#we've had some kind of illness on top of this too so we've been really fatigued and that's making things worse

[thethingything]

so, a series of events:

our tourettes flares up really bad

our ADHD symptoms suddenly seem to get way worse

we get one of the worst migraines we've had in months that lasts for a week and a half and involved being really shaky and weak all the time

our restless leg syndrome then also flares up

throughout all this the ADHD and tourettes symptoms are still worse than usual

dopamine is either known or thought to be involved in all of these conditions in some way or another, and I'm kind of looking at the fact that they've all flared up at the same time and like, I don't know what to do with this information but hey at least it makes sense that everything's flaring up together and maybe we can use that to judge when stuff will flare up in future if, for example, one of these things gets really bad suddenly

[trensu]

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants. 

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration. 

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

--

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

--

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

--

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me. 

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it. 

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond. 

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.” 

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[nouvxllev]

Absolutely love your work! And was ecstatic when I found out you also did Emma myers! And you write so well!! 🥹 I don’t know if you’ll be up to this, so don’t feel the need I know your probably a busy bee. But I wanted to know since you do Emma myers, if you’d be willing to to do a cc Walker aged up fic, maybe where cc is in college, and she’s in a relationship with reader (I absolutely loved your jealous Tara fic) but I was wondering if you could do cc, but make it a little more soft, and possessive? Like Cc is more afraid that reader will leave her? And just soft smut? (Sapphic of course) if not then I understand. I also wanted to know if once A good girls guide to murder comes out, will you be doing pop x reader? Because Emma is so cute as pip! ❤️❤️

would it kill you to look at me instead?

Pairing: CC Walker x Fem!Reader

Summary: ^^ request!!

Words: 5k (i was not expecting that damn)

Warnings: soft smut, slight angst. actually idk if its cut out to be angst, possessive cc aaaaaaa, author forgot how to actually write good stories

a/n: thank you so so sooo much!!!! and i was absolutely in love with agggtm when i read the book (i even got the whole series on my bookshelf!) so ofc ill be doing a pip x reader soon. hope i got to your expectations, anon.

masterlist.

"CC, what's up with you?"

Ava trailed after her, CC's shoes skittering along the hallway like some kind of menace, the slam of her door from her dorm was still echoing in Ava's ears.

Despite having just finished training five minutes ago, CC's steps were quick. Like they were avoiding any sort of conversation, she didn't even know why or where she was going.

"CC, please, you haven't even talked to me in a week!" Ava caught up to her, nearly tackling the girl to keep pace with her steps.

"Okay, what?" The blonde turned around abruptly, wind catching in her hair. She almost could roll her eyes if not for Ava being the sweetest being on this earth. "What, for fucks sake, what is so wrong with me?"

"That." She gestured using her pointer finger while the shorter girl pulled her lips into a thin line, "You keep snapping at everyone, and you've been staring daggers at the squad all week. It was mild at first, but now you look like you want to bury them in front of their families."

Ava leaned in further, squinting her eyes as she crosses her arms, "...Also you have these deep eyebags under your eyes."

CC's shoulder slumped, letting out an heavy sigh while her eyes closed. It burns, burns like fucking hell.

"I—"

Ava jumped forward, her eyes furrowing almost immediately, "Don't say because of exams since you're doing pretty good in terms of academics. You're even top in your classes."

"Well, fine. It's—"

"Don't say soccer too because I know your eyebags only come out of hiding when it's tournament or championship season."

"Okay, Wyatt—"

"Yale is like a million miles from us, CC. Also you don't even text Wyatt unless you need something."

"Well, I..." CC fidgeted under her, her head tilting left and right, "We've, my girlfriend have.... Have been fucking. Sex. Alot. Major, huge sex. Like, up and down, sideways, horizontally, transversally—"

"Alright, no," Ava pulled out her hand and stopped her, her other pinching the bridge of her nose, "Not in any universe would I want to hear about you and y/ns sex life."

CC chuckled, the only laugh she could ever muster. "Look, college's been kicking my ass lately and I'm just tired, really. Nothing to worry about." In all truth and oaths, she was.

She was tired.

For all the different reasons. Might even be petty ones.

So tired of hearing that one name—Clarissa Grey—coming out of your, admittedly so attractive, pretty mouth. She was a transferee yet she already caught your attention with a single 'hey, i'm new here, can you show me around?'

It had been five weekdays, not even counting weekends where Clarissa horribly clung onto you outside of school, of having your presence found nowhere but with that girl.

Normally, CC would spend every waking hour, if not for soccer, with you and you only. Clinging to your arms, holding your warm hands, tip-toeing to kiss your pretty lips she so adored, bringing you to the most expensive places you wanted, and most especially waking up with you in the early morning with your body sprawled atop hers.

It was bliss.

Was.

Now that CC was constantly being pulled to practice she couldn't spend as much time as she wanted with you. Meanwhile, Clarissa had you wrapped around her arms.

In short, Clarissa Grey is and will forever be a pain in the ass.

Clarissa—Insufferable, torturous, agonizing, intolerable, girlfriend-hogging—Grey.

She hated her.

Well, not hated. It's a strong word, a word she couldn't ever describe your, her forever beloved girlfriend, friends. Yet this girl got on her nerves more than ever.

And she's pretty sure this girl's been trying to get into your pants more than CC ever does after a rough game.

Clarissa was fine at first. CC wasn't those controlling partners who didn't allow their other to have friends; in fact, she was happy that you found a friend in the new transferee from across the world.

Now she felt like she was about to butcher the girl from mouth to anus if she ever so much as catching a wind of her presence of how she was constantly stealing you away from her.

CC took months just to muster a hi and introduce herself (through text mind you) and she didn't even check her phone for weeks after it. New girl did it in one damn day.

How could one even out-girlfriend a girlfriend of three years?

Now whenever it hits midnight and CC is finally in your arms all she could hear is:

"I'm so sorry baby, Clarissa made some plans for us."

"Sorry, CC. I have something to do with Clarissa on that date."

"Clarissa wanted to…"

"Baby, is it alright if Clarissa invited me to…"

"CC! Check it out, Clarissa just…

It's ridiculous and all CC could say was a simple yeah sure and a nod like she wasn't going to bash Clarissa's head in with a soccer ball.

She'd admit that even you get the end of the stick with her attention sometimes because of her first-class popularity that always seemed to stick around, but either way she felt really bad.

Jealousy was a stupid emotion which a stupid college girl, mind you, like her was stupidly experiencing. She was 19 experiencing her old 13 year old problems if she met you a bit more earlier. But who wouldn't get jealous?

She had the same interests as you, the same personality, likes the same movies as you, you both had an interest in whatever artist you were listening too.

She practically hung out with you everyday with how the both of you took the same classes and courses. The two of you were perfect on paper.

Clarissa wasn't some soccer-obssessed girl who doesn't spend her time in training for championships that you found yourself spending every second with her if CC wasn't around.

She has a great fashion sense without looking like whatever a 'teenybopper' is or someone dressed like Adam Sandlers.

She's probably great at cooking.

She kept her room impossibly clean as if it were brand new that you found impressive everytime she invited the both of you to her dorm.

She had this amazing ball of sunshine whenever she entered the room like it was a plague.

She probably followed what her mom told her to be when she gets into college.

She was pretty too. Her hair all shiny and she carried absolute grace and poise. Who wouldn't like her?

And that smile of hers? You found it nice. Charming, captivating. Even CC found it enchanting, it was all so surreal.

You liked her, most of all.

Shit.

Not that CC could ever doubt your loyalty to her; hell, she could invite every former crush and celebrity crush you had, and you wouldn't even bat a single eye towards them. You'd even try to desperately find the girl even if she wasn't in the room.

She doubted herself.

Who was she if not for you?

She just missed you. So much. It's killing her.

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

"CC!" You yelled, a smile creeping up your lips as you watched her jog up the bleachers in her new shoes you bought for her as an anniversary gift, it was an understatement to say that she loved it.

You watched how her exhausted face broke into a slight smile that managed to never fail to make your heart grow a garden of flowers trying to mimic her beauty, her eyes lighting up by the mere sight of you.

When she finally reached you, she practically melted into your inviting embrace. You held her chose, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she caught her breath, her exhaustion from practice matches slowly going away from being in the comfort of our arms.

You feel how her breaths gradually steadied, her heartbeat turned into its normal pace, her hands snaking up to your back while she buried her head into you, subtly peppering gentle kisses along your neck.

"Y/n..." She murmured, pulling her head away slightly and turning to the side.

Your arms stayed lingered around her waist, "Yeah, baby?"

She shook her head, eyebrows slightly knitting themselves as her gaze drifted at the seats as she inched closer to your ear, "Why... why is she here?" She squeezed your hand that was wrapped around her.

You followed her line of sight to where Clarissa sat on the bleachers right next to you, watching the players off to the side at her own time.

"Well, she wanted to come along with me," you explained with a shrug, "so I brought her here." A soft smile gracing your lips as you glanced at CC who didn't match your sunny expression.

"You guys done yet?" She looked up at the both of you, her voice was oddly monotone and disinterested. Unlike a few moments ago where she was clinging onto your arm while laughing.

You lowered your arms from CC's body as you sat beside Clarissa, gesturing to your girlfriend to slightly introduce her even if they already met a couple of times.

You didn't miss the way CC's face twisted into a grimace one as she crossed her arms, mumbling a slightly less than thrilled exclaim, "Fantastic."

"It is fine for me to cheer you on, right?" Clarissa smiled. Way too innocently at CC as if she wasn't just staring her down, the change in her tone didn't go unnoticed.

