who falls in love with an older disgusting man only to get her heart broken later on.

then there's fatin: bold, gifted, and tired. so fucking tired of being held back by her busy schedule that she doesn't even want.

both of them fear love for different reasons. fatin thinks she's incapable of it and even if she was, all it brings is pain and heartbreak and she's had enough of that. besides, she doesn't have the time for anything like that: not romantic love nor platonic. familial love for fatin is... well... complicated...

leah on the other hand is familiar with the sting an intense, burning love leaves behind. she's suddenly left alone and has to deal with the consequences on her own. despite everything, all she wants is that toxic love back. to her, it's the only thing that can cure the emptiness she feels.

even on the island all she can think about is jeff. she gets into a literal fight with fatin over him (and fatin's "laziness" and lack of cooperation, but anyways).

then shit gets real. specifically, fatin goes missing. (cue the beginning of a beautiful, complex, sometimes toxic relationship).

only after Leah's confronted with the thought that holy shit someone could die - Fatin could die, does she finally burn his fuck ass book and metaphorically let him go (for now, anyways).

things are good for a bit, then they're bad. the ups and downs of the island. sometimes they get along, like when they think they're going to get rescued. other times they still have trouble getting along and that's okay too; they're learning and they're there for each other and that's all that matters.

well, they're there for each other until they're not. leah's mental health goes into a decline as season 2 begins. fatin tries to hold it together for the both of them, but she can't help but (homoerotically) argue with leah (for the second time) to defend her grieving friend.

eventually they make up because of course they do. afterall, fatin "was starting to like her" and knew that she could never really stop caring about leah.

in fact, the opposite starts happening. she cares about leah so much that she begins to look for the truth for leah. she devotes herself to the very thing that nearly drove leah insane. because she believes leah, for real this time.

and it's good but it's makes her feel so guilty because holy shit leah was right and fatin let her believe that she was insane. she unknowingly helped in gaslighting leah, but she can't give up now. she has to prove that leah was right; it's the only thing that can make up for it.

so, fatin attempts to pick up what leah left behind. fatin, who less than two months ago was unwillingly to help in building a simple shelter, puts in so much of her time and energy in figuring out the truth for leah. she'll let herself go insane the way leah did, do all the ethically questionable things, as long as leah doesn't have to do it anymore.

because fatin loves her:

and even though leah doesn't know fatin does all of this for her, leah loves her back:

(i could not for the life of me find a "the voices you love" gif, sorry)

ultimately, i love leatin because it's a story of these two complex teenagers who heal and break together. neither of them are fond of the idea of love when they meet, especially not with each other but together, they form a unique bond. their love doesn't fix each other but instead, they do things out of love for one another that helps them both.

they relearn how to love together. it's not perfect, but it works for them.

in the words of basically everyone left in this fandom: THEY COULD HAVE BEEN EVERYTHING but also they kind of already were everything and i don't think i'll ever get over it.

anyways if you liked this you should read my new fic too lmao

[g1rld1ary]

lamest place in the world - trevor spengler x reader

wc: 835

cw: smoking, drinking, swearing kissing, trevor and r are implied slightly aged up because i want them to be but has no impact on plot, please don't get in the car with a boy you've just met xx

Summerville, despite the name's associations, was the lamest place in the world. Certainly not the endless summer paradise that was suggested on the tin. There wasn't much to do over the summer except go to work, sleep, or fuck around in one of the many dumb fields around. It wasn't even a farming town anymore, why were there still so many goddamn fields?

You were in Walmart, preparing for a quiet night in. A pint of ice cream, a face mask, some new nail polish; you were all set.

"No way, I, um, love that stuff," A voice said from next to you. You chanced a glance at the boy next to you, towering over the shelf and all gangly limbs.

"You love nail polish?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. The boy cringed, caught in his own ruse and exposed by his obviously untouched nails.

"I just mean, uh--"

"You just wanted a reason to talk to me?" The boy nodded, seemingly resigned to his awful failure. To his surprise, you introduced yourself instead. You figured he was new to the town, and couldn't be any worse than the people you already knew. "What are you doing tonight?"

An hour later Trevor was in your car, driving you both out to the outskirts of town. He'd begged you to let him drive, apparently he'd never been allowed or something where he lived, and you figured your ancient piece-of-shit car could handle one more reckless driver.

You turned the speaker all the way up, blasting whatever tape you'd last put into it. You hung out the passenger window, singing along as Trevor raced down the empty dirt roads.

The car was parked in the middle of another field. Far off in the distance, you could see a few artificial lights, but other than that you were alone.

"Why'd you come to Summerville?" You asked Trevor once you'd shifted positions so you were both on the hood of your car, staring up at the dark night sky.

"My mom's broke," He replied, "We got evicted from our apartment and all we've got left is that stupid horror movie house and a bunch of old dusty shit inside."

"Shit," You agreed, coming up with an idea, "You want one?" You offered him a cigarette from the packet inside your jacket.

"I, uh, haven't smoked before," He said sheepishly.

"Neither have I. Cigarettes are stupid hard to come by here, they're only sold at one place and he's tough on kids. These're my brothers from college." You brandished a lighter, hot pink that you assured your mom was just for candles, and got to work.

You counted down together, inhaling in sync. You both choked out coughs and splutters, laughing at each other's embarrassing moments. You stumbled through the process, giving each other advice on how to do it properly despite both of you making it up on the spot.

You figured it out soon enough, and fell into a peaceful quiet, listening to the cicadas and rustling grass.

"Do you hate it here?" Trevor asked to break the silence and you looked at him, considering the question.

"I used to a lot more, I think. I used to be so fucking angry that this was the lot I was given. I've grown up a lot now, make my own fun, and it's not so bad anymore. Now I only hate it every other day," You joked, uncomfortable with the serious conversation. Thankfully Trevor laughed and you were back to more playful conversation.

You'd been out there for hours, burning through a few cigarettes and whatever booze you had stashed in the trunk.

"It's not funny, Trev, we were in deep shit--"

"What'd you call me?"

"Trev? Is that not alright--"

"No, no I liked it. Really liked it." You look over at him, were you always this close? You could feel his breath on your face, hot even in the summer air.

You think you were the one to kiss him first, but it honestly could've been either of you. Something in the air between you was electric, pushing you towards the boy you'd only just met.

The kiss was kind of awkward at first, both of you craning your necks from your position on your backs. Trevor was the one to move, pulling himself on top of you and framing your face with his forearms. He tasted like a bizarre mix of cigarettes and beer but it didn't repel you, rather encouraging you to open your mouth for him, the two of you getting even closer. You explored his mouth, bringing your hands up to tangle in his curls, pulling on them slightly and giggling into his open mouth when he moaned.

Maybe Summerville wasn't all boring, and you were pretty sure you'd just sorted out your summer plans.

[mapis-putellas]

What we left behind.

Pairings: Natasha x you

Words: 2053

Warnings: talk of death. Vormir. Guns

Summary: Natasha was gone. At least, that's what you'd been told. She’d sacrificed herself; died to save everyone else, to bring back her family. If that was really the case, then who was at your front door?

The familiar sensation of a tear streaming down the side of your face breaks you from your thoughts as you stare up at the whirring blades of the fan. The wetness tickles your skin, but you couldn’t quite find it in you to wipe it away.

It had been nearly six months now since you’d lost your girlfriend, and that same old numbness still remains. It sits heavily on your chest like a blanket, except, this blanket wasn’t at all comforting. It was suffocating; restricting every single movement you make like a straight jacket.

The only thing you seem to know how to do anymore is cry, and even then they were pitiful tears, barely enough to warrant actual cries. It was almost as though you’d cried so much that all of your tears had simply run out. You’d all dried up.

Your eyes flicker almost subconsciously around the room. The only light came from a slit between the curtains at the window, the feeble brightness barely enough for you to make out anything other than the fine dust littering every surface. The sight of it brings you back to the last time you’d cleaned. It was over five months ago low, the day Natasha was supposed to come home.

Through the blip, neither you or Natasha had managed to find it in you to really keep your shared apartment tidy. You didn’t see the point, and Natasha just simply didn’t have the time. She was too busy with being team leader to what was left of the avengers.

But that had all changed when the plan of her going to vormir with Clint was put into action. She’d bring Yelena back with her, her mom and dad, and you’d share the first dinner in over five years with your girlfriend and family.

But then Clint had arrived back alone with the soul stone in hand, and a deep sense of unease had held you rigid until he’d shaken his head telling you she wasn’t coming back. That was when your whole world had fallen apart right in front of you.

You remember not being able to breath. You remember crying so hard you had physically made yourself sick. You remember the arms that had tried to wrap around you, and you remembered pushing them away in disgust. They weren’t Natasha’s arms. They weren’t allowed to touch you.

You remember leaving the compound and making your way back home to the empty, clean apartment you’d spent so long making perfect for her.

You remember the feeling of dread that had settled unceremoniously into your stomach. It remains there to this day as a constant reminder of what you’d lost. You remember everything about that day so vividly you want to erase it from your mind forever.

But you couldn’t.

Natasha was gone. She’d made her choice, and now you had to find a way to live with it no matter how badly it hurt to try.

*

And try you did. You woke up everyday despite never wanting to be conscious again. You went to work and pretended like seeing everyone was a blessing when in actual fact they brought you pain. You even managed to befriend Yelena, one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do.

She was a constant reminder of Natasha, and it was hard to differentiate the two in your deep stage of grief. You were sure you weren’t easy to be around for her either, but together you somehow managed to level one another out. It wasn’t perfect, and most days you fought like cats and dogs, but you were all each other had so you’d learnt to make it work.

It was on a normal Tuesday did all of that change.

There was a knock at your front door, the strength behind it both hesitant and wary. That, and the fact you weren’t expecting anyone raises the fine hairs on the back of her neck, and as grab your gun from it’s place in the locked drawer, you try your best to shake of the fear that had suddenly begun to run though you. Safety off and finger on the trigger, you reach forward and grasp the door handle before cautiously pulling open the door.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greets you on the other side. You stand there, body rigid; trembling in complete and utter terror as your eyes burn with the familiar sensation of tears. It was her face. Her hair. Her clothes, her body. But it couldn’t be. She was dead. She died.

This wasn’t her, no matter how badly you wanted it to be.

An immediate feeling of dread creeps up from the pit of your stomach, and your pulse beats in your ears so loudly it blocks out all other sound. You go to raise your gun; because how dare this person torture you by pretending to be the love of your life -but raised hands promptly stop you in your tracks. You look at her, eyes wet with unshed tears desperate to fall.

She eyes you cautiously as she takes a small step closer, hands still either side of her head. “It’s me.” She seems to desperately plead, and at the sound of her voice, you feel the tightness in your throat grow a tenfold. It was her voice. This person had her voice too.

You try to say something; anything, but when you open your mouth, you come to find that even words had deserted you. It leaves you to release a choked sob despite your best efforts to stifle it, and you press your lips together in a futile attempt to prevent another from escaping as you tighten your grasp around the gun.

Your hands were noticeably trembling and unsteady, but the implication was there. You weren’t afraid to pull the trigger, and this person had to know that.

“P-prove it.” You somehow manage to choke out, and she nods, her throat bobbing as she looks away for just a second before speaking. You hate that your stomach clenches at the sight of the tears in her eyes.

Natasha used to show her emotions so rarely that each time she even came close to shedding a tear it would break your heart.

“We met just after my defection to shield. We didn’t like each other at first, because you thought I was too stubborn and hardheaded and I thought you were a self centred know it all.” She starts, and you hate the hope that begins to build in your stomach.

You were forced to remind yourself that this wasn’t hidden information. If you were around back then, you would know that Natasha and yourself never used to get along.

She seems to know this, because after a short moment, she continues. “You hate chocolate. The one time I got it for you for Valentine’s Day you waited until I was out of sight to give it to Peter. You hate the movie Up because it makes you cry. My sweater, the black one with the zip is your favourite because it’s oversized and smells like me. You…you used to wear it when I went on missions because it made you feel close. You used to sleep on my side of the bed when I wasn’t there because my pillow smells like my perfume,” she chuckles slightly as she uses one of her raised hands to wipe away the single tear that manages to spill down her cheek.

By now, you could feel your guard beginning to drop. Nobody knew this stuff. Nobody but Natasha. But it couldn’t be her. She was gone. It was a soul for a soul and she was the sacrifice. There was no other choice. She was dead. She was gone…wasn’t she?

“You think coffee is gross,” she continues, seemingly under the impression that you still weren’t convinced. “But you still kiss me even when I drink it. You call it the ultimate sacrifice.” At that part, your lips quirk up at the corners. It was an inside joke when you’d first gotten together. She’d make fun if you for not liking coffee and you’d kiss her just to shut her up.

“It’s our five year anniversary in two months. I was going to propose. I bought the ring and it’s in my underwear drawer underneath my socks. I wanted to spent the rest of my life with you, but then thanos…”

You drop the gun to the floor with a loud clatter and all but throw yourself against her body. Hesitant arms move from their raised position to settle gently around your waist, and you feel the tip of her cold nose nudge against the skin of your neck as she pulls you close to her.

“It’s you,” you choke out as you tightly fist the material of her jacket in your hands. You feel her nod against you, her hands fighting to grab purchase of any part of your body they could. She was shaking almost violently in your hold, whether that be from the cold or something else entirely. It forces you to tighten your grip around her, your hand rising to cup the back of her head.

“It’s me.” She whispers, voice trembling with emotion, “it’s me.”

*

You don’t know how long you remain in the threshold of the front door holding on to one another. It could have been seconds. Minutes. Hours. All you knew is that you never wanted to let go.

You never thought you’d get to hold her again. Feel the weight of her body in your arms and take in her intoxicating smell that had once brought you so much comfort. She was everything and you wanted to remain in this moment, right here, right now, for the rest of your life.

“Let’s…” you swallow heavily as you reluctantly pull her away from you and bring your hands up to cup her cheeks. Your thumb trails softly over the skin; just as soft as you remembered despite the tears staining it. “Let’s go inside, okay?” You whisper with a tender smile, and Natasha nods as she gently grasps your wrists in her hands.

Her wary eyes flicker down to your lips, and your smile becomes a little more genuine as you lean forward and place them tenderly against her own. They were warm, and soft; a feeling you’d missed dearly.

She gasps softly at the sensation of your lips against her own as her hands move from your wrists and down your back until they come to rest on either side of your waist. Her touch litters your skin with goosebumps, the caress of her hands on you for the first time in months an indescribable feeling.

Her bottom lip slots perfectly in between your own, an action that lingers as you trace the tip of your thumb over her jawline before reluctantly pulling away and resting her forehead against her own.

Her soft breath hits your lips as she clings to the shirt either side of your waist, and you feel your eyes fill with tears all over again as you pull her body into your own before closing the door behind her. Now that you were encased in the privacy of your own home, you watch as Natasha finally allows herself to break.

It starts off small. Quiet, hitched breaths as her unfocused eyes fill with tears. But then slowly, gradually, it gets bigger. Her chest heaves, her breathing intensifies, and she lets out a loud, unstifled sob as she falls defeatedly into your arms. Your own bottom lip trembles as you pull her body flush against your own, hands slipping beneath her jacket to desperately clutch at her shirt.

You were desperate to feel her skin against your own.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” You attempt to sooth, knowing no words would ever be good enough but desperate to try. “You’re back. You’re safe, and I love you. More than you could ever imagine.”

**

Part 2?

@goldenempyrean @mywitchy-assassin @romanoffsbish

[berryless]

As much as Astarion likes to pretend he's better than everyone, the truth is—when the performance ends, and the curtains draw to a close, he stays on the stage alone and forgotten, unworthy of attention when he isn't a spectacle. That's why his little theater is open for everyone around the clock. Every act, every movement, every phrase, although deftly improvised, is part of the show.

Everything to prevent the crowd from discovering the truth.

Everything to fool himself into forgetting said truth himself.

That outside of the spotlight, away from the little stage of his, when he looks in someone's eyes, Astarion doesn't see himself reflected in them. They look at him, but also past him, through him, like he's nothing but an empty space, a person-shaped hole in the fabric of the world that someone forgot to mend.

And because this happens oh so every often this thought is no longer a fear of his, not something he can doubt, but a simple fact.

They don't see him. They don't know him.

They don't care to.

Admittedly, this makes it easier to stomach luring them back to Cazador. Because of course a performance of century would require a fee. Nothing in this world is free. Certainly not his services.

And he is but a humble baitman, a shining lantern attracting moths to leap into the flames of eternal damnation.

A tool.

And as a tool he does what he's told to do unless he wants to end up discarded and broken like others disobedient useless tools were.

But then Tav sees him. And it's frightening.

Because suddenly after the show is over, after the curtains are drawn, after everything falls back to silence, and he returns to being in nothingness, he isn't truly alone on this stage anymore.

She's here, sitting quietly, looking at him in a contemplation, thinking who knows what—Astarion certainly doesn't. And her presence alone is forcing him to put back his stage costume and perform off clock, asking in jest if she happened to lost herself in his eyes, because it certainly wouldn't be the first for this to happen, he does have pretty eyes (or so he's been told enough to regurgitate the sentiment appropriately).

Tav laughs, "As a matter of fact, you do. But…" Her voice trails off, and that uncomfortable stare returns. She looks at him, lost in thoughts as she gathers her words, and a wave of goosebumps runs up Astarions arms when it comes to him she actually sees him.

Wants to see him.

Through him—in a different, completely foreign way, not skipping past his existence, but uncovering it and studying its insides. His insides.

The notion makes him nauseous.

His fingers start to tremble, and Astarion hides them in his fists.

He never knew that being perceived might be so frightening.

He's far more comfortable with everything being the usual way, for people withdrawing when the performance ends, for them seeing past him, but not him, because if they judge his mask, his persona, his act—that's a critique of his presentation. His work, if you will. His craft.

Not of Astarion himself.

And as it shockingly turns out, he might not like receiving judgment on something that he, an actor, an author, a man behind the stage is.

"You have far more than just those beautiful eyes of yours, aren't you?"

He laughs on cue, desperate to turn this exchange into one he has with his audience, "My, what gave me away? My luscious locks, perhaps? Or would that be my lustful lips? I received rave reviews on my use of them. Would you like to try for yourself?"

Tav smiles. She looks at him openly, without blushing, without twitching, neither sultry nor loathing, accepting his words like an act that they are.

Astarion can barely keep his flirtatious mask without it cracking.

"As tempting as this offer is, afraid I've to restrain myself," she sighs, the tone of her voice aligning to his. She's also performing her part, and he knows that with certainty. "My compact size does not allow me thread deep waters without caution."

And your waters, Astarion, run very deep indeed.

She doesn't say this out loud, but he can infer the meaning from other places.

"Oh, come on, I'm hardly deeper than a puddle," he quips back. "You'll be perfectly fine sloshing through. As long as you don't mind being messy."

"Will I?"

He's still unable to see his reflection, but the feeling of being seen doesn't go away. She looks at him, through him, but not past him, right into his skull, right into his soul, and a part of him wants to curl himself in a ball to hide from this deep penetrating stare of hers.

Thankfully, Tav turns away before he's forced to do that. Or gouge out her wise all-knowing eyes, completely ill-fit for someone oh-so-young.

"Goodnight, Astarion."

He doesn't ask for a goodnight sip this time, just says something fitting without thinking much about it.

The feeling of her gaze lingers, it crawls under his skin, making all his hairs stand on end.

He doesn't like it.

And yet the shudder runs through him from just a fleeting picture of those eyes prying him open and reading through him with same acute attention that's reserved exclusively for her books. A frightened one, yes. But simultaneously full of excitement.

He does not like it.

Not one bit.

Not at all.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to. 

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting. 

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates. 

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten. 

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made. 

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith. 

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself. 

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him. 

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm. 

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this. 

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to. 

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game. 

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared. 

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”. 

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago. 

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you. 

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later. 

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses. 

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute. 

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute. 

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts. 

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks. 

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. 

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something. 

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him. 

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment. 

But this is different. 

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass. 

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words. 

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising. 

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. 

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady. 

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall,  where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word. 

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night. 

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction. 

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest. 

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing? 

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much. 

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through. 

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up. 

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting. 

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do. 

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice. 

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall. 

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else. 

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it. 

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly. 

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are. 

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you. 

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them. 

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you. 

It’s over.

The school day’s done. 

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall. 

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead. 

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together. 

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces. 

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria. 

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort. 

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with. 

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink. 

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”. 

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”. 

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy. 

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box. 

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl. 

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand. 

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group. 

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose. 

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either. 

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments. 

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him? 

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise! 

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass. 

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding. 

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here. 

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward. 

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still. 

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door. 

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike. 

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree. 

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone. 

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin. 

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again. 

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words. 

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard. 

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you. 

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here. 

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right. 

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it. 

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes. 

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this. 

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck. 

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines. 

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”. 

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says. 