"Yeah. Yeah sure, whatever." CC replied, albeit the response came through gritted teeth as she picked up a waterbottle that sat beside you.

Clarissa smiled, laughed even, before leaning her head against you. "We have something to go after anyways, right y/n?" She looked up at you, innocent eyes that definitely didn't mimic yours as you stuttered out a response.

"We do? I didn't—"

"Okay, no, that's—!" CC's reaction was swift, immediately pulling you closer to her side, her hand having a firm grip on your arm as her voice rose in frustration yet faltered.

CC paused, seemingly collecting herself. You turned to her, confusion etched in your face, while Clarissa had a slight tug in her lips.

"That's... perfect. Amazing," she finally managed to say, letting go of her tight grip on you before standing up. "Sorry, I really have to go, I think they're calling for me. Enjoy whatever plans the both of you have."

You hear Clarissa giggle as you watch CC walk down the steps, her waterbottle discarded onto a nearby trashcan. It wasn't even half done. "Guess she doesn't like me, huh?"

A soft sigh escape your lips, your mood officially worried and concerned about CC before turning to Clarissa, "Yeah... Yeah, sorry, we have plans?"

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

Nothing could be more worrying than allowing your girlfriend CC-can't-really-monitor-her-liquor-properly-Walker attend a night party held by her teammates as some sort of 'pre-celebration' before a game.

You were already deprived out of her presence, being that you always stuck with that new girl you couldn't really find time to hang out with your girlfriend no longer than 30 minutes.

Not to mention what happened a few hours ago.

You miss her so much its tearing you apart. Unfortunately you're the book definition of a people pleaser so you took the courage to show Clarissa around for a few weeks until she got comfortable with the setting.

Most of the times CC would invite you to come along with to parties. Rejection often means she would be clinging onto your back like a koala and making out with you until the words associated with your academics disappeared from your mind.

Now she just entered the dorm, gave you a single kiss without explanation, and a simple text minutes later just stating 'ill be at a party. see you midnight xx.'

That in itself made you worried. No normal breathing CC Walker would ever use perfect grammar or would her be's or you's spelled correctly without any missing letters.

So imagine your surprise when she arrived two hours before twelve. Wasted and slightly teary-eyed, her pretty eyes avoiding looking at your direction. It was an understatement that the sight broke your heart.

"CC?" You rushed to her side almost immediately, ignoring the concerns of the amount of tasks you had on your desk.

You were met with silence. "CC, baby, are you alright? Did something happen?" you asked softly, "love, hey, look at me." You reach out to steady her as she swayed on her feet more and more in her intoxicated state until she reached her bed.

She shrugged off your touch, feeling a nagging sting in your heart that burned a void inside of you. You watched as she mutter something unintelligible under her breath, gritting her teeth as she stared at the ground.

"CC, talk to me." You carefully sat with her against your bed, fetching her the water that has been sitting on your desk, tilting your head to get her attention.

Her head turned to you, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Her pretty eyes that you adored were almost teary-eyed, "Would it kill you to look at me instead, y/n?"

"CC..." you tilted your head, your eyebrows furrowing, "CC... what? What are you talking about?"

"Why are you always with her? Clarissa?" Her name almost felt like poison in her mouth, awaiting to be spit out in venom, "Why is she always with you when I'm not around? Why are you always looking at her even if I'm mere inches away from you?"

She shook her head before you could respond, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "It's dumb. I know you're allowed to spend time with your friends. And even more to her since she's new and everything. You could spend time with anyone and I wouldn't care but I—" She took a deep breath, "Every time I see you with her, it's like… like she's much more of a good girlfriend than me you know? Because she likes you. It's kind of clear."

You couldn't feel anything but that gruesome feeling that's eating you apart. You could feel your heart tearing your own self apart as she spoke more.

"She looks at you as if you're hers, y/n. Not to mention she's always touching you, calling you names, always going out of her way to be alone with you... I mean, she asked you out as a joke. Multiple times."

"CC I never thought…" You feel a lump forming in your throat, her words heavy on your heart that were surely more heavier on hers. "I'm sorry, CC."

You reached out to cup her cheek, her body turning to face you, your thumb gently wiping a stray tear that fell on her face. "I'm so sorry, CC. You're not losing me. You will never lose me," you whispered, "I care about you more than anything. More than I breathe. I'm so sorry I made you feel like you were losing me. You have my whole heart, my body, my very soul."

Her gaze softened slightly, you could see that familiar glint you always loved to look at when you locked eyes with her. You missed it. "Is that a promise?"

Gently, you brushed your fingers against her cheek, pressing delicate kisses to her soft skin. "Far more important than a promise. I'll keep it like an oath on my life."

You let your arms wrap around her, feeling her slumping against you, curling against herself between your arms like she was trying to drown all of her burdens for you. "I'm just afraid that you'll leave me. I'm sorry for blowing up on you. I'm sure Clarissa is great."

CC felt warm, comforting, a presence that made you feel like everything to her, how she always kept you grounded. "It's alright, CC. I've been there before, don't worry. And for the record, I'm kind of getting tired of showing her around. Just a slight bit. I'll try introducing her to some people."

CC smiled against your neck, "You don't have to ignore her completely, baby. It's fine. I think my insecurities just got the best of me."

She's as comforting as the day you met her. The comforting sense of love, how you'd wake yourself up everyday just to see her face. Even if your heart gives out, you'd work through turmoil for it to beat for her. Even if you're tired, you'd manage enough energy for her to enjoy life with you.

"I'll never let you doubt my love for you again. No one could ever replace what I'm feeling with you, no one could ever replace you. You're simply everything baby, everything that life never gave me and everything life never offered."

You press a tender kiss to her forehead before making your way to her lap, pulling her collar and capturing her lips in a soft yet deep kiss.

CC responded eagerly to your kiss, closing her eyes while she let her hands wrap around your waist as she parted her lips to invite yours in as her tongue slipped between them.

With a low groan of ecstasy, you welcomed her intrusion, your own tongue fighting with hers yet you surrendered almost immediately, every touch of her in on your body sent shivers down your spine, leaving you craving for more of her.

You could feel her hands sliding under your shirt, the simple warmth of her touch, how her fingers glided smoothly against your skin and trailing to your chest was like reassurance that you were wanted and loved by her, how you were only hers.

"Baby…" you managed to murmur between her assaulting kisses that only seemed to spur her on as you went limp on her body, "have I ever told you I love the way you talk..."

You couldn't help but grin at the soft chuckle that escaped her pretty lips at your words, her kisses only growing more fervent as CC pressed herself against you all while she looked up at you with those eyes, waiting for you.

"The way you smile…" you trailed off, tugging at her shirt, tracing your fingers along her jawline, "the way you get jealous, the way you get so competitive sometimes, the way you look so lovely every waking moment, it's intoxicating."

You kissed her deeply, savoring the taste of her lips as you softly bit at her bottom lip, your voice turning husky and needy with desire, "Most importantly, I love the way you fuck me into your bed every night. You know no girl could drive me insane like what you're doing to me right now."

You didn't miss how CC's breath hitched at your words, how her eyes darkened with desire almost immediately as she pulled you by the collar of your shirt and flipped the both of you around. her hands roaming all over your body as she mumbled to her breath.

"I want you," she pleaded, "I need you, y/n, please." It wasn't a question, she needed this.

You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her close, feeling the heat of her body on top of yours as you mumbled a weak 'yes.'

CC took her time in showering you with the amount of kisses she wanted to give you, offering everything you needed with tenderness you never thought existed, the special attention that she always showed to you, worshipping every inch of your body.

She looked up at you, noticing the way your eyes closed, uncertain of whether it was out of pure bliss or discomfort. "Y/n, is this okay?", she asked softly, squeezing your hand that laid off to the side.

That was the thing about CC that you always adored, how she took the time to make sure you were comfortable in whatever she was doing. Whether she was rough or not, she was still so gentle with you, treating you as if you were porcelain about to break.

In the span of three years, her sweet and caring nature never faded no matter how much time you'll be spending time with her. She was the sweetest girl that only you knew.

You smiled at her, "Yes, CC, everything is okay. Just remind me of how much I'm yours to handle."

She nodded before returning to her usual, pulling up your shirt until it was completely off your body, "You're always so gorgeous…" She whispered against your skin, pressing her lips on your body, trailing down your chest. Each touch was gentle and tender, all just for you to feel cherished.

"I'm gonna take it off, okay, sweetheart?" CC murmured before she was lifting up your hips herself, her fingers sliding into your waistband and discarding your shorts and undergarments off to the side.

You gasped at the sudden cold air hitting your warmth as CC knelt below you to get the perfect view of your pretty pussy she so adored.

You suck a moan under her hot breath against your clit, her arms wrapping around your thighs to pull you in, "Baby, please…"

"I'll get there, pretty girl." CC whispered, taking soft licks of your juices, lapping them as she inched a little further into your warmth, groaning against you.

She looked up, watching how your body reacts with her each touch she had on you, whether she should follow your wants or what she needs to be satisfied.

She could see the flicker of pleasure in your eyes, the way your breath hitched, how you sound with every whine that elicited from your glossy lips, the way you try to cover your moans with your palm.

CC moved away, your needy whine didn't go unnoticed, her lips brushing against your wet clit before wrapping around the needy warmth and sucking gently, your body instinctively creating the perfect arch, your hips rolling into your face as you chased to get the most friction out of her mouth as she held you down by her arms.

But just as you felt nearing an orgasm, CC pulled away, only leaving you panting and wanting more.

She towered over you, spreading your legs as she leaned in closer, the sight of your juices on your lips turned you on even more.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me," she whispered, leaning in closer and planting soft kisses along your face as she waited for your answer.