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

[fancyfeathers]

William’s and Sherlock’s darlings

The Games We Play of Dust and Ash (Yandere Moriarty the Patriot Masterlist)

(A/N- this one was painful to write, I cried while writing this)

Spoilers for the Moriarty the Patriot timeskip

When Sherlock and William disappear, their darlings are left alone, because Mycroft’s darling is married off to him and she was the reporter’s best friend, and Albert is arrested and his darling has left to go see the world with her dead parent’s fortune, meanwhile Louis’ darling is still stuck with him as his life changes, which leaves William’s darling alone again…

William told her that he would never abandon her…

And now he was gone…

He kidnapped her, manipulated her, gaslit her, but he cared for her, she thinks.

Honestly she doesn’t know what to think as she now stands in an empty house, all alone, abandoned like she had been all her life. But then there is a knock at the front door and her steps echo through the empty halls as she goes to get it, and all she feels is emptiness from this empty nest. She opens the door to see an all too familiar face and a welcome one at that, the reporter, Sherlock’s darling. Both of them look at the other and they just look like they have seen hell. William’s darling has always seen this woman as a strong and independent woman but…

“…Miss Hudson said that Sherlock left me some stuff in case he… I…I can’t do this alone.”

“…Neither can I.”

Now it feels like William’s darling is looking at a mirror when looking at her friend. The two go to Baker Street together to pick of the box of the things Sherlock left his darling, it’s mostly letters he wrote to her but never sent, all the things he couldn’t make himself say, a few of her newspapers articles, some money, and a ring. The two go back to the old Moriarty estate together and just sit down together in silence which is broken by Sherlock’s darling…

“I don’t have a job anymore since I worked for Milverton’s paper and I doubt any news companies here would want to hire me since my main source is dead, I have some family in the states I was going to stay with until I am ready to start writing again-“

“Can I please come with you?”

A smile comes across the reporter’s face at her question.

“I was hoping you would.”

The two say goodbyes to whoever they can and have left and a week later they are on a boat across the ocean. It is on the voyage over when Sherlock’s darling is walking through the halls of the ship when she hears music, she follows it to one of the ship’s lounges to see William’s darling playing and singing. Her friend sits down on the bench next to her and listens…

“Where did you learn?”

“Albert’s wife taught me how to play and then at the opera house I used to listen in on the singers’ vocal lessons.”

“Well you certainly have a gift, good enough to play at the St. Regis in New York.”

“Thank you… I read some of your articles as well, you also have quite the hand.”

“Thank you.”

Starting a new life can be scary but at least they have each other.

Life in New York is not so bad, the two women stay with the grandparents of Sherlock’s darling in their home in upper Manhattan, a kind retired couple who takes care of the two women after such a terrifying and life changing incident. Her grandfather clears out his old and unused study for his grandchild to use so she can begin writing her new column. And then her grandmother begins to teach William’s darling about the types of music here in New York that is far different than the music she heard be played at the opera house, the two play piano that can be heard from where her grandfather works in his garden and down the hall where the reporter clicks away at her typewriter.

Soon two years had passed, the two managed to get their own apartment in lower manhattan, Sherlock’s darling had been taking small writing jobs here and there but had recently secured a job as a journalist for the New York Times, a crime journalist like she was before. Meanwhile William’s darling after years of hiding herself away and now works as a singer at a high end hotel like the reporter told her to do. The two had found themselves grow into a routine, make and have breakfast together, William’s darling will clean up the apartment and work and write some of her music while Sherlock’s darling heads out to work, then the reporter will come back in the afternoon for a late lunch, then William’s darling will leave to the hotel while the reporter finishes her work at home for the day, and then she will join her friend at the hotel after her performance and the two will have dinner there due to her friend’s role as staff at the hotel. Life was peaceful and now neither of them were alone, they had each other.

Some days were harder than others, one of them knowing they left people behind in London, the darlings of Louis and Mycroft, not telling Albert’s darling where they were so she would not feel the need to find them ever since they would take care of themselves. Sometimes the two would sit on top of the roof of their apartment building after hanging up the laundry and just wonder if they made the right choice and if they miss the mastermind and detective, William’s darling is far more prone to this and will just take her notebook up and write, doesn’t matter what, music, poetry, letters to him for her to keep, just something to get it all off her chest.

Meanwhile working for the Pinkerton agency in Brooklyn, Sherlock gets a job, there is going to be a large transaction with one of the heads of the biggest crime family in New York at a high end hotel in Manhattan, so he brings along William since has more insight how unground organizations function. They deal with the threat at the hotel silently as the owner requested as to not scare the guests and staff…

Meanwhile William’s darling and Sherlock’s darling are having a glass of wine in one of the empty event rooms at the hotel after her shift, sitting on the piano bench of the grand piano in the mostly empty room. Sherlock’s darling mentions that she left her journal open on the couch at home and told her she read one of the songs and asks her.

“Do you miss William?”

“…sometimes… I-I know he was a devil on earth… but I can’t help but think that even devils were once angels- sorry I probably sound crazy-“

“I would never tell you that you are crazy… would you mind playing one of your songs for me?”

“Sure but only if you sing with me, and don’t say you don’t know the lyrics when you snooped.”

Sherlock and William are walking down a hall in the hotel, about to leave when they both hear a piano playing from one of the rooms ahead. They shrug it off as some staff or a guest playing for fun, then William hears a voice, her voice…

“Balancing the scales

All my job entails

Making sure that they're prepared to see the world.”

He thinks he is just hearing something for a second and tries to tell himself it is nothing, but her voice… it has to be…

Sherlock definitely picks up on this and silently nods and William approaches the closed door where he hears the music and the voice…

“And all I feel is emptiness

From this emptying nest

William are you there

I was unaware

How difficult it'd be without you there

I was unprepared”

It is her, it has to be.

Then there is another voice joining in…

“Balancing the scales, balancing the scales

I did the best I could but still I have failed

Still I have failed

Balancing the scales

Want them to see the world but I'll always care”

Now William looks at the detective so see the same expression William wore on his own face.

As the piano fades away the door handle turns and the ladies turn their heads expecting it to be another of the hotel staff but instead…

William expected something when his darling saw him after years of thinking he was dead, but not the look of fear in her eyes after saying his name so sweetly in a song. She looks terrified, like she just saw a ghost and in some ways she did.

Sherlock on the other hand expected his darling’s reaction, like the look of pure rage in her eyes when she saw him alive. Their last few meeting before he disappeared were not on the greatest term as their friendship had a falling out due to Sherlock’s feels towards her and his overprotectiveness. Then not to mention by killing Milverton, she lost her job in London

In a blink of an eye and without a second thought, Sherlock’s darling grabbed her friend’s wrist and walked right out of the other doors to the room into another hallway.

It takes a second for William to process that he is crying. He abandoned her when he told her that he would never do such a thing. God what had he done?

The next day, neither woman goes to work, not even bothering to notify anyone that they would not be showing up today, they would find an excuse later. William’s darling sits on the rooftop, looking over the city as Sherlock’s darling hangs their laundry up on the line…

“Do you think you’ll go back to him now that you have the option?”

The question from her friend catches William’s darling off guard…

“I… I don’t know…”

“You do not have to, dear.”

That voice catches both women off guard, and they both look behind them at the rooftop entrance to see William standing there with his darling’s journal in hand, she must have left it at the piano.

“I only came to return this… and tell you I am sorry for abandoning you, I hurt you and I can never repair your trust in me, but I will… I will always be here if you need me.”

He sets the journal down on the bench she is sitting down and before William can turn to leave, she grabs his sleeve and he looks down at her with confusion but before he can say anything else she leaps up and wraps her arms around him, tucking her chin over his shoulder as she always had done…

“I forgive you.”

Meanwhile Sherlock’s darling is overcome with emotions that she cannot place as she looks at the two. She squeezes her eyes shut and a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She does not have to look up to know who it was.

“I do not forgive you.”

“I wasn’t asking you to and I wasn’t apologizing, love.”

[gaylordscooter]

Don't Bring a Papyrus to the Castle are you Insane

It's been awhile since Nightmare’s tormented them. This was, of course, a good thing. Supposedly.

It could mean that he's been planning something during the time of inactivity. It put Horror on edge. He's always been the most paranoid, even with the tough competition.

The main difference between Horror and the other two was that they would roll with the punches. Horror wanted to be prepared, which was a problem, because he ended up driving himself insane trying to figure out what Nightmare could possibly be planning.

In all honesty, Nightmare was slacking in his latest attempts to boost the negativity in the air. The last thing he did was play a bunch of scary movies and then pretended to be like the monsters in said scary movies when it was time to sleep. He did not account for them blowing him up when he acted like the Thing.

It was ever since they started working together. That's when Nightmare started losing his edge.

No one was going to mention it, but it was almost kind of…fun? Living at the castle. The alternative for Killer and Dust was an empty world with nothing else to do except think about how horrible they are. As for Horror—well, he at least had a stable source of food. For the most part, they were never actively put in danger. Almost everything Nightmare did was simulated, albeit simulated situations of terror cultivated for them. They also had comfortable shelter with their own rooms and all.

At first, the three hated each other. They still kinda do, but working together lessened it a tad…maybe more than that, but again, no one was going to mention it.

“what if he gives up and kicks us out? or what if he just kills us?” Horror guessed as he paced around the so-called “living room” which was really just the great hall of the castle but none of them called it that. “he keeps us around for our negativity, we know that much, so what happens once he can't get the amount he wants from us anymore?”

“he wouldn't kick us out,” Killer said dismissively. He was leaning back on one of the chairs, propping his legs up against one of the many very long tables in the room. “i think he’s gotten attached to us. that's why he hasn't been doing anything.”

Dust, who was sitting next to him, scoffed at the notion.

“what? you think i’m wrong?” he questioned.

“i doubt he cares about us,” Horror muttered.

“atatata, i said attached. big difference,” Killer said. “we're like toys to him, toys that a little child doesn't want to let go. children don't go out of their way to toss their toys out.”

“i don't think you can equate him to a child,” Horror retorted.

Killer cocked his head. “really? ‘cus he sure acts like one sometimes.”

The doors to the living room swung open and a familiar darkness filled the air, but instead of Nightmare entering the room—it was Papyrus instead.

Killer fell backwards, the chair clattering against the floor, while Dust turned away while clutching his hood. Only Horror was able to look him in the eye.

“WOWIE! THREE OF MY BROTHER?” Papyrus quickly looked over the room, narrowing his eyes and stroking his chin, as if looking for something. “IT IS A LOT CLEANER HERE THAN I EXPECTED! CERTAINLY YOU THREE AREN’T DOING ANY CLEANING.”

Killer remained on the floor. He brought his hands up to his face. “this is a sick joke. this is a sick joke. tell me i’m hallucinating. is this a bad trip?”

“this is real, bud,” Horror answered.

Killer groaned.

Horror glanced at Dust and back to Killer again. Clearly, neither of them were equipped to handle this. He sighed, “i’ll talk to papyrus and tell ‘m to leave you two alone.” He walked over to Papyrus, which took a minute with how huge the hall was. He internally grimaced as he saw Papyrus's expression flicker to worry when he noticed his injury. “hey…bro. don’t mind the gaping hole in my head, i forgot to wear a helmet, y’know how it is.” Despite being such a long time since he’s talked to Papyrus, he was able to slip right back into old habits. Such as lying to him.

“I SEE…” Papyrus looked tempted to CHECK him, but decided against it to Horror’s relief. He peered behind Horror to get a good look at Killer and Dust.

The two of them simultaneously turned even more away from Papyrus’s gaze as if it’d turn them to stone.

“don't mind the other me’s, they're—uh a bit…different?”

“YES, YES, ALTERNATE VERSIONS I AM WELL AWARE OF THAT,” he declared proudly like he studied for this.

Horror blinked, not expecting that. How much does he know? He asked himself. He was scared to know the answer. He choked down his mess of emotions to keep a neutral face. “right…uh, yeah. it would be best if you left ‘em alone. they might explode or something if you approach them.” That might not even be hyperbole with how those two were reacting.

“VERY WELL! NOT EVERYONE CAN HANDLE THE GREAT PAPYRUS’S OVERPOWERINGLY POWERFUL PRESENCE.” Even though the “everyone” he was referring to were copies of his own brother.

“yep…you're just too cool for ‘em.” This was very quickly steering into an awkward direction. Scratch that, it was already awkward. He was talking to a younger version of his brother before he manipulated him to eat human flesh. As far as he knew, this Papyrus would never have to go through what he had. And that's not to mention the two brother killers in the same room as them. He could only guess how stressed those two were.

Nightmare was probably reveling in it. Asshole.

Papyrus sighed uncharacteristically. It wasn't his dramatic sigh that was for the sake of gaining attention. He was troubled. “Are we doing the thing where we pretend everything’s fine and dandy despite everything telling us otherwise?”

Horror choked on the spit in his throat that wasn't there. “i—uhhh.” He darted his eyes to the side, suddenly the wall to the right was very intriguing and he would much rather look there.

“There's a GAPING HOLE in your skull and I don't even WANT to ask where that eye came from!” Papyrus exclaimed while throwing his arms out. He gestured to his torn shirt with blood old stains right at the edges. “I just know THAT’S not ketchup stains. Sans, how dense do you think I am?”

“i—”

“Actually, don't answer that. I already have a hunch.”

Horror hung his head in shame. “‘m sorry,” he mumbled.

Papyrus's expression softened. He knelt down to Horror’s level to look him in the eye and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not mad…I’m just worried. You always hide stuff from me and it hurts you!” He was very clearly looking at the hole in his head. “You hid what happened from your brother didn't you?”

Horror flinched. “yeah. yeah, i did.”

Then, to Horror’s surprise, Papyrus brought him into a hug.

Silently, he brought up his arms to return the hug.

Dust and Killer dared to turn around to see the display. Only to quickly look away once more when Papyrus looked at them with a warm grin.

The silent hug ended and Papyrus stood at full height once more.

“how much do you know?” Horror asked.

“WELL!” Papyrus started, already returning to his cheery and boisterous demeanor. “THE GOOPY THING SURE SHARED WAY TOO MUCH PERSONAL INFORMATION ABOUT YOU THREE. IT WAS PRETTY RUDE, HONESTLY, SO I DIDN’T WANT TO BRING IT UP UNLESS YOU DID.”

Killer and Dust couldn't avoid looking at him now.

“EVERYTHING. I KNOW EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW,” he clarified.

Killer reached a shaky hand up to grip Dust’s jacket from the ground, perhaps looking for comfort, or because if he didn't hold onto something he would dust right then and there.

Dust grabbed his wrist in turn, gripping it way too tight.

Papyrus narrowed his eyes at them. “YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME AND YOU CAN’T EVEN FACE ME HEAD-ON ABOUT IT?!”

Killer blinked. That wasn’t a pun, was it? No, of course it wasn’t.

“DON’T GET A-HEAD OF YOURSELVES, I’M NOT MAD. NO NEED TO DIVE HEAD FIRST INTO SUCH ASSUMPTIONS.”

It most certainly was a pun. Killer tried to suppress a chuckle, but he failed. It was like a dam broke as he bursted out in hysterical laughter, rolling around on the ground.

Dust looked down at him in shock and let go of his wrist.

“papyrus, you—you can't just do that to us!” he cried between laughs. “i can't breathe!”

Papyrus smirked. “YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! WHAT? ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME IF I DO?”

“papyrus, please.” Killer gasped desperately for air.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. THAT’S ENOUGH MACABRE JOKES ABOUT MY OWN DEATH FOR NOW. I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE FROM LAUGHING, I’M NOT HERE FOR REVENGE.”

Now it was Dust’s turn to laugh, except it was silent and he was banging his fist against the table trying to keep it that way.

Papyrus looked pleased with himself.

Horror couldn't help but smile genuinely. Leave it to Papyrus to make him laugh no matter the situation.

“NYEH HEH HEH! AS ALWAYS, YOU CANNOT STAY GLUM IN MY PRESENCE FOR LONG!!”

Of course now was the time Nightmare decided to enter the room—or make his presence known. For all they know he could’ve been here the entire time, just hidden.

Killer immediately got up from the floor while Dust regained his composure.

He approached Papyrus and Horror, using his tentacles to lift himself up and tower over the two.

“No. No, you're not supposed to be happy,” Nightmare said in disbelief. His single eye was cracked wide open with utter contempt. The air around him was suffocating. “You're not supposed to just forgive them.” Tentacles stretched out and pointed at the three Sanses as if threatening to impale them. “They all betrayed you.”

He flicked a tentacle at Dust and Killer in particular, “They KILLED you! Multiple times! Even when you begged them to stop!” He was screaming, but it didn't have a threatening edge to it, despite his anger.

He turned his attention to Horror, leering down at him with his eye going slit. “And you. You think you're better than those two just because you didn't actively kill all those people, but you're not. You doomed everyone. You manipulated your brother into eating human flesh. He didn't want that.” His gaze finally landed back on Papyrus. “How could you forgive them?”

Underneath that anger he sounded…wounded.

Papyrus answered him without hesitation, “They must've had a good reason.”

Nightmare flinched back like he was hit. His tentacles retracted and curled against his body. His aura grabbed at their souls with an unbearable pressure. “You choose to believe in them, despite everything? Even though they harmed you in ways brothers should never?!” he roared.

“I will never stop believing them!” Papyrus declared. Those weren't empty words, he knew that.

Something in Nightmare snapped. He couldn't bear to stomach Papyrus’s unfaltering belief any longer. He opened a portal to the Papyrus’s universe but when he tried to grab him to toss him through his touch instantly encased him in ice. He didn't even process it as he made the motion to toss him into the portal anyway.

Once the portal closed he saw the three Sanses on the floor, struggling against his aura. They’ve never had that problem before, usually they could withstand it when his aura leaked through.

He finally registered the flecks of ice on his hand. He was revolted, he's only used that kind of magic once before and he made an effort to never let it happen again. When did that happen?

How did that happen?

He froze that Papyrus, he realized.

He never meant to—

He didn't even want to—

…He wasn't keeping track of his aura. He wasn't keeping it in check. He was killing them. He wrestled with his magic trying to force it back to normal. It was so much harder than usual.

What was happening? He was losing control. He couldn't lose control. That wasn't something he was allowed to—

Ah.

There was a knife impaling him, in one of his tentacles.

Killer glared at him with fury he’s never seen or felt from him before. For once, he had eyelights in those usually lifeless sockets and they were piercing through him just like his knife. He didn't hesitate to draw the knife back to drive it back in again over and over, it wasn't until Horror grabbed him from behind to drag him away from Nightmare.

“you just saw him freeze papyrus with a single touch and you're gonna get closer?” Horror said.

Killer struggled against his hold, swinging his knife and trying to reach Nightmare in vain. “i don't give a shit!”

The sound of a blaster rang out. It was aimed right at Nightmare’s head.

“dust, don’t,” Horror warned in vain.

Dust shot him a look of malice.

The blaster fired anyway, hitting Nightmare square on the forehead. He let out a horrific screech and a tentacle reflexively struck at Dust. Luckily, it only pierced the floor in front of him.

“you think you're real funny, huh?! bringing in a papyrus and trying to turn him against us? go on and have a tantrum because shit isn't going your way! when will you learn that we're not your fucking toys, asshole?!” Killer barked and wrenched himself free from Horror's grip. Thankfully, he didn't bother to get closer to Nightmare again.

Nightmare shrieked inhumanly in response. He frantically glanced between the three, bracing for another attack that never came.

“i remember when i thought you were terrifying! but you're just so immature. you just gonna scream your lungs out instead of talking?” he taunted.

A tentacle shot forward at Killer's head. He didn't even flinch as it halted an inch away from his nose.

The look in Nightmare's eye was rabid. He only had a speck of self control left. It took every resemblance of logic in him left to refrain from killing the three of them right then and there. He wanted to. Oh how he really wanted to.

A small voice told him he would regret that.

He tore his eye away from the three, turning around to open a portal. He had to leave, now.

He went through and it snapped shut, and the three were free of his presence.

They let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. It was easier to breathe now, too, without Nightmare’s aura choking them to death.

Killer sighed and put his hands in his pockets, letting his shoulders slump. “‘m going to my room.” He walked off towards the end of the hall.

“killer, wait,” Horror said.

He paused mid-step, sighing. “what?”

“i’m not just gonna let you board yourself up in your room.” He turned to Dust. “none of us should be alone right now.”

Killer chuckled, amused at his concern. “oh really? what, so you can act like a support system like you’re someone who actually cares about me?” he spat. He shook his head dismissively. “i am going to my room,” he repeated slowly, enunciating each word this time.

Horror sighed as Dust also walked off.

However, Dust wasn't walking to leave the room, but rather towards Killer. He grabbed Killer's shoulder from behind, stopping him in place.

“horror i said—” His eye sockets widened when he turned to see Dust instead. He frowned. “you too, huh?”

Dust patted him on the shoulder with the same hand.

“‘m not even going to pretend that means anything.” He shrugged his hand off. “you forget that i have just as high of LV as you. i know what that does to you. we don't have the capacity to care. we're numb!” he said bitterly.

“you sure are the most emotional for someone so ‘numb’,” Horror chimed in.

“that's not—”

“true? you were laughing just a moment ago. you’re so shaken at what happened you want to be alone. you're gonna tell me that's ‘numb’?”