"You… want you.. inside," you whispered, "want all of you, right now, please…" you moaned as the words spilled out of you in a desperate plea, discreetly rolling your hips against her thigh.

CC smiled down at you, her touch gentle and loving as her hands trailed down below to caress your soft skin before giving you what you wanted, while the other hand held up your head, showering you with praises after praises.

You kissed her back, feeling her fingers slowly inching towards your entrance that sent shivers down your spine. You tried to kiss her once again, trying to drown out your rather loud moans yet your efforts failed.

"Such a good girl, you're taking me so well..." CC praised you, smiling against your lips, "You're so pretty like this, baby. All just for me." She inserted all three fingers inside of you, stretching you out in the most delicious way possible.

"F-fuck! CC, please," you moaned, looking up at her as she looked right at you back, covering your mouth with only your palm. Getting caught having sex with your girlfriend at night in a literal college dorm wasn't in your applications at all.

CC, however, seemed unfazed as she panted, rolling and curling her fingers inside of your warm heat, always finding that one spot that had you seeing stars. "Are you close?" she asked, speeding up her pace.

You could only nod frantically in response, feeling a knot tightening in your stomach, "Yes, yeah, I'm close," you gasped, your body almost trembling in pleasure.

"You know, Clarissa is only a dorm away from us." She took hold of your wrists and held them high above your head, her grip still soft to touch, like she was still trying to take care of you. "You're going to scream my name. Not 'baby', not 'love', not Clarissa or whatever her name is. Not anyone."

Your eyes widened in surprise, your mouth opening to protest, but you were cut off before you could speak.

"I want everybody to hear that you're mine, especially her." She continued, her fingers pushing deep into you as you arched your back, "I want her to know how good I'm fucking you, how well you're taking every inch of me. Tell them what a good girl you are for me."

In your clouded haze, you desperately nodded with half-lidded eyes that stared back at her, your mouth half opened as she kept eliciting pathetic moans and whines from your lips.

"M' gonna cum, baby… CC, please," you whimpered, your voice strained and coming out in choked sobs, feeling the knot tightening deep inside of you. CC relentlessly pushed you closer to the edge, your back arching as she whispered praises after praises.

She released your arms from her grasp and you immediately wrap them around her neck, pulling her impossibly close to your body, her fingers thrusting deeper inside of your pussy while her thumb traced your clit in circles.

"Don't hold it, y/n. Cum for me, pretty girl, it's alright," she whispered as you brought her close to your neck, pressing one last kiss to your skin, satisfying everything inside of you with one last thrust.

You cum almost immediately after, "CC! F-fuck!" you moaned, making sure everyone can hear you. Your walls clenched around her fingers all while she still tried to pump them in and out of you, her hand slick with your cum that went nowhere but down her palm.

You wrap your legs around her waist, seeking support in her body as your own trembled in pleasure, your back arching as you gradually went down from your high, "M' all yours, CC! S-shit, you're fucking me so well!" you gasped, your words coming out in ragged breaths as you were brought to a back to back orgasm.

While you were coming down from your high, CC was already showering you with kisses all over your body, whispering sweet nothings, words of praises and adoration that automatically flowed on instinct from her lips, "I'm right here, y/n. God, you're so so so perfect."

When she felt your body begin to relax, going limp on CC, she gently withdrew from you, reaching out for a nearby stand to grab a pair of tissues. She wiped her fingers clean and gently cleaned the beads of sweat that formed on your forehead.

"You did so well, baby," she murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. "I'm so proud of you, pretty girl. I love you so much."

CC slid her arms under your body, lifting you up and placing you against the headboard, taking note of how your eyes were shut close and your breaths were slightly labored. "Y/n? Y/n, are you alright? Was I too much?"

You chuckled softly, opening your eyes to meet her gaze as she settled into your lap, her arms wrapping around you protectively. Like you'd run away and never return into her hold. Her eyes were too pretty, too full with love and care for you, almost as if you already died and went to heaven.

"You were too soft, actually." you laughed, leaning in to kiss her, tasting her natural lipgloss with the mix of your juices; an odd taste you'd say. "Is that what jealousy gets to CC Walker?"

"Definitely not," she replied almost immediately. "But seeing you with her makes me feel like I am. I needed to feel close to you, for you to feel close to me…" Her voice trailed off, her words faltering. She was always the one who talked alot about her feelings, yet it always seemed so distant and struggled.

"Well, you're not really mine mine since, of course, you don't really belong to anybody. Hell, even I don't own you and no one should think that! But you know I just—"

You reached up to cup her cheek as you cut her off, your thumb brushing lightly against her skin, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

"Oh, you know a girl batting her eyes at me won't change the way I feel about you. That's completely ridiculous," you reassured her. "You're always going to be my top 1. You have my birthday on your jersey for fuck sakes, who couldn't say no to that?"

Her lips curved into a smile, a relief expression is what you'd assume. "Guess you've brought up a solid argument," she laughed, leaning into your touch. "I'll run you a bath, okay?"

"I'll come with," you were already trying to stand up until CC pushed you back down.

"As... a trophy winner of an international soccer team, I suggest you lie back down. Maybe watch a couple of movies or two and let me do the taking care part." She leaned on your forehead and walked to the shower, already gathering your clothes and towel.

You sat up from the bed, a stupid smile across your face as you watched this girl do everything for you. Oh, the way she was so sweet for you was unbelievable. "Don't you need a degree for me to believe you?"

"Yeah!" She yelled across the room, "But I am your girlfriend and you believed me when I said I almost quit soccer because of a shoulder injury when in actuality it was my mom. So." She shrugged, already entering the shower and turning on the faucet before returning back to you.

"You're simply awful." You smiled as you watch her come back with a water and her laptop. "I love you." You say as you kiss her forehead.

"I love you too. So much." She smiled, "but one thing." She sat beside you, rising up a blanket to cover your naked body as she waited for the bathtub to fill. "You have to promise me that you'll keep your eyes on me. And me only."

"Still on Clarissa?"

"Unfortunately so."

You chuckle. "Then, I promise on my life that I'll keep my eyes only for CC Walker. And CC Walker only."

"Forever?"

"Forever and Always."

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

a/n: this is longer than i anticipated it to be

[patron-saints]

the official beginner's guide to olizumi

so! you're a fan of fma or maybe a friend of mine, and you're interested in learning more about the relationship between olivier mira armstrong and izumi curtis! great, you've come to exactly the right place.

if it's been a while since you've seen fma:b, or if you've never seen it and don't mind watching some scenes from the final arc, i recommend getting started with my compilation:

(original video post here)

when i first watched fma:b back in march 2023, i thought i would manage to watch the entire thing without getting obsessed with a wlw ship. i was wrong. the second these two started interacting i immediately became enamored with the trust, respect, and intimacy that they share, and with the way they seemed to find in each other the same steely spirit, grit, and inner sense of self. their ability to communicate their philosophies, despite their differences, and listen to each other with ease and tenderness just. GOT ME. they got me.

get ready for SO MUCH MORE under the cut:

(i was lucky enough to have a chance to draw up a little list of most of my headcanons about them, which can be found here! the most important of which i'd say are that i write them as t4t, and olivier as a stone top!)

if you're convinced of their chemistry just from that, great, my job here is done! but if you don't believe me yet, or you want a little more, it would be my honor to point you in the direction of the first ever fic i wrote for them, "recognition." (tumblr post for chapter 1 here!)

"recognition" can best be described as a 4 chapter old woman yaoi where (almost) nothing happens and two milves fall in love. or if you like, sorry izumi, two very young women navigate the beginnings of a long distance relationship, polyamory, workaholism, and chronic illness. it is sickeningly fluffy, and to date the longest thing i've ever published.

it even comes with an illustration! @wlwsakura did THIS for me:

(original post here) which i will never be over not in one million years!

AND it also comes with a whole entire soundtrack, made by myself and my dearest friend @summerwoodsmoke! kinda a folksy gentle, very sappy vibe. i still listen to it all the time! alex picked some bangers tbh.

for the very first @fma-rareships event, i wrote two little ficlets set in the world of "recognition," which are here and here!

if you're keeping track so far, that's a compilation, a headcanon list, a fic(+ficlets), a commission, and a playlist. but wait, there's more!

so, okay, maybe 23k is too long for you. or maybe fluff isn't your thing. or maybe, somehow, you've made it through all that and you want more. not to worry. i have more.

just this week, i posted "bone deep" (tumblr post here), which is a 5k E rated omegaverse fic that's kind of like recognition on fastforward and if i didn't cut out the sex scenes. and if it was omegaverse. it's the first omega thing i've ever written, but i really wanted a chance to write more in depth about how i see olivier's stone identity, and weirdly this setting gave me the chance to do that!

and now we've covered everything i've made for them...so far. but i want to give a shout out to some others in the rarepairs mines with me, because i'm not the only one who care them!

@machinerismsx's fic "An Open Invitation" is genuinely incredible. it's hilariously funny (there's lines in there i still think about and giggle), and also like. super hot. we didn't know anything about each other's fic projects til after i posted "recognition," but we were stunned to realize we'd written a lot of the exact same plot points, including what i refer to as The Curtis-Armstrong Alliance.

you may have noticed that in my compilation, sig and alex also had like, off the charts chemistry. m and i noticed that too! so in both of our fics, while sig and izumi are still married, they are also each get an armstrong all to themselves, lol.

which brings me to @eggos-esper! my brother-in-arms who is out here as the reigning champ of sigalex! (& you can read the sigalex fic i wrote for him on ao3 here ((or see the tumblr post here!)))

but maybe you're nostalgic for youth. or you like epistolary fics. or maybe you, like me, are deeply obsessed with the miniep "tale of the teacher." if that's you, PLEASE PLEASE check out @baudleaires's fic "Notes from Briggs" it is the cutest thing on planet earth and it had me kicking and squealing the entire time.

maybe you want more art! there's more art!

@iztopher did this one for my birthday and it made me actually scream and then weep:

and @wlwsakura's first piece of them is what made me commission her in the first place:

it's still the photo for one of the groupchats i'm in. it rules.

also, while they're not on tumblr atm, i could not bear to make this list without acknowledging @chillingoose, who is one of my dearest friends and who has come up with some truly stunning things for olizumi as well.

and! and! also @littlebear1537! who loves briggs more than anyone else in the universe!

if i managed to miss anything, my olizumi tag is here! there's not a ton in it at the moment, but there are some jokes, like this one by @heavenlyshadowhunter:

:D

i would LOVE to add more to that tag by any means possible, so if you make anything for olizumi, PLEASE tag me in it! i am also going to work on setting up @olizumi as more of a proper archive too! (edit: i did it! it’s a real blog now!)

thank you so much for reading this incredibly long post, and for giving my girls a chance! <3!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for debating hiring outside help for my husband and I's house because we can't keep up alone?

For context: My (26 Fae ftm) husband (28M) live very happy and healthily together. While I'm unable to medically transition due to a bunch of reasons we'll get to, he has been nothing but a solid rock in my life and the one person that has always been on my side. Through dragging me out of an abusive household to helping me with my chronic illness, he's been an absolute angel despite dressing like the devil himself (he's goth). So I don't want any hate on him.

He is ADHD and I'm Autistic. Yes, hello, we are that couple~♡ This does cause us some issues tho as he is unmedicated and I'm just struggling in general with sensory issues for certain chores. So far we keep each other some what afloat, having him do chores that my sensory issues can't handle and my doing ones he can't focus through.

However, as previously mentioned I'm chronically ill. I won't get into many details but it's basically I'm internally bleeding at random intervals. And before people think I'm talking about just my period, no it's so bad that I have once had to go to the ER for a blood transfusion due to this internal bleeding and had times when I was bleeding for over 4 months straight.

My husband and I because of this condition are pretty much struggling financially. I can work but it makes me extremely fatigued since I'm essentially working with constant Anemia. It gets bad enough some days that he can't wake me up without over an hour of effort, even after I've slept 10hrs. The fatigue is REALLY bad. He works just as much as I do, sometimes more because his work is so shortstaffed and he likes to pick up extra shifts to try and save up for the surgery that would hopefully fix everything.

This has culminated though in us both being extremely exhausted near 24/7 for the last year-ish but we have finally hit a break. I recently got a huge pay increase (nearly $200 a week increase) so we are hopeful for the first time in months. We're starting to pay down my extreme medical debt and being able to just go get dinner when he doesn't want to cook.

Here's where I may be kind of TA... Despite this hope, my condition recently did get worse. I've now gone another 3 months still bleeding and having to suffer my Anemia symptoms and medication. This has caused me to fall massively behind on what should be my chores, and while my husband doesn't begrudge me it, it has caused our home to start becoming very, very unhygienic. As someone who grew up with a clean freak mother, it kinda upsets me. He's focusing more and more on me and less on the house so even his chores are falling behind too.

None of that is his fault. He loves me so much he wants to help Me first but it has gotten to where we are both going "we really need to clean the house..." but neither of us have enough battery to do so. Me becuz of my condition and he becuz he's stuck caring for me.

We have enough that we might be able to afford to hire a cleaning service to help us out, but it would cost us some of the freedom and paying down medical bills. I think it'd only be a temporary thing, once I recover from my current episode, we can probably get better... but I don't know how long it will be.

On top of this I'm worried paying for this service will further put off my surgery as we struggle to save up for it again... We've already had to tap into that savings cuz my current episode lost me 2 days at work.

Is it unfair for me to ask to use our new extra money for essentially my not wanting to have to bother doing basic chores? I know I'm tired but I've lived with it so long I could and should probably just push through.

What are these acronyms?

[the-offside-rule]

Eric Garcia (FCBarcelona) - Chaos

Requested: yes

Prompt: Singing a lullaby

Baby Promptlist

It had been a whirlwind few months for Y/n and Eric Garcia. The birth of their daughter, Sofia, had been a beautiful moment, but the sleepless nights, constant feedings, and never-ending diaper changes had left Y/n running on fumes. "You okay?" Eric asked as Y/n groggily sat down at the litchen table. "Yeah." She mumbled. "Im just-" She paused, looking over at her boyfriend. "Look at me. I ust don't feel like I'm dping this right. It's feels like Im not doing anything right for Sofia, not to mention I have a breakout and no amount of cleanser or toner is fixing it." She rested her head on the table. "Nothing is working." Eric hated seeing her like this. She had been nothing short of incredible since Sofia was born, getting up most nights to tend to her, caring for her whilst Eric was away at training or matches. To him, she was almost like a superhero wifh everything she was doing.

"You need a spa day." Eric said, stroking his fingers through her hair. "Just you and your friend, no distractions, no responsibilities for a few hours." Y/n looked up and smiled, though her tired eyes betrayed her. "That sounds amazing, but are you sure you can handle everything with Sofia by yourself?" Eric puffed his chest out, feigning confidence. "Of course! It's just one day. How hard can it be?"

"Please don't say that. Those are famous last words." Eric stood up. "Come on, amor. I can do it. Besides, it would be nice to spend some time with her beflre the champions league starts up. I wont be seeing you both for days at a time flr some lf the games." Y/n sighed. The spa day sounded great, but she pondered pn whether or nlt Eric would be good at all this. The diaper changing, the baby feeding, all of it. "Okay, okay, fine. I'll go." Eric grinned, kissing the top of her head. "You deserve it."

A few days later, Y/n stood at the front door of their house walking Eric through everything. "If she gets hungry, I left some milk so all you really need tl do is prepare it. If she starts crying, walk around with her for a bit, that usually works. Any other problems call me." Eric chuckled. "I will not be calling you on your day off. This is a daddy-daughter day." Y/n smiled uneasily. "Y/n, I can do this." He reassured her. "You’re right. You can do it. But just, if there is a problem, you know-"

"Amor." Y/n sighed, kissing her daughter then turning to kiss her boyfriend. "I love you." He smiled. "I love you too. Ill see you later!" As Y/n and her friend drove off, Eric stood in the doorway holding Sofia, waving them goodbye. "We've got this, right Sof?" He whispered to his daughter, who looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. For the first hour, everything was smooth. Eric fed Sofia a bottle, changed her diaper, and even managed to get her to fall asleep. He plopped down on the couch, proud of himself. "Easy peasy." He muttered, grabbing his phone to message some of the guys. They begged him to join them in playing Fifa, but he said no. He couldn't, not whilst he was meant to be takong care of Sofia. He instead, prompted himself to call Frenkie. "Eric." The dutchman said. "What do you do when Mikkey is away and you have to take care of the baby by yourself?" Eric asked. "Hello to you too." Frenkie laughed. "Why? Is Y/n gone shopping?"

"No, no. I sent her and her friend on a Spa day. I thought she needed it." Eric replied. "She trusted you with a baby for that long?" Frenkie joked. "You're hilarious, but seriously. What do you do?"

"Well, right now Miles is just on some sort of playmat Mikkey picked up for him back home. He likes that but I dont think Sofia is able to dp that yet." Eric's brows furrowed. "Why?" He asked. "You dont have a playmat, do you? Anyway, when Miles was that little, I kind of just let him lie on my chest or just let him sleep. They need to sleep as much as possible. Plus, its nice to enjoy the peace."

But his moment of peace was short-lived. A shrill cry pierced the air. Sofia was awake—and she was not happy. "Mierda. I'll call you back!" Eric said quicly hanging up, just hearing Frenkie's laugh through the speaker. Eric hurried over to the crib, lifting his daughter into his arms. "Hey, hey, it's okay, baby." He cooed, bouncing her lightly. But Sofia’s cries only grew louder. He checked her diaper; dry. He offered her the bottle; she pushed it away. He walked laps around the living room, swaying her gently, but nothing seemed to work. The crying continued, and Eric could feel himself starting to panic.

"What do you need, Sof? What am I doing wrong?" He muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He tried walking into different rooms, tried playing soft music, but nothing helped. Sofia just kept crying. Defeated, Eric sank onto the rocking chair in Sofia’s nursery. He held her close, gently swaying back and forth, back and forth. He was about to give up when a memory popped into his head; Y/n, softly singing a lullaby when Sofia had been crying one night. "I guess it’s worth a shot." Eric murmured to himself. Taking a deep breath, he began singing softly, his voice shaky at first.

"Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking bird-"

Slowly, to his amazement, Sofia’s cries began to quiet. She stared up at him with her big eyes, her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she slowly drifted off. Eric kept rocking, kept singing, even as her breathing evened out and she finally, blissfully, fell asleep. Eric sat there for a few more minutes, savoring the quiet moment, before quietly making his way back down to the living room and gently placing her back in her crib. He exhaled deeply, half in relief and half in disbelief that he had managed to calm her down.

Later that afternoon, Y/n returned, her face glowing with relaxation. "I'm back!" She smiled as she stepped into the house, her eyes immediately darting to the baby monitor in her hand. Eric was stretched out on the couch, a proud grin on his face. "How was your spa day?" He asked, getting up to greet her. "Perfect." Y/n said, leaning in for a kiss. "But I think the real highlight was seeing you on the baby monitor." Eric froze. "Wait, what?" Y/n laughed, holding up her phone. "Yeah, I had the baby monitor app open while I was at the spa. I saw everything. It was adorable. You singing to her, rocking her to sleep. I’m not going to lie, I have never been more attracted to you before in my entire life."