“well i’m not feeling normally either!” Killer snapped. His hand mindlessly hovered over his soul, covering it from their view. “it's all so short lived what does it matter anyway?! i just need a second alone, everything will go back to normal, and then Nightmare will torment us again, cycle repeats,” his voice broke, unusually filled with emotion. “that's our lives now.”

“you don't have to isolate yourself—”

“shut up! you don't care about me! neither of you do! you never will, because i killed papyrus—the only person who’d care for us unconditionally. i can blame the anomaly or nightmare all i want but it's my fault that this is happening.”

Dust was taken aback. His face was hardly visible, but Killer could see that he was stunned.

Killer always insisted he wasn't at fault for what happened in his universe; that it was just the anomaly's fault. It was what Dust hated so much about him, half because he was mad at his audacity to shift the blame and half because he was jealous he could do that. Turned out he was jealous at nothing, because he couldn't do that.

Dust tried to sign something.

“i don't know what that meant, but i assume it's an insult.”

Dust shook his head. He tried again, but in a way he hoped Killer would understand, by pointing at him and motioning to where his own soul is.

Killer tilted his head. “you want my soul or something?”

Dust face palmed.

“don't be dense, killer. he's telling you that he does care about you!” Horror interjected. “we both do, dumbass.”

Dust brought his hand down and nodded.

Killer scoffed and crossed his arms. “well don’t expect me to reciprocate.”

“okay ‘mr. edgy i can't feel anything but i need to go in my room to cry’,” Horror teased.

“i wasn't going to cry!” he retorted.

“right…” Horror trailed off, getting an idea. “either of you wanna get a snack? nightmare's not here to stop us from raiding the fridge.”

“of course you would think of that,” Killer said.

“you down or not?”

“duh!” Killer threw his arms up. “let's go!”

The three of them walked out of the hall together and made their way to the kitchen.

The kitchen looked much more modern than the hall, as if it belonged in a mansion rather than a castle. None of them questioned how any of the appliances were powered.

To their delight, they had plenty of time for rummaging through the fridge and eating. They ended up staying at the table and chatting even after finishing their food.

Nightmare was taking much longer to come back than any of them expected. It was almost nighttime and he had yet to show up. They almost wondered if he was coming back or not.

To everyone's shock it was Papyrus that entered the room. They weren't sure if it was the same one at first until he started talking.

“I AM HERE YET AGAIN!” he announced.

The three of them gawked.

“YES, YES, I KNOW IT IS SURPRISING, BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS CANNOT STAY DOWN FOR LONG! I HAVE RECOVERED FROM THAT CHILLING EXPERIENCE…” his eyes shifted to the side, “MIRACULOUSLY!” He posed proudly with his cape-scarf blowing in the nonexistent wind behind him. “ALTHOUGH, I WON’T BE HERE FOR LONG. I AM ONLY HERE TO SAY FAREWELL.” He extended his arms out, offering a hug.

Dust hesitated, while Horror couldn't even react before Killer sprang up out of his chair to accept it.

“IT’S UNFORTUNATE I HAVE TO GO, BUT I HAVE MY OWN UNIVERSE THAT IS IN NEED OF A PAPYRUS!” He said as he patted Killer on the back and ended the hug. He walked over to one of the windows. “TRY NOT TO MISS ME TOO MUCH!” He jumped through the window. Just like that he was gone.

Horror hurried over to the window to catch the sight of a portal closing and sighed in relief. “he always knew how to make an exit.”

They assumed that since Papyrus arrived, Nightmare would show up at any moment, but it took another hour for him to arrive.

He hurridly passed through the kitchen, probably on his way to his room. It seemed he didn't expect them to still be hanging out in the kitchen as he made a note of ignoring them.

Dust managed to sneak a glance at him and the huge scorch mark on his back. In addition to that, he had less tentacles out than usual, he swore he saw legs underneath his cloak which were usually covered up.

Killer and Horror were too caught up in talking about the sudden Papyrus encounter to care.

Meanwhile, in Nightmare's room he stood in front of the mirror hung on his wall, glaring at himself in contempt.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It was the very thing he said to himself when he decided to do this. When he decided to gather those three and take them to the castle.

Don’t get attached.

He told himself. Yet here he was, in front of his mirror trying to convince himself that he hasn't gotten attached.

They were supposed to be his source of negativity, in a way, mere food.

The scorch mark on his back and missing tentacles were proof of his failure. He wouldn't purposefully seek out his brother if he wasn't attached to them. He wouldn't try to salvage the situation he created specifically for his entertainment.

But it wasn't entertaining. Not anymore. That was the problem.

He hit the mirror off the wall with one of his remaining tentacles.

He didn't know where to go from here.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"she's broken but she's fun" 6,432 words

Part 1 of ocean depths

Work Summary:

It's you. You are the nothing. You need him. You need him because he completes you. Of course he's all your messed up brain can latch onto — he's the most potent thing you've encountered, so in a way, it’s like he’s the only real thing. He's the only solid, clear thing, and you need something to grasp and hold onto. You couldn't grow numb to him even if you wanted to. Nightmare says “Kill.” and you kill. — Killer has issues — he can't really feel emotions. Nightmare finds him and takes advantage of that to recruit him. (Or: Killer and Nightmare waltz along the line between what's abuse and what isn't)

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

Boredom. 

Violent, devouring boredom. An ouroboros of boredom — when there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire, that type of boredom. 

The type of boredom born from countless, countless repetitions of the exact same day. Every little detail discovered and examined and chewed to death. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it mattered. That type of boredom.

You know. The 'finally say yes to that demon after 176 refusals' boredom. The 'kill everyone just once, just to feel something' boredom. The 'it's not just once that you kill them' boredom. 

In fact, you kill them all again, and again, and again. Until you've squeezed every last drop of the guilt, of the pain, of the grief, of the delight, of the high. 

You're no different than that flower. You're no different than that kid. 

You're only different from yourself, now. No longer “Sans”, no longer “Frisk” or “Chara”. No longer monster, no longer human. You're not both, but you're not exactly neither. Schrödinger’s cat eats cake. 

No, you're... you're something else. You're something new. The only new thing at this point, really, your world desolate by your own hand.

The only thing you can feel is the scorching of determination that engulfs your soul now, making it impossible to fit within your body. 

And now you sit alone, in a barren inn that your friends used to visit. You've killed them all. Multiple times. Only emptiness remains. Emptiness of emptiness of emptiness. Until the knife twisting in your hands presses just a little deeper into your fingertips and you yearn. 

You may be empty inside, but you're still alive, and so the fights were the most exciting thing. With your determination dragging you around like a corpse on a string, still kinetic but no longer any sort of living, you're not afraid to get hurt anymore. You're something much different than simply afraid. 

You're something else.

You're something new. 

“You're perfect,” he croons, and you didn't register him appearing. Otherwise he would've been profusely stabbed, hah. 

But you register it now. The exhale of... despair. Hopelessness and pain and all things nightmarish, sticking to your metaphorical skin and sinking deep, deep into it. It feels quite literally lethal.

But feelings are a distant thing for you. A faded polaroid, a legend from a time passed.

Feelings are like... floating amidst an endless, dark, icy ocean. Pressure aching, choking and suffocating you; intermixed with sensory-depriving weightlessness. Buried and untethered at the same time. And feelings were like reaching up, upwards. Towards those tiny flickers against the ocean’s surface. 

Distant, foggy light dancing. Unable to be caught. Unable to be pinned down. So very far away. The promise of warmth, but none exists. It's just the endless cold. It's just the endless void. Devouring.

It’s just darkness in your vision, leaking like you're crying, a mockery to the fact that you lost that ability a while ago. He is covered in darkness. It wafts cold despair-terror-awfulness.

He...

...He is the leviathan that drags you down, lower, towards those darker, yet darker depths. Tendrils wrapping around your being and whispering no escape, none, it's just this, it's always been this and it always will be. 

And he's right. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it matters. You've known this. 

Join me, the darkness whispers, as he holds out a hand for you to shake. Be mine. Be claimed. Be something.

“There's other ones like you,” he says, and it... mildly fascinates you. That is a feeling. That is more than nothing. Even shallow, minute interest is more than the all-consuming nothing. And anyway, you've done worse for less. 

His hand burns yours when you shake it. It's sharp and potent, a sudden shock to your numb body. It nicks some unimportant HP — it's really just a warning, that a single touch could kill you if the intent is there.

It's not especially hard, the decision to shake his hand and accept. To embrace the dark depths until the light disappears entirely. To be claimed. 

To be made into something. This is more than nothing. This is something. 

Something... new. 

—

“You said they’re like me,” Killer said, voice low. 

Nightmare barely regarded him. “They are.”

“...You’re a liar, then, huh?” 

Now, Nightmare paused. Whenever his eyes would land on Killer, it felt like being in the sights of a predator, cold and bloody. Nightmare was a fun guy like that.

“Watch how you speak to me.” he spoke calmly, with authority, in a way that promised danger. His voice always had this deeper, reverberating quality to it. Dark depths. Like an endless tomb. How edgy.

Killer huffed an empty laugh. “They’re nothing like me,” 

“Dust” one was called, and “Horror” the other. They were still acclimating to not being Sans. 

Killer didn’t have such problems. Killer hadn't been that Sans for... heh. Haha. Maybe never. Sans would never become him. 

“They come from disgusting holes of despair,” Nightmare said, the way one would describe a kindergarten. “They’re violent and unstable, distorted freaks. By their own definition, they are scum. They are just like you.”

They were nothing like him. 

They felt. They cared. 

Dust was a violent fucker, one of those ambush predators. With him, you don’t even get to scream. It was always a sudden snap, the way he murdered. 

Horror was ready to kill for his own preservation. He salivated at the sight of blood and guts. 

But...

—

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry, you wouldn't understand I’m so sorry I, I had to–” 

Killer flicked on the light switch. Which barely did anything — the castle was way too dim even during the day, much more during the night. Or “night”. Time was weird here.

...

Yep. There Dust was. Curled up in the corner, clutching his head in the midst of a breakdown. Muttering to himself obsessively, or maybe the voices in his head, hah. 

Crying. 

His fit was interrupted by Killer’s appearance, sharply cut with a pause. His eye lights having snapped to Killer’s face. Blue and red in a clashing purple mix, bright like nothing natural. 

“Whoops, thought this was the garbage disposal room,” Killer chuckled, turning off the light. The way Dust’s eye lights remained vibrant in it could be called bone-chilling, hah.

He left.

—

Nightmare gave them simple tasks. They were just supposed to run around and screw people over, really. Ruin their day. If possible — their life. It was novel enough, the first couple of times.