Eric’s face turned bright red. "You saw that?" She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Of course." Y/n teased. "And I loved every second of it. You did great." Eric relaxed, letting out a small chuckle. "I was a little out of my depth there for a minute. But hey, I think we made it through." Y/n kissed his cheek. "You’re amazing, Eric. Thank you for this. It means the world to me." He smiled, pulling her closer. "Anything for you. And for Sofia. But, uh, next time, maybe you can stay just a little closer to home?"

Y/N laughed. "Deal."

[acheronist]

🧛🏻‍♀️⚰️

disclaimer i am not a scholar or a historian or an archaeologist. i just like vampires in a freak way and read a lot of weird articles + listen to podcasts and think about this a lot.

so the vampire burials that i know the most about were done in the general region of like... hungary / slovakia / romania / poland kind of following along the line of the carpathian mountain range. but also then in like, early america as well for some reason. random ass 1700s vampire hysteria panic swept the nation (all 25 square miles of it).

anyways so this area in europe is notorious for vampire folklore anyways so it tracks that where the european vampire folklore was originating = where people are most frightened of it for real. and so the vampire graves that have been excavated and studied are HONESTLY PROBABLY just the graves of like..... normal people who were ill in some way, and therefore cast into a suspicious light, and then died. but it was a fairly common belief that if someone WAS a vampire, especially prior to dying, then they'd return from the dead and attack and kill their family first before moving onto friends and neighbors and the rest of the community. bad for the community. so after the "vampire" in question died, the living would take extra steps to ensure that the deceased would not rise from the grave again and start killing them because well No One would like that! so one one hand its really kind of upsetting that-- essentially-- the dead were being accused and vandalized without the ability to protect or defend themselves AND THEN ALSO having their burial rites get screwed around with. sure you prevented the vampires but now we've got fucking ghosts. great work everyone.

and then on the other hand morbid freaky trivia is so fascinating to MEEEEEEE so here some of the most dramatic methods that i can recall from the top of my head:

dismembering the deceased's corpse ( with an emphasize on decapitation)

and for the decapitation, sickles or hand scythes were placed over the deceased's neck, so if they lived and sat up again, they'd cut their own throat

also rearranging the dismembered body (pieces) or the body (whole) in specific patterns

padlocking the deceased's feet together

placing bricks or rocks into the deceased's mouth, either breaking their teeth or making it impossible for any postmortem vampire zombie bite damage to be inflicted upon the living

pinning the deceased's corpse into the ground via steel or iron stakes to keep them from getting up. often stakes were stabbed thru the heart which is where the motif in media today comes from

but also sometimes removing the heart from the deceased completely and burning it also happened

burying the deceased with wreathes of garlic and poppy seeds and paprika peppers to act as wards to keep them where they were. which is hilarious also when you take into account how much garlic and poppy and paprika gets used in eastern european cuisine

and i might be making this part up LMAO but i feel like in my heart. and brain. that i remember a colonial american(?) story where an autopsy was performed on a recently deceased girl(??) whose organs still looked "fresh" and functional, as it were, and not like the organs of someone dead. because she was obviously rising from the dead and drinking the blood of the living which we can tell from her remarkably fresh organs. this was another great instance of vampire organ harvesting but i for SURE need to go try and find my source for this again.

and similarly, i also am like 90% sure I've read about exhuming someone who had been accused of being a vampire, and judging how their rate of decomposition was going, and if they looked too fresh and alive then they were a vampire and we can brutally kill them again. obviously differences in burial climates and situations would have no bearing or affect upon the body's rate of decay btw.

but then as we work our way up thru history, illegal body snatching also became an incredibly common thing as anatomists and doctors and surgeons needed the bodies to learn from. and I'm SOOOO so certain that grave cages / mort safes were invented because normal people did not want their corpses to be body snatched and turned into underground med student dissection homework. BUT ☝🏻 i have also seen claims that cages over the graves were put in place to keep the vampires IN the grave, not to keep body snatchers OUT of the grave. and then I went hmm. where have I seen big elaborate grave cages before?

mother fucking henry ford has a mort safe cage on his shit, so the only reasonable conclusion to all of this is that henry ford was a vampire. amen. my edible is hitting now and i cant think of a good conclusion to this post sorry. someday i will write an essay. or finish making my gay ass zine about this.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Last resorts

This is very self indulgent but I am shameless and also a massive simp. I wrote this for me exclusively, but there is not enough thirsting after Zewu-Jun around and I cannot have that.

Anyways.

Enjoy!!

The head of the local cultivation clan will not budge, no matter what they tried. She is not easily threatened, and does not care much about the power of the Lan or the reputation of the Yiling Patriarch, Hanguang-Jun's cold stares and biting comments do not impress her and Zewu-Jun's diplomatic efforts prove to be fruitless.

"I suppose there is only one way left..." Lan Xichen sighs as he shares a meal with his brother and his brother-in-law, with whom he had been mulling over for a way to convince the woman to cooperate with them. "We must find out what is causing the unrest in this region, and we've exhausted all other options."

Wei Wuxian blinks, confused, as he notices Lan Wangji side eye his brother with a mix of emotions, none too pleasant.

"Is it really necessary?"

"Do you have any other solutions?"

Lan Wangji closes his eyes in resignation and reached to pour himself a cup of wine. Wei Wuxian figures whatever this solution might be, it was not easy to employ, and perhaps it would be better for him not to ask.

After all, there are not many things that get Lan Wangji wanting alcohol, so that must have been a serious concern.

--

It absolutely is not.

The following morning, they return to the cultivation clan's residence, their stay in town coming to an end. It is now time to get on with whatever plan Lan Xichen had devised, so Wei Wuxian's made sure to have a lot of talismans at the ready and even had Suibian strapped to his waist alongside Chenqing.

Who knows what kind of situation this could evolve into.

The three are received into the sect leader's quarters, where the woman awaited, reading paperworm, as she seemed to have done for each of their past meetings.

"If you have come trying to convince me to reveal my clan's secrets again, find out that you will fail."

"Lady Yan, though I understand where your assumptions may be coming from, rest assured that we have come with no such purpose. I am quite adept at accepting a refusal" And the polite smile on Lan Xichen's face gains an edge of something else, his voice the tiniest bit lowered. "Though I must admit it does not happen often."

Lady Yan rolls her eyes.

Lan Xichen laughs, Lady Yan barely hides the ghost of a smile, and Wei Wuxian is starting to understand why everyone finds it so awkward when him and Lan Wangji flirt.

"I respect your willingness to protect your clan's secrets, I also have my own for the safekeeping. I have only come here today to make sure there is no ill will between the two of us following the talks we've had these past few days."

Lady Yan lifts her eyes from her paperwork, visibly surprised, before the very first smile since meeting her grants her features. "I have sought not to make enemies, Zewu-Jun. There are simply things I cannot share."

He returns her smile, and for some reason both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian share an uncomfortable glance as Lan Xichen "accidentally" touches Lady Yan's hand reaching for his teacup.

"Whilst we could not cooperate in this matter, I do wish to build a partnership with your clan." And Lan Xichen smiles again, in a much more flirtatious way. "And one with you, if you would be amenable to it."

The tops of the lady's cheeks dust pink. "I would be honored, it is not often that the great sects are interested in our dealings..."

"Oh, I assure you," and this time, he makes no accident of taking the lady's hand in one of his own, "I am more than interested."

Lan Wangji stands up abruptly. "Wei Ying and I will take our leave."

There is a hint of amusement in Lan Xichen's expression as he joins his brother. "I will be discussing a few private matters with Lady Yan and I will be joining you for lunch later."

"Please do enjoy our sights and ammenities." Lady Yan intervenes, a much easier air about her, "The area is quite beautiful, and there is much to explore."

The two bow respectfully as they exit out the door.

"Lan Zh-"

"We are not talking about this, Wei Ying."

---

Several hours later, the three reunite at the inn for lunch, as promised. Lan Xichen says nothing, though he does produce a little, white envelope from one of his sleeves and lays it on the table with a grin.

"No way that worked..." Wei Wuxian mumbles as Lan Wangji picks up the envelope and reads the letter within, taking the opportunity to rest his head on his husband's shoulder.

"Of course it worked." Lan Xichen says, not bothering to hide a smug smile. "I am very efficient."

"We would rather not know." Lan Wangji cuts in, a bit too abruptly.

"I, too, would rather not know what the two of you get up to every night. We cannot all have what we wish for."

[cosmicjoke]

OMG I don't know if you've seen this yet but in the Levi tag 7m7n7 has made another post insulting you and some of your mutuals(didn't even take her a week lol). Basically she said you hate top/masculine Levi and that you did woobify him and think you own him, and that you're just like every other eruri. Also they posted a bunch of eruri accounts and some were calling Levi a twink, Erwin's bottom pillow princess. Others saying they can't see how other people can call Levi straight and dom, others using gay slurs etc. You know, the post is kind of crazy and all over the place. I think the thing 7m7n7 doesn't get is how big the eruri fandom is and how every big fandom has bad apples. That's not an excuse but it's a fact. Bad apples can literally be found in the self shipping community too, we've seen how some of them have issues with Levi showing vulnerability or emotions outside of anger. As well as with other Levi ships all round. Personally I wouldn't care if she goes at it with those eruri shippers who she feels are degrading Levi's character but she literally attacks every other eruri shipper, THAT'S the problem. She even goes after those actually minding their business and are not even on twitter or Tumblr but are writing their fics on ao3. She says the most vile things to everyone. Sorry but there's LITERALLY no excuse for her to tell one eruri ao3 writer that she's glad that her father died or telling other people she wishes they die or get raped because they have degraded her favorite character, which she herself also degrades and mischaracterize btw. I don't know how she doesn't notice how fucking crazy she sounds?!? Thinking she does what she does because she's fed up of the eruri fandom. And the funny thing is, I know some of the eruris she posted about as proof to show that even other eruris were also complaining about some eruris teasing self shippers or being misogynistic(which literally proves that not all eruris are the same lol because they literally call eact other out. It literally flew over her head) And she has insulted and attacked those she sees as better eruris too lmao, so what's her point. Plus those eruris also dislike her and have her blocked.

Additionally, she even attaked YOU, a very well known Levi defender who had also been going at it with some toxic shippers from all round, from some eruris and self shippers alike. So clearly she's full of shit.

And the hypocrisy is that okay fine she hates eruris, then why does she also hate rivakopon lol. She literally called someone MENTALLY ILL for saying Levi and Onyankopon likely got closer after the war. This person was a Colt/ Falco fan account btw so not an eruri lol.

Let's not forget she has also been caught cosplaying as an eruri on multiple occasions on different alt accounts. So at this point she might likely as well be some of the eruris she's complaining about. How are we to know.

lol, Yeah, I just got tagged, so I've glanced at the meltdown of epic proportions @7n7m7 is having. I only read like the first three paragraphs before I lost interest, lol. Maybe I'll read the rest later just to have a laugh. She's nothing but a freak show and a loser. The fact she can't accept on any level that her interpretation of Levi is just as much bullshit and fantasy as the worst eururi shippers who characterize Levi as some submissive bitch, again, just demonstrates her biblical levels of unawareness. The fact she keeps ranting without having any concept of what she looks like, any concept that everyone and their mother can see SHE started it and got her ass called out for it, again, demonstrates her complete lack of introspection or intelligence. And the fact she can't let it go just solidifies that further, lol.

At the end of the day, what this really boils down to is her insecurity and delusion. She's "in love" with Levi, she says, but what she's really in love with is her warped sexual fantasy that she imposes onto Levi's character, and can't bear to acknowledge Levi's actual character and who he actually is, because it disrupts her ability to indulge in that warped sexual fantasy. That's why she rages against every male/male ship that involves Levi. It's why she hates the idea of Levi being with Onyankopon. She's a fucking homophobic piece of shit, and also apparently likes the idea of Levi slapping the shit out of her, so, you know... If Levi was real, maybe she'd get her wish, just for her being such an incredible dumbass, though, because I know Levi wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole, otherwise, lol.

Anyway, this whole thing has just left me laughing. She's whining about her response to my call-out post only getting two replies and trying to blame it on me harassing people, when I've never harassed anyone or sent anyone anonymous messages, or any messages at all, lol. She only got two replies because everyone knows she's a fucking moron and that it's her own fault this all happened, because she couldn't just be normal and disagree with even an ounce of respect.

It's fine. She's wrong about Levi, and she probably knows it deep down, and that's why she can't handle any of this, and can't handle people discussing Levi's trauma and emotions, because every time she sees it, it reminds her of how her own, fanon version of Levi that she harbors in her feverish brain is completely antithetical to who Levi actually is.

Keep trying @7m7n7. Everybody is laughing at the clown.

[demonsfate]

I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT JIN'S EMAIL TO HER IN TEK 4 LMAO orz I'm sorry. But yeah I agree with you. I also think he didn't tell her all the details likely for those reasons. But he told her enough to warn her and give her an idea of what kind of person Heihachi was. Which makes her attitude in Tekken 5 all the more confusing. I'm guessing Jin was so confused because he swore he had told her Heihachi was a pos, still does and yet here she is trying to go back in time lol. I think that's the game where things start to get worse with the writing. Granted Tekken has never had top writing but still. It actually makes me a bit sad because I was introduced to the games with 5 and I'm very fond of it (bc nostalgia but anyway)

A lot of shit happens in the Tekken series, and it makes it easier to forget it when the game's plagued with inconsistent writing. Hell, there are many things forgotten or straight up misconceptions within the fandom. (Many people still believe Kazuya made a deal with the devil to not die as a kid, but that only happened in the OVA) HELL, even I sometimes forget certain things, and I end up making headcanon posts that don't comply to canon just because I forgot about something. 😅

I looked it up for more info regarding the "email" Jin sent, according to some sources (such as the PAL version of the manual) Jin told her he suspected Heihachi was gonna have her assassinated...? Whiiich unsure if that's just a mistranslation from the PAL edition or not because I don't see why Heihachi would do that. He did it to Jin because Jin was no longer of use, he never cared about Jin, and Jin has the devil gene. But Xiao hasn't really done anything to warrant an assassination, unless Heihachi feared she'll uncover the truth regarding Jin's disappearance, and turn on him. But again, I'm unsure if this is true, or if the PAL version just added more because they thought "dangers" was too vague, or assumed that's what it meant when talking about the dangers. But who knows, we all also know how wonky the official translations of the series can be.

There's also a lot of issues with time travel. Such as, even if Xiao had succeeded, it'd be a possibility that Jin would've never been born. (After all, Jun only met Kaz due to his shady treatment of wildlife animals). But I won't delve too much into this just because it's just a silly story that means little. I don't even know how canon it is, considering that Xiao's ending in general isn't canon I don't think. Time travel, I'm pretty sure, is still not something that can canonically be done in the lore LOL.

Oh, Tekken 5 may be my favorite Tek game. (It's in the top three along with Tek3 and Tag 2) But I also very much enjoy Tekken 6 and we all know how I feel regarding its story. Basically, Tekken games can be very fun but not have the story that matches their quality of gameplay LOL. And I belieeeeve I wrote here very recently that 5 was the start of the atrocious writing. Although Jin was still relatively in character in 5, it did set up his villain arc with the ending. Xiao was flanderized to hell as we've discussed. Characters that didn't have joke endings before now have them (see Heihachi and Lei, probs more that I'm not thinking about rn) which set up the premise of not taking most of the cast seriously. (Tek7 DEFINITELY had an issue with most endings being pointless and comedic) So yeah, whilst Tek5 wasn't as bad as Tek6 in terms of story, it was suffering symptoms of it. Like a pre-illness or something LOL.

Tek3 was actually the first I was introduced to. My brothers CLAIMED we played Tek5 as kids because we rented it before when it was new...? But oddly I have like ZERO memories of it. I only remember playing Tek3, Tag 1, and Tek4. Which I played Tek4 very little because as a kid, I saw the limited amount of characters and thought "why would I play this when I can play Tag 1 with LOTS of characters...?" xD

[the-firebird69]

Couple more announcements:

--we have some things happening in Charlotte county they're gearing up to try and kidnap I'll send it that's like every group it doesn't show much because they're arguing and fighting in front of everybody it is quite a deal to see an opportunity there really ahead of the game but this is the radiation that's going to affect them so is paying the check tomorrow the radiation is going to make them ill or sick and it's very high even though it's only for 15 minutes it's going to be five times but it'll go down to only like four or so and that's pretty high compared to what it's been on the highest days we've had for real I'll probably about 3:00 and then there's been at some at 5:00 as soon as I don't really feel it that much and it's not that much. Just getting a bit stronger is bones are getting stronger and he feels better sometimes but that's why it brings us to another subject

-this radiation storm is from a natural cause they're going around blaming everybody when in reality it is from the ocean water eroding away at a camera and it is from the acid from the manure but people have been putting that in there and they know that that's the effect so they're seeking people who are manure people who did the sod and did fertilize with it without treating it properly so it would decompose and there's a lot of them and they're getting arrested and they're going to prison

--listing happy about being acknowledged and they're freaking stupid

--on top of that they are wanted for other crimes and a lot of them and they're blaming our son for monster attacking and they knew the whole time and it's in notes and they've been saying it and they said they encouraged it and people are seeking them

--a couple other things he's been sitting quietly and patiently not much is going on which is good my sister's shirt and they start talking smack and they're talking up a storm it's pretty helpful fairly soon people are going to start to throw them into a fire this is ridiculous that might make a note to the Mac proper and making it happen in order for them to try and control the monsters on these idiots are just mostly sick but you're the ones who should see it too

--and our son and daughter say thank God that the Mac proper don't get it as much as they think

-

Thor Freya

Olympus

It's good to know the reaction and the reaction to the punisher costume is kind of mild I thought it would be people are warning and stuff and trying to make a big deal out of it when it really isn't and people go a little nuts but they're kind of sort of obeying the law and they deserve each other but smile okay

Frank Castle hardcastle

I'm going to give it a green light and you have to try and find a utility though somewhere and I know how he thinks one will show up somewhere yard sale or it usually does he doesn't want to go nuts but really it should look kind of cool some of them are pretty extensive and you can put things in there energy bars and he can put some drinks and things there's a few things power bars I might need it I'm around it should be walking better. An assortment of nuts maybe some cranberry with nuts those little slim packages it's kind of funny cuz they check all that stuff have you take it out

Duke nukem Blockbuster

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 3rd July

Two songs this week, both of them probably not ones you could sing off the top of your head, and both aiming for a sort of cute romance. One succeeds more this than the other.

Who Wrote the Book of Love - The Mudlarks (peaked at Number 8)

This is an annoying song. Like, really annoying. It's a cover of an American original by a spectacularly poorly-named doo-wop group rom New Jersey called the Monotones, who were apparently inspired by the rhythm of a line of a "Pepsodent" toothpaste commercial (!), but our artists here are the Mudlarks, a mixed vocal group who also covered Lollipop a few weeks back.