The only thing Killer watched be ruined was Horror’s composure. Right. He's the one who hasn't murdered his own beloved brother in cold blood about a couple hundred times. 

In fact, Horror seemed to be devastated at this Papyrus’ expression to their destruction. Eyes guttered out dark and everything. 

Killer finished off the problem with a single barrage of attack. 

“Careful the boss doesn't catch you slackin’!” Killer hollered at the other, cheerfully indifferent, before moving on from the whole scene. He was bored. He was bored. 

People are so predictable in their pain. This had to be enough for whatever Nightmare wanted, right? Killer needed something else to do. 

—

They were nothing like Killer. Killer felt regret and pain only to be delighted by it. Killer couldn’t care less about... anyone, really.

The only thing he could grasp in his hands was–

—

–slammed into the dining table so hard the thing cracked in the middle, except he didn't sense any of it because pain whited out his consciousness for several solid moments. 

Killer couldn't quite hear anything past the sudden ringing drowning out his hearing. It was his face that took the damage, and as his shaking hands pushed him up, hot and sticky liquid streamed down. Dripping onto the pieces of the table, wooden splinters clattering quietly against the floor. The room was huge, as were all rooms in the castle, so it was enough to echo. 

“Echoo,” Killer whispered. He'd excuse himself that his brain was weird from pain, except this is just how he was all the time now.

Drip drop. 

Black and red. Marring his vision. Dripping against the ground. 

It hurt so bad it made his head spin, like the worst migraine. Pounding and difficult to think through. 

He could take it. His soul wasn't quite his anymore, and it didn't have permission to shatter, so he would take it. Whether he wanted to or not. Funny how things keep ending up this way. Always reaching dead ends, hah. 

He barely had time to blink away the liquids clouding his vision, hand coming away from his face coated in the black and red. Smelling of iron and hate. He barely had time until the tentacle was around his ankle with that telltale icy burn, and yanked him off his feet, slamming him into the opposite wall so hard Killer cried out. 

He collapsed down on the floor, breath knocked out of his metaphorical lungs. The stone behind him unscatched, but he was anything but. His spine hurt in a way that sent pain through his shoulders and down his arms, through his hips and down his legs. 

He tried to inhale but choked on his own blood and that black despair. It turned into coughs. Or maybe he was laughing. He couldn't stop smiling. It's not funny. It's hilarious. 

“Quit laughing, you braindead lunatic.” Nightmare snarled, still pissed at him. “You cost us that entire mission!” 

“Riighhtt,” Killer kept laughing, pain hot and buzzing on his face and skittering along his bruised spine. He could taste his own blood, how pleasant. 

Nightmare acted all high and mighty compared to them. He was immortal and ancient, or something, Killer didn't particularly care. 

Killer was an annoying insect compared to him. Oh but how good he was at being annoying. It was one of his most entertaining qualities, really, giving the Player just the tiniest details to obsess over. Using his final move in the big fight to stall (until his stamina, inevitably, depleted and betrayed him).

And he was so good at getting under Nightmare’s skin. Haha, get it? Skin? 

Killer kept laughing, even as a tentacle grasped him by the throat and lifted him. Whatever that hateful liquid covering the non-skeleton was, it always hurt so bad. Not quite like an acid, maybe like something alkaline instead? Like the way frostbite starts to burn when it's deeply sunken in.

Hopefully he would be feeling it for days afterwards, this time. 

—

“...I’m not sorry.” Horror stated, not looking at him. Just clutching the heavy kitchen knife in hand, not even chopping up the... whatever he was chopping there, some sort of vegetable. There was almost a growl to the statement, like Killer would attack him for it. Maybe he would. Maybe Nightmare would snap his hand off for that, but then how would Killer be his right hand man, haha?

“Didn't think you were,” Killer replied easily. 

“You freaks may be fine killing your own brothers, but I’m not,” Horror snarled, shoulders hunched in a way that puffed his hood fluff. Haha. Like an angry kitten. 

“That wasn't your brother,” Killer shrugged, leaning back in his chair. He didn't particularly care for the other residents, but the likelihood of being entertained in company rather than in solitude was higher. 

He liked getting a rise out of them. 

“Doesn't matter,” Horror snapped with the loud thunk of the kitchen knife being sunk scarily deep into the cutting board. Splintered wood. His hand clutching the handle tightly. “How can you look at him and–” 

“Oh I can,” Killer’s grin stretched, hands in his pockets, feet on the table. “And it's easy, don't worry, I can teach you, I’ll go real slow next–” 

The chair clattered as he leaped out of it to dodge the massive cleaver. It slammed against the stone wall hard enough to embed itself in it. Impressive. 

That would've been his face. Shame. 

“You gotta try a little harder than that, bud,” Killer teased, watching in delight as the red of Horror’s single eye blazed. 

—

This grand castle may be grand, but it sure was empty, too. Winding halls of cold, dark stone, even the smallest sounds echoing, barely obstructed by the dark carpeting. Big, cold rooms, unused and void of comfort. A 'Welcome!' doormat would get up and leave.

Pretty consistent aesthetic, yeah, but it was so... empty. It was nothing. It was painfully understimulating. 

Killer was strolling through the hallways again. Looking for something to do. Hands itching with the craving for something. Anything. 

...Hyperventilation. Someone was hyperventilating. Well, it was easy to guess who. 

Killer rounded the corner aaand yup. Bingo. 

Dust half curled against the wall, having one of his rare mental breakdowns. Again. It was very funny the way he could switch from lunacy, to utter flatness, to a nervous collapse. 

He was hunched over his hands, shaking. Killer couldn't quite see from here, but he was pretty sure there was dust on his hands. Haha. Dust on Dust’s hands. Hilarious. 

The poor sucker probably just touched one of the "decorations" along the hallways or something. Killer was starting to think Nightmare kept it so dusty on purpose at this point. That wouldn't surprise him.

Welp. This was as good as anything. Killer approached, Dust’s half conversation becoming a bit more audible as the distance between them shortened. 

“N-no no, I didn't–” a pause, just shaking, “–h-hah, right, you're right, y-you’re always right you're right I’m so sorry–” 

“Eh, don't sweat it,” Killer waved a hand like the words had anything at all to do with him. Dust’s face snapped towards him. Still shaking. 

“...Get it? Sweat?” Killer pointed out. He was hit with the sudden urge to groan and beat his head into the wall with how empty that joke was. It wasn't funny. It wasn't anything.

Nothing was anything. 

He was going to kill for something to just be mildly interesting. 

(...Haha, get it? Kill? How hilarious. He should try offing himself as a reward.)

“...You’re right,” Dust said numbly, and Killer got the impression that wasn't for him either. 

“Dunno about you but I'm actually ambidextrous,” he joked, and it was so– so– he wanted to scream with how uninteresting and unfunny it was. Nothing was anything. He chuckled.

“...What?”

“Ambidextrous? Both hands?” Killer did a little jazz hands, then returned them to his pockets as always. 

The silence stretched. It's like it echoed off the walls because something had to, and it sure wasn't going to be noise. 

It was so empty. Everything was so goddamn empty all the time. Killer itched to destroy it all and himself right alongside it. At least that would feel like something.

“...I’m... left-handed,” Dust said quietly. 

I don't care. I don't care about you. I don't care about any of you. I don't care about anything.

“Yep. I hear that's the trend these days,”

“...”

Killer turned around to leave. This conversation was nothing. Everything was nothing. 

(For some reason, soundlessly, Dust followed him.)

—

Killer flinched away from the hand. Nightmare paused, looking at him like he was something lowly. 

“Don't move.” he commanded. 

Killer’s body was trembling. He was pressed against the wall. His bones rattled, cold sweat down his neck. And yet, he grinned. He always grinned. 

He couldn't press himself any further against the wall. He could try fighting back. He could try teleporting away. 

He didn't. 

Instead, he gritted his teeth as the cold, cold hand grasped at– at his soul.

His soul. His being. His self. Sensitive and vulnerable and distorted. Fluttery like a heartbeat. His hands shook. 

It was pure sensation, pure instinct that was blaring alarms and screaming inside of him, to GET AWAY, FIGHT BACK, RUN AWAY. Screeching in fear and wrongness and pain and despair and everything awful. 

Nightmare was squeezing. It didn't burn now, how interesting, but it wasn't any better at all. He stared directly into Killer’s dead eyes. He was too close. Killer’s entire being was screaming at him to get away. He felt like collapsing. 

Here's the fun thing about Nightmare: he wasn't a “Sans” either, not quite. Not quite a skeleton. He was a couple hundred years old and a "guardian of negativity"... or something. Killer didn't know why negativity would need guarding, but sure, whatever gets that paycheck. 

That is to say — he had some fun, unique abilities. 

Like metaphorically shoving feelings directly down Killer’s throat. 

It's like he’d taken a syringe filled with a concoction of every horrid feeling and injected it directly into Killer’s soul. His essence. And now it all coursed through his blood. 

He was in the ocean. He was so cold it was burning him alive. He was so heavy he felt like collapsing. He was untethered and unstable. The pressure felt like his head was exploding. His metaphorical lugs were collapsing with the suffocation. 

He was thrashing inside the water. Hand stretched up towards where he thought he may have seen distant light before. 

It was a memory. It was wrong. It was dead. 

Tendrils of darkness lashed around his ankles, around his thighs and his waist. Around his ribcage and his wrists. Around his neck. Around his face. 

He clawed at the hateful things. Pure instinct, the self trying to persevere. Fear slamming into you again and again and again and again and it's never going to stop make it stop–

You are choking on your despair. You are cold and hopeless. You are burning and terrified. You have never felt worse. 

— 

The floor is cold. Everything is cold and dusty. It's all dead and empty. You don't even bother with the bed, just on the floor, leaned against the frame. There is no comfort to be found here. 

The room is dark, because everything is dark around here. Your eyes are closed, but it wouldn't make much of a difference if they were open. 

There’s no knock at your door. It’s just the crack of dim light that enters from behind you. 

“...There’s food,” Horror states. 

“Great,” you reply, still not moving from your balled up position on the floor. 

“You haven’t eaten,” Horror states. You wonder why he cares so much about that, though it isn’t hard to guess, considering his past. 

“We can’t die in here,” you remind him. Not until Nightmare deems it right, at least.

Horror growls, and now he strides into your room. Grabs you by the hood and just starts dragging you along towards the kitchen — he doesn’t even bother with the dining room, too lazy for it. Though it’s not like the kitchen lacks space. 

You consider protesting. Your entire body hurts like one big bruise. You’ll be feeling it for a bit of time. Less, if you eat. You’d prefer not to eat. Horror won’t let that slide though, and you can’t be bothered to resist a whole lot. You just chuckle.