Absolutely none of which explains the bizarre accent that the singer seems to be putting on who handles the I wonder who line. Every time I hear it, I think they might have been going for a completely different accent. Either way, they failed. It's baffling, a real goofy "ah-ha wun-derrr hu" sort of vibe.

Anyway, fresh off the confusion of this, we launch into a song that really belabours a metaphor about a relationship as a book, complete with a tedious chapter summar section, ans lots of rather ill-conceived lines like the one where they sing Baby, baby, baby, I love you, yes I do, / It says here in this book of love, ours is the one that's true. Which sure sounds sweet, but if my guy had to check a book to know he was in love, I'd not be particularly enamoured.

Adding to this, there's just something a bit abrasive and in-your-face about it all. It's between the very fast pace, or the way the singers are really belting, with a rather jarring thumping sound punctuation some lines. To be fair, this was in the original, and was apparently inspired by a kid bouncing a ball against the wall of the garage where the Monotones were recording. But it's all a bit startling, taken together.

The song has a legacy, though, not least because it inspired the "book of love" lyric in the song American Pie, which I'm starting to suspect will really pop, if this project ever gets there. So the original of this song is clearly in the public consciousness for a while post-1958. It also gets covered a bunch. But yeah, I don't like it much, sorry Mudlarks. Third time lucky?

Big Man - The Four Preps (2)

This is more like it, though the recording quality on the only version I can find is... interesting. I quite like the echoy vibes it creates, though, combined with the tight harmonies. It's kind of giving Beach Boys? Or perhaps I'm deluding myself.

Either way, it's a fun song. Our singer starts singing about how I was a big man yesterday / But boy you ought see me now. Intriguing, off the bat. And we get some context, about how I bragged too long that your love was strong / There'd never be another guy, and how he was proven wrong. So she left him for somebody else, I think - but the plot thickens, because then we've got lines begging the singer's love If you will just forgive me dear / I'll never break another vow / I broke so many yesterday / And boy you oughta see me now. It's a cautionary tale - cheat on your girl, and she might just find somebody better!

And I like the tone of regret, throughout. Our singer's clearly gone through the wringer and done some self-reflection and come out the other side with some perspective, leading to my favourite line, the one about how the only thing that made me big was you. Which is honestly actually pretty sweet, as a sentiment. Not sure if I'd give this guy another shot, still, but as pathetic grovelling apologies go, it's a compelling one.

Musically, the whole thing's very pretty, too, with lots of tight harmonies and doo-woppish instrumentation and, most excitingly, what sounds like a proper, resonant grand piano, which is confusing the first time you hear it in the intro, but that gives the song a welcome oomph when it comes back underneath the chorus. It's not the kind of sound I've heard much yet, that sort of mix of proper rock and roll music and a more orchestral, classical touch. We've had the sweeping classical backing of pre-rock and roll ballads, but this feels different, and is probably why it feels a bit Beach Boys. I like it, a lot.

Yeah, I think my pick this week is clear. Still, neither song was awful. I just enjoyed the piano and grovelling a bit too much.

Facourite song of the bunch: Big Man

[deepdarkbrain]

I've said just about everything to my therapist.

TW: all of them

Hi, my name is Ryn (they/them) and I've said just about everything to my therapist. Before I get into too much here, be forewarned, I don't want to pull any punches on this blog. I want to be able to share (just about) everything that I would share with my therapist. This blog is going to include posts about dark and difficult subjects ranging from basic mental health to suicide, self harm, substance abuse, etc. I'm 100% going to swear and say what could be considered terrible things. What I will promise though, is that I will always include trigger warnings at the beginnings of my posts and there is a permanent content warning at the top of my blog.

I want to be open and honest about these kinds of dark, intimate subjects not to romanticize them or to encourage others to follow me down what will sometimes be the wrong path. But to share my experiences in the hopes that it'll help someone else feel like, "Oh yeah, I'm not alone on this dumb planet." Having grown through pre-internet times to now, one incredibly helpful thing I've found the younger generations using is the internet to break mental health taboos. Being honest and talking about it, even with a little levity sometimes (I'm looking at you memes), can help.

I've been seeing the same therapist for many, many years now. We've worked through so many things; childhood traumas, hospitalizations, relationships, work struggles, and everything in between. We've had discussions about how shit the American health care system is and also shared wins.

They've had a couple kids. I've started to accept I'm not broken, I'm just really fucking neurodivergent. Not exactly equivalent to some, but to me, hell yeah. I'm killing it.

Here's a little background on me. I am in my early 30s and I've been dealing with mental illness (major depressive disorder mostly, plus anxiety, ADHD, and autism) for the entirety of my life. You'll notice I specifically say "dealing with" and not "suffering from," which is the more common phrasing. This is something I work really hard to do. For me personally, speaking about my MIs in a semi-light way and using specific language really helps me accept and advocate for myself. A psychologist I had in a group therapy session once told us,

Honestly that one statement changed everything for me. One of my biggest pet peeves around how people treat those of us with MIs is the age old trope, "Just think positively!" It drives me batshit insane. For one it implies that I enjoy feeling like garbage at random and destroying relationships with people I care about for no reason. And for another it implies that who I am and how I live my life is inherently wrong.

Something I'm going to tell you, probably over and over again as I write this blog, is that if you deal with any kind of MI, YOU ARE NOT WRONG. I even have to remind myself of this, pretty regularly to be honest. There is something that's going on in your life, in your brain, in your physiology that is causing this to happen and it sucks and we all wish it would just go away, but at the very baseline, it's not wrong. You're not broken. You're just different, and different is okay.

More about me, I am wildly queer and I will fight you about it. Not really, because confrontation is extremely triggering for me, but I do feel really strongly about my LGBTQ+ community. I truly believe they are one of the most welcoming, accepting communities on the planet. Personally I identify as pansexual/asexual/aromantic (pan/ace/aro) because sexuality is a spectrum and I love everyone and no one at the same time, and I am non-binary because gender norms are dead. Use whatever pronouns you want for me, this is an internet blog, who's to say I'm even a real human?

Something I've gotten into recently with my therapist is called "Internal Family Systems Therapy." So I'll probably bring it up a lot. As I am a mere mortal and not an authority on literally anything, please follow the link to read more educated material about this subject. Otherwise, here's my very, very broken down, idiot, tl;dr.

IFST is a type of therapy that centers around the idea that within every person's mind, there are separate parts with separate purposes, usually to protect the base part. Recently in therapy I equated it to, "a close cousin of Dissociative Identity Disorder," in that you think of these separate parts as different versions or personalities of yourself. For example, in my situation I feel that within my mind there are at least five separate "me's" that are all Ryn but also each their own Ryn.

Of course, firstly there is me. The very essence of who I am. Funny, smart, loving, and able to think clearly and rationally. This is the part of me that has been me from birth and will only ever change for the better. It is the base, the original. This is the part of me that wants to stand up for itself but most often gets overtaken by the other parts. Base me gets frustrated when people use MI terms flippantly (ie. "Oh I'm so OCD!" "I'm goth so I'm also depressed." "You're like totally schizophrenic!"). Drives me bananas. Just don't do it.

Next there is depression. This is the part of me that experiences deep sadness, mental anguish, self hatred, and many other nasty, no good things. Usually the depression part of me is equivalent to someone I like to call Floor Ryn. People who know me well, know if I tell them I have become Floor Ryn, it means I've gotten so low that the only thing I'm able to do is lay down on my kitchen floor and exist. It is not comfortable, it does not make me feel better, but I simply cannot do anything else. I'm nigh on catatonic. Though at other times depression is sobbing for hours and being unable to listen to music with lyrics for fear that I will start sobbing.

Because depression is what I deal with the most and what comes up for me the most, there's a lot to it. Depression isn't just emptiness, it can also be cruel. To myself and to others. It's the part that has been hospitalized for attempting suicide. It's the part that created the hundreds of scars that live on my body. It's the part that has told friends I hate them when really I don't. It doesn't care about the exciting plans the me part of me made for next week, it just wants to cry and rage and feel miserable.

Next there is anxiety, and this is the second of my more prominent parts. This part overthinks, panics, has meltdowns/temper tantrums, and tries to fix everything. It's neurotic and selfish. It's the part that picks at my nail beds. It's also both blind and hyperaware of everything around me. It's that toddler at the mall beating their tiny, fat fists on the floor while you're thinking their parent should be doing a better job parenting. This part is also surprisingly rational; it can be bargained with. It can be given evidence and shown that everything is okay. I find anxiety to be easy to manage on a daily basis. But I do have meds for emergencies.

Next is ADHD, Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. This one is somewhat new to me. I've probably always had it, but haven't been diagnosed until adulthood. This part always has at least five projects going at once (I'm an artist and just a creator in general). ADHD can't pay attention in lectures, can't stay still, is terrible at exams, needs to multitask, and constantly wants to go off on tangents. It's hyper, impulsive, and generally content, if not good-spirited. It makes me question occasionally if I inherited my dad's bi-polar disorder. I haven't; I've been told many times by many practitioners. But the thought's still there (hello, anxiety).

Finally autism, and again this one is new to me. This is the part that feels like an alien because I can't understand why you feel the way you're feeling or fathom what you're thinking. It's the part I think that is the most ace/aro. It's the part that doesn't care about dating or sex and doesn't understand how you can't live without your partner for two days. Also it's the part that can't look you in the eye when we're talking and says shitty things sometimes because it forgets that yeah, it is actually human and has to follow human social rules.

All of these personalities of me coexist at once but can also present themselves more individually. They're each trying to do something for me. Depression is, to use another therapist's words (Kati Morton), "pulling the ripcord" to yank me away from a situation it deems triggering. Anxiety is working to repair and investigate to find a solution to the problem at hand. As for ADHD and autism, I think mostly they're just along for the ride. ADHD is kind of a bro, a Gryffindor (big Harry Potter nerd here). But they have their uses, I suppose.

Am I perfect? No, absolutely not. Do I want to be perfect? Not really, no, sounds hard and depression isn't up for the challenge. In thinking about perfection, I like to think of the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi, which essentially means to embrace the beauty of imperfection. As an artist, I've heard of it mostly in the context of kintsugi ceramics where pieces of pottery that have broken -- whether on purpose or accidental -- are repaired using something that will emphasize that it was once broken. I've often seen it where the shards are attached back together with gold so that the cracks are almost more beautiful than the original piece.

So, to try to find a conclusion to this post, I am mentally ill. I have been for a long time and I will be for a long time more. I am not broken. I am not wrong. I am not perfect. And all of these things are okay. I want to improve myself, sure, but I think everyone should strive to do that, MI or not. All I want to do with this blog is share my experiences and the sometimes comical ways I twist my deep, dark brain to ease the pain a little in the hopes that someone else might feel comfortable sharing those things, too.

Because you know I totally want to hear the ridiculous and stupid shit you've said to your therapist before, no matter how cynical and morose. Seriously, so I can share it with mine next week.

[stonewallsposts]

16 personalities questions: 43-45

43. In your social circle, you are often the one who contacts your friends and initiates activities 

I pretty much AM that guy. 

We have a reunion every year with the artists that all worked together back in our studio before they went to Cartoon Network. I'm pretty much the guy that got the ball rolling on every reunion. I would initiate the contact, find the dates for us to settle on, find the host home, settle who would bring what, etc. I did this for years. Whenever I get together with friends I haven't seen for a while, I'm the one who initiates the contact and pushes for something to happen. I'll usually try three times and if I don't get anything by then, I just assume that they aren't all that interested and let it go.  

I've found that friendships come and go. We've had a bunch of couples we were really tight with over the years, but at some point, life moves on and we don’t see them anymore. I'll try and keep in contact, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen. But it's almost 100% my effort. 

44. If your plans are interrupted, your top priority is to get back on track as soon as possible 

If I'm not in full disagreement with this, I'm only one step removed.  

I'll make my plans, but if they don’t work out, they don't work out. I'll go through your metaphorical open doors, and if those close, I might try a side door, but I'm not interested in fulfilling some plan no matter what. I usually just chalk it up to an idea that didn't work out. No big deal. 

I think this is applicable even if it's something relatively small too. I may get interrupted at work on something I'm working on, and when I'm done, I just get back to it. But that's assuming I'm being paid to do that particular thing, in which case blowing it off isn't really in the job description. I've got to get back to it. 

But even in conversation it will often happen that I'm making a point, and someone will interrupt me, and if it's not at a convenient spot to go back to the point I was making, I'll just assume they weren't interested and I'll drop it. I don't want to be a bore to the people I'm talking to. 

45. You are still bothered by mistakes that you made a long time ago 

There's one or two that haunt me, but in general, no. I've learned from my mistakes... in some cases... and don't even really regret having made the mistake. But there are a few I've regretted. 

So, I guess it's confession time. 

Years ago, when my youngest was still pretty small, I kicked his legs out from under him for no particular reason. I meant to do it as kind of a joking/messing with him thing, but it was just all-around ill thought out. As soon as I did it, I saw that he was hurt by it. I apologized and hugged him, but I'm still kicking mySELF for that moment, and I wish to God I'd never done it. 

Years ago, I was taking an adult-ed class and a classmate confided in me that he was going through a divorce. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but the gist was that he must have been making some mistakes too and that basically, If he was living his life right, this wouldn’t be happening to him. It wasn't quite that brazen, but that was the gist of it. 

About 6 weeks later I found out my wife was having an affair and she was planning on leaving. All my callousness to that guy came back at that time. I had a chance to minister to the guy and I just totally blew it, and came off as conceited and a jerk. 

Sometime later, my sister Rhonda was staying with us, and she was going through a rough time in her life. At some point in the discussion she asked me point blank what the answer was. I had a golden opportunity to give her the gospel and I didn't. I wasn't particularly walking with the Lord during that time either, and even though I thought of the gospel at that moment, I wasn't in a place to tell it to her. I've regretted that moment ever since. But I did learn from it. Later I was faced with similar moments and made sure that I didn't balk when the time came. But I still regret that one. 

Finally, I got involved with a young woman a few years ago. I flirted when I knew it was dangerous, and all the while, the Holy Spirit was screaming at me to stop. But I kept on. It came crashing down on me 6 months later and the result was pain for everyone involved. I knew too, because I'd counseled other men in the same position, that once I crossed a line, there was no way out without hurting someone. I'd hurt the girl, or I'd hurt my wife. As it ended up, I hurt everyone when it went public. And I hurt them a lot worse than I could have ever imagined.  

This has been surprising to me. I would have had the immediate response that no, I'm not bothered by mistakes I made a long time ago. But on reflection, I certainly am bothered by some of them. Maybe I'd put this one at a 2 on the scale.  

[malt-rants-and-stuff]

going full breakdown mode because wowowow im ill and dizzy but shiramiya waits for no man

just starting from the top here: TASHIROOOOO!!!

also this:

On some level, Shirahama’s always been aware that he’s weak-willed. But this—this feels like something else.

just. such a great line from the very start. im so immersed already. carrying on

more tashirooooo and asking the important questions here. quick sidetrack but ive been obsessing over the new bits of characterization we've gotten from shirahama in these last few chapters, with him being such a hard worker seemingly even to his own detriment (and man he and hanzawa sure would have that in common. interesting. best not to think about that now.) i like how it seems so in contrast to his outside appearance. like harusono loves her contradictions, with her not-really-bad-boys and her hanzawa masato's, so it isnt too much of a surprise. but i still really enjoyed that he had that sort of passion in comparison to how lethargic he looks and acts. really good stuff there.

It’s a good question, but it’s not one that has an answer. It’s just—it probably isn’t anything serious, but Miyano hadn’t looked great, and what if it is serious? Even if his boyfriend’s taking care of him, it’ll be good for Miyano’s classmates to know how he’s doing. And that way he—they—won't worry.

oh boy... patting him on the shoulder this poor dude

“I don't know,” he says, and because he’s vindictive: “Why didn't you compete in the crossdressing contest this year? You seemed so pumped about it last time.”

SHIRAHAMA??? UNPROVOKED??!?!!?

Tashiro's hands stray to his hair, and he twirls a loose strand around his fingers. It vaguely strikes Shirahama that it’s not dissimilar to one of the sprites of the sporty basketball girl he’d romanced last week. “I didn't want to shave my leg hair,” he says, even though last year Miyano hadn’t shown a single inch of his leg.

guh. shots through my chest.

Tashiro’s just non-committal like that, Shirahama supposes—even now, he likes to act as if his ping pong captaincy just “happened” like an accident. He's spent three long-suffering years on the basketball team—he knows the apathy Tashiro unintentionally or purposefully projects is deceptive.

love that so much honestly, they know each other so well they call each others shit but also cant take that sort of conversation. spinning them around in my mind.

I wasn't thinking, he replies in his head, aware that it's a horribly strange conversation to be having, and the kind of shameless, setup-to-punchline answer he'd never give in real life.

he's so me

That courage immediately leaves him when the door opens with a sharp creak and he startles, hold almost slipping from the doorknob, but it's the pathetic thought that counts. Or something.

ough... but also uh oh that can only mean...

As he's about to slip in and shut the door behind him, a rustle sounds from one of the beds. The breath leaves Shirahama's chest, and he watches as Miyano's boyfriend—Sasaki, that was his name—emerges from the curtains, hair wild in a way that reads more like “bedhead” than “artfully tousled”—not that he'd say it was ever artful, but he's got no place to be critiquing Miyano's boyfriend's hairstyle…

haha oh shit sasaki and shirahama. dont know how to feel about that one. maybe scared. probably scared. uhhhh

—and speaking of. Sasaki’s staring at him. He sure is tall—for a moment Shirahama wonders why he'd never played basketball, but it’s the kind of wonder that’s paired with utter relief at the nonexistent situation. Then he feels very strange about that thought until Sasaki, with the sedate aura of someone who’s just woken up, blinks at him as if to communicate something.

mmm relief at the nonexistent situation meanwhile i feel anything but relief. why have you put that into my mind now. i am unwell...

Shirahama stares back, caught like a deer in headlights.

welp. youre trapped now.

“Close it quietly,” Sasaki says. Shirahama finally re-registers that his hand is hanging slack on the doorknob. “He's sleeping.” His voice is low, smooth, and deliberately softened to the point that Shirahama has to strain to hear it.

He wavers in the still-open entrance; his legs don't let him run away. The door closes with a soft click, but it may as well be a marching drum.

here lies shirahma, who died fearful in combat against his own bullshit. he lived as he died, wanting.

“I just… came to check in on him,” Shirahama says, too many beats late, careful to pitch his voice just above a whisper. He's not sure he manages. It's the “too many people” thing again, only concentrated—somehow, he’s the one out-of-place in a school he's attended for two and a half years.

Sasaki nods. “Thanks for looking out.”

ack conversation. shirahama you poor poor disaster zone. also loving this drum thing thats going on. very much making me feel all the same stresses he must be giving out in handfulls.

“Oh… no