The kitchen smelled... pleasant, actually. Vegetables and meat, broth? Killer was lifted and shoved onto a chair. Dust was already there, sipping on some soup of his own. He glanced at Killer, but said nothing, and his expression was unreadable. 

Soon as Horror lets you go, you slump in your seat. Everything hurts. At least it’s something. At least it’s something. Nightmare is kind like that.

You’re served soup. Vegetables and meat and broth. It’s still warm, even. 

“Eat.” Horror demands. You’re not scared of him. You’re not scared of anything. 

...Well. You’re scared of one thing, but he’s not in the room. Shame. 

You lift your tired hand to take the spoon, swirling the broth with circular motions. It smells nice. It’s weird to have actual, decent food after countless repetitions of nothing. You gave up on food a while ago. Not much point to it. 

But this smells good. Salty and rich. Your metaphorical stomach twists. Hunger is a sensation, and so is satisfying it. 

“How can you cook?” you ask, “Weren’t you in a famine?” 

Horror grins sharp and mean, “Recipes become fancy fairytales,” he gives you, pouring soup for himself as well. He eats like a starved man. Probably because he is.

“Why not just cook for yourself?”

“Shut the hell up and eat your soup,” 

You huff, and pick up the spoon with some soup. 

The taste is nice. It’s strong, salty, spices lingering. The vegetables are soft, and the meat is thoroughly cooked and tender. It was warm in Killer's mouth and as it spread through his system. The ache all over his body eased a bit by it. He’d miss it, but he can’t be all too upset by the pleasantness of the soup. 

Horror watches both of the other two like a hawk, ensuring neither avoid the food in any way. 

—

Killer didn’t care much for training. It’s boring. At least when he was solo. 

However, it was more fun with the other two. Dust was the one to instigate it this time, always looking to be at the top of his game when it comes to his magic abilities. Killer liked interrupting it with an Encounter, dragging Horror into it if possible, until he’s changed the mood enough to get them to have fun. 

Bones and knives and blasts hurled back and forth across the training space, the sting of minor wounds. Energy thrumming from the light competition, teasing and quipping back and forth, movement warm and energy rushing. It’s fun. Killer was having fun. Laughing and kind of enjoying being in the others’ company. Certainly better than the emptiness of everything else. 

It's one of the few, rare activities of theirs that felt companionable.

Nightmare’s appearance was, like always, a cold wash over the room. A sudden sinking of terror and displeasure in your soul. Impossible to skip over or brush aside. 

“Hee-he-heyy Night!” Killer greeted easily with a laugh, earning a shove from Dust. Those two tended to quiet down whenever Nightmare would pop up. 

“What are you all doing?” Nightmare demanded flatly, regarding them. 

“Training! Don’t you want us in tip-top shape to wreak havoc or whatever?” Killer replied, twirling his knife. Dust and Horror also preferred to keep their distance from Nightmare.

Killer didn’t do that. Killer always inched towards him. It made him feel like the fleshy, vulnerable hand reaching for the scorching flames. Nightmare meant rage and pain and terror. Just his presence was enough to make it skitter over Killer’s system, a potent concoction of suffering. It was like a drug. 

“Keep that cheer down.” Nightmare was unaffected by his attitude. 

“Awww you know we’d never replace you Mr. Grinch,” Killer said and Horror elbowed him. 

“Shut it.” Nightmare was as icy as ever. Killer wanted to make him burn the same way Nightmare did to him. 

—

Killer couldn’t say he was pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night, but it didn’t particularly matter. He blinked into the darkness, trying to orient himself, to identify what woke him up. 

A sliver of dark light from the doorway. Poisonous purple. Just standing there.

“...The hell you want?” Killer mumbled, yawning. He wondered if Dust was craving violence and that’s why he was here. The guy always exuded violent intent, so it wasn’t very easy to discern. 

Instead of answering, Dust just entered, closing the door behind him. Walking towards Killer’s bed. Footsteps quiet, slippers dragging against the frayed carpet. 

“...You don’t care, right?” Dust said into the hush, instead of, you know, answering like a normal person. 

“Not really,” Killer shrugged, though he didn’t even know if Dust could see it in the dark of night. He didn’t have glowing eye lights like the other two.

It was just his soul. 

“Great. Move,” Dust urged him, standing at Killer’s bedside. “Horror will bite my head off if I woke him up.” 

Killer lifted his brow bones, snorting. “I’m not getting up,” 

“I didn’t say get up, I said move,” Dust corrected flatly. 

Killer blinked at the darkness. Staring back at the glowing eye lights piercing it. 

“You want to...?”

Dust shuffled, and Killer watched the dark outline of his hand come up to hold that red scarf he always wore. Hunching his shoulders. Glancing away. 

“...They’re quieter when there’s someone else around.” Dust admitted quietly. Killer considered making fun of him for it — judging by the tone, Dust was ready to dust him if he caught anything mean in his reply. 

Shame, since Killer didn’t reply. Just shuffled to make space, grumbling about “If you steal my blanket I’m kicking you out,” 

Dust stared for a moment longer, expression unreadable. Well, more than usual. He was always hard to read. 

“...Thanks,” he replied, quiet. Killer didn’t bother trying to care about his tone, just yawned again. Before he went back to sleep, he felt the bed dip, and the presence of a boney body next to him. 

—

It became a thing. Killer forced Dust to bring his own damn blanket. 

—

“Maybe you were right,” Nightmare considered with that reverberating hum, standing above him. Tentacles holding Killer down, merciless, scorching.

“Yeah– I have– that tendency,” Killer choked out against the tendril squeezing his throat. It felt like a brand, like near-melting hot iron. He wished he could turn to the side to cough out the blood in his mouth. It tasted gross and he kept choking on it. 

Nightmare chuckled, though it didn’t sound all too nice. It never did. But hey, at least Killer was amusing. His tentacles weren’t yet squeezing Killer’s limbs to a breaking point, just holding them at threatening bends. As always, his mere presence washing Killer in a cocktail of fear-panic-devastation-hatred-etc-etc.

“You are different to the other two,” Nightmare kept speaking, a bit like Killer wasn’t even there. “They’re...” he tsked. 

“They care,” Killer agreed with him. 

“They hope,” Nightmare amended. “It’s natural for their souls, I suppose, they are made of it after all. But you,” his grin stretched, pressing Killer harder against the ground. Tentacles slowly restricting more, increasing the ache on Killer’s joints until it was pain, until he couldn’t help but wince and grind his teeth. 

“What– I’m hhngh– hopeless?” Killer kindly finished for him. 

“Yeess,” Nightmare purred. “You’re so chock full of despair, your senses for anything else are atrophied. Your suffering defines you. You breathe negativity, Killer,” Nightmare spoke low, gaze dark. In all its hate, it always felt loving. 

Killer loved him. He loved him in the way love is LOVE is Level of Violence is DT. And Nightmare was violence incarnate. 

Killer knew he would be the most loyal to Nightmare out of them all. Dust and Horror cared, they had values, they had something which could deviate. Killer didn’t. All Killer had was this — the hunger, the craving, the sharp zing of pain through his entirety. Enamored like a moth to a flame, except a moth was ignorant of what the flame would do to it. Killer knew exactly how much Nightmare could ruin him.

Nightmare knew exactly where Killer belonged — here, on the ground, bleeding and sweating with terror and pain. Grinning all the way through it. 

“You are a ruin.” Nightmare revelled, a tendril curling around Killer’s exposed soul, sending an immediate, almost intimate shock through his system. Making Killer whine and writhe and dig his heels into the ground, but all his limbs were tightly, painfully restrained, and he had no hope of fighting against it. Nightmare was stronger than him, more than him in every conceivable way, really. 

Killer instinctively cried out as his soul was squeezed, mortal discomfort clawing through him. It always felt like dipping his essence directly into molten iron, whenever Nightmare got a hold of it. Nightmare knew that. He squeezed harder.

Black tears built in Killer’s eye sockets, streaming down over his face. 

It was a horrible, abysmal feeling that Nightmare always managed to stuff into his bone marrow. It was overwhelming and violently painful. 

It was... so much. It was so, so far from nothing. 

That is exactly what Killer came to him for, after all. 

“You’re perfect.” 

—

You were seeking them out to curb the boredom yet again. But you pause as you overhear them talking, and you're pretty sure you heard your name somewhere in there. The door isn't closed all the way. 

Of course you're going to eavesdrop. And you don't feel shame, because that'd necessitate you feel something. Nightmare’s castle and all its exuded negativity covers up the natural aura of your soul, so they keep talking, unaware of your presence. 

“–makes me uncomfortable,” low, rough. 

“...Me too.” restrained, poised. 

“I mean, even when he came up to me with his damn offer, I fought back,” 

“Yeah. Asked what the hell is going on,”

“Yeah! But he just–” 

“...I think he does it in his own way. Fighting back.”

“You think or you hope?” 

A pause. 

“...He did... agree... to join that wretched demon.” quieter, strained. "So. Hell if I know."

“Don't get all mighty, you're not much better,” growled. “Neither of you are saints.”

“None of us are,” defensive.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” flippant.

A pause. The silence tense and cold. 

“...Still. He never... you know. Not with you and me, not– like that. He isn't nice but– It's just Killer,” back to strained, poised. Like a coiled spring, set back but ready to snap at any moment. Toxic purple. 

“...Yeah.” scratchy, red. “But there's... nothing we can change about it. Believe me, I wish there was.” 

“...”

“I don't like it either. Now shut up before it bites you in the ass.” 

When you walk in, you act like you heard none of that. You announce yourself as cheery as ever. It's not hard. You don't feel touched or upset or offended. You don't feel anything. 

(They fought back, when Nightmare came to them. 

They demanded answers, when Nightmare came to them. 

You didn't. So this is your own doing, anyway. You agreed to it. Just like you struck that deal with the devil. That was your choice too. Those were your consequences to bear. It's no different now. You shook Nightmare’s hand; you gave your soul away, because it's apparently just something you do now. Twice makes a pattern.

It was so easy to agree. 

You suppose it's just who you are now. You agree to things like this. 'No' is no longer in you. 

Pathetic.)

—

So maybe Killer was obsessed with Nightmare.

So maybe he found himself thinking, more and more, what would Nightmare think? What is Nightmare up to? What would Nightmare say? 

Not as any sort of moral guide or whatever, hah. Morals, imagine that. No; it was just... 

Nightmare was so, so good at shoving away the numbness. The emptiness. Nightmare was terror and hate and fury and misery and agony, he was so much more compared to the nothing. 

It's you. You are the nothing. You need him. You need him because he completes you. Of course he's all your messed up brain can latch onto — he's the most potent thing you've encountered, so in a way, it’s like he’s the only real thing. He's the only solid, clear thing, and you need something to grasp and hold onto. You couldn't grow numb to him even if you wanted to. 

Nightmare says “Kill.” and you kill.

(Though interestingly enough, he doesn't say that one particularly much. Prefers to keep people alive to siphon negativity out of them. That's fine — you don't need a command to do that one and to enjoy it.)

Nightmare says “Kneel.” and you kneel. Nightmare says “Scream.” and you scream. Nightmare says–

“Insubordination is punishable.” in that deep, deep voice, the depths of the ocean, cold and reverberating and deadly. 

“I'm not doing that!” Horror snarled, defiant. Morals. How hilarious. “You can get either of these two sickos to kill Papyrus, why in the hell does it have to be me?” he growled, teeth bared in a malicious grin. Hands twitching at his sides, itching to grip a weapon. Killer could practically see, in his eyes, the desire to rip Nightmare apart. As if. 

Nightmare tsked, always so unaffected by them. Always high and mighty. 

“Because,” he spoke slowly, and it's like dangerous intent was bouncing off the walls, though there wasn't even a minute tremble to his tone. “I ordered you to.” 

“I am–!” 

“Killer.” 

You stand at attention, easy, grinning. 

“You can handle this one, can't you?” Nightmare doesn't even look at you as he implies the command, and you don't need it. Without hesitation, you lunge at Horror, knife already summoned in your hand. You don't pay mind to the... expression, that Horror gives you.

You're stronger than him. Of course you are. 

“Killer– what the hell are–?!” Horror snarls, dodging and ducking and dodging again from your merciless slashes. You're faster than him, too. Determination is good for stamina in that way. 

“You heard the boss!” you say cheerfully even as you maim him relentlessly. “We don't do insubordination ‘round here!” 

(Later, you turn it around and around in your head. You wonder why Horror would be shocked, betrayed even, by your actions. You wonder what he expected. You wonder why. 

You don't care about them, after all. They should know this.)

—

They all had their quirks. Killer wasn't one to judge. He was, once, maybe, but honestly, he lost that right a while ago. 

Like this! 

He trailed his fingertips over the deep bite marks on the wooden spoon. Or, the half of it that he picked up off the floor. He poked the jagged splinters from where a solid snap of teeth must've severed it. Fun. 

He tossed it behind him. Let Horror deal with his own mess. 

That wouldn't be happening now, however. ‘Cause said mess included Horror slumped down, back against the cabinets, curled up and gnawing on wood like a feral animal. Sick and delusional with hunger, by the looks of it. Not uncommon.

Killer rolled his eyes, snorting. He strode over to the pantry, opening up the door. 

Everything around here tasted moderately stale, and some of it tended to go bad, but by some miracle, there was food. Probably because Nightmare didn't want them magicless and energy-less.

He grabbed a half full bag of sliced bread, turned around, and promptly chucked it directly at Horror’s head. 

The dumbass barely even dodged, and Killer burst out laughing. 

“What the FUCK was–?!” Horror snarled like a wild animal, teeth bared in a bloody grin, waving the bread at Killer like he was gonna hit him with it, the whole shebang. And then he paused. Looked at what he was holding. Processed it. 

“Diets don't look very good on you baby, you're all bones,” Killer joked, cackling as he left the room, as Horror ripped open the packeting to eat.

—

“...You awake?” 

Killer groaned into the darkness. Dust usually just laid down next to him and let him sleep, but apparently he was feeling chatty tonight. 

Welp. To be fair, Killer was awake. And he was bored. Better conversation than not.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, rolling on his back. 

And even though Dust was the one to initiate, there was no response. He just rolled on his back too. They stared up at the dark ceiling, not even really seeing anything. The brightest things remained Dust’s eyes and Killer’s ever exposed soul. 

“What are you hallucinating this time?” Killer asked, because again, booredd. Better conversation than not.

“...I’m not, actually,” Dust said. 

“What, you just wanted to wake me up to bug me? Felt lonely?” Killer chuckled, glancing at him. 

Dust turned his head to the side, those bright glowing eye lights pinned on Killer. His expression wasn't visible in the dark of night. 

It was dark. It was quiet. It was cold. Same old, same old. 

“...You know he doesn't love you, right?” Dust’s voice was barely above the quiet, and yet all too loud compared to it. “I don't think he even can.” 

Silence. 

Killer’s exhale shook. 

It turned into a snort, into a chortle, into a chuckle. It grew until he was laughing against the backdrop of midnight.

Because Killer was many things! Someone who said 'yes' to horrible offers. Someone who couldn't care even when he wanted to, and frequently couldn't even want to. Someone who was so deeply ruined the Lord of Negativity called him perfect. He couldn't call himself a tragedy because at least in a tragedy, there is beauty, there is meaning, there may even be catharsis. 

But Killer wasn't an idiot. 

Of course he knew that.

—

“What do you want,” Nightmare regards you as always, that is to say, he barely regards you at all. You found him in the grand library, that is to say, he allowed you to find him. 

“Please,” you breathe out. 

Nightmare turns a page, unconcerned. 

“That's not an answer,” he says. He loves to humiliate you. He loves to feel superior you. 

“I can't feel anything.” you state. 

It's cold. It's so, so cold. It's numbing.

It's a yawning chasm inside you. It's a black hole. Nothing survives there, nothing even exists. Not just the positive ones; the negative ones slip through your fingers just as well. They're just vague impressions, something you theoretically know existed once but doesn't anymore. Like seeing a silhouette in the corner of your eye but when you look at it directly it was never there in the first place. The negative ones are, at least, easier to remember than the positive. They're possible to recall.

You physically cannot imagine the positive ones. It's like being suddenly blind. The sheer concept of them is foreign to you, you cannot even trace the shapes. An atrophied muscle, necrosis.

So here you are,

“Please.” 

The black hole burns with its ice, it devours you, right in the middle of your chest. Your heart is a gangrenous thing. 

Nightmare sighs, like you are bothersome. Closes his book and places it aside. 

“What do you want?” he demands again, and it's a kindness. 

“I don't care,” you say. “Anything, just– anything.” 

You'd cheer for your limbs being torn apart if it meant feeling something. 

Tendrils crawl over you, mean and scorching, and you are roughly shoved to your knees. A blank canvas begging to be covered in black.

Nightmare is the only one who can do this for you. He's the only thing you care about, because he's the only thing you can care about. 

[hariet436]

As Belle, you have always known you would leave the palace. Even if clause 99 hadn’t existed, the princes are out of reach for you. The gap between the world that you and them live in was just too great to ever bridge.

That’s why you decided to outright deny having any feelings for them. You were being cruel. You told them that those moments you two spent together meant nothing to you, and that you two can never be anything. Oh, what a good actress you were not tearing up while uttering those cruel words in the most convincing way.

After a heated exchange of painful words and expressions, you were left alone in the room. As soon as the prince leaves, tears fell from your eyes. You didn’t try to stop it though. There was no sob, neither did you expression change. You just stood lifelessly there, letting the tears out as the hot liquid burnt on your cheeks and dripped to the floor. Yet the most unexpected thing happens - you hear the doorknob being turned!

1. Leon Dompteur

- he felt like he said something he shouldn’t have to you. With a small grunt, he opens the door with the intention of apologizing and asking to end things on a peaceful note.

- If parting ways is truly what you want, he had no choice but to respect that wish. Yet, he was his with the sight of you crying. Your eyes are so empty, so painful. In a rush, he strode urgently to you and wrapped his arms tightly around you, making you gasp.

- “W-why are you still here, Leon…!?”

- “If I hadn’t entered the room again, would you have continued to suffer alone like this? I should have known you were clearly lying earlier…”

- You two were going to have a much more honest conversation with each other. It was unclear what the future holds, but at least now that Leon know how you truly felt, he will never let go so easily of his beloved Belle.

2. Licht Klein

- Licht was hurt badly by your words. Was he really that unworthy of your time? Are you just that cold-hearted? Was the warmth he felt from you all a lie? He needed an answer. With that in mind, he re-entered the room, hoping you were still there.

- He froze upon seeing you silently crying with your eyes closed, your expression blank and empty, unlike he has ever seen before. Suddenly, everything clicked and there was a glimmer of hope in his ruby red eyes.

- “I knew it…” Licht mumbled quietly. You opened your eyes upon hearing the words being uttered, and was flustered when you see Licht there. You turned away out of shame, knowing you just said the cruelest things.

- Licht didn’t want to lose anyone he love anymore. With resolved steps, he made his way to you and embraced your body.

- “Please…if you act like this, both of us will be in pain. At least…I want to know what your heart desires the most.”

- The conversation wasn’t easy, but it was needed to figure out a solution that was optimal for both parties.

3. Yves Kloss

- Yves stomped into the kitchen, wanting to bake anything at all to vent his frustration. He was sure there was something between him and Belle, so he thought she would agree to his proposal that she stays in the palace. His mind races with embarrassment and a bit of anger. Was he the clueless one again?

- After half an hour, he finished making some rose pastries. The first person that pops up in his mind at that point wasn’t any of his brother, but Belle. Maybe he can make up for the argument earlier if he just give her the pastries made by the Yves Kloss!

- The first sight that greeted him was of Belle crying, her face behind her hands, scrambling to hide her puffy eyes. Yves panics and rushes inside the room.

- “W-wait, Belle, were you crying because of something I said…? I-I’m sorry! H-have some pastries…!” Yves tried to sooth her and patted her back. Feeling the warmth of this clumsy yet adorable gesture, you wiped your tears away.

- “No, it’s not your fault, Yves, please…”

- “Then what is it? Please tell me, Belle! I-I don’t want you to cry in solitude like I used to…”

- That afternoon, Belle and Yves had a heartfelt conversation. You have decided you won’t lie about your reverence for him anymore.

4. Jin Grandet

- unlike his brothers, Jin was sensitive to a woman’s feelings. He can pick up the signs that you were lying. But he can’t understand why - was she afraid of something? Maybe it was their difference in status…their worlds. Maybe parting ways was the best way for both of them.

- However, Jin’s heart was telling him otherwise. It was the love of his life! He should at least fight for it - or else he would feel continue to feel hollow - unable to express himself to anyone.

- With a determined mind, Jin opens the door only to witness Belle quietly sobbing, her pearly tears falling down the sides of her cheeks. She looks…solemn and sorrowful. No, if parting ways was just going to make them both like this for a lifetime, then he’d rather weather all of the court politics only to have Belle by his side.

- “Why weren’t you just honest from the start…” Jin sighs. He takes your hand and takes you out of the room. “Let’s go, Belle. We shall have a date together and you’ll change your mind about me!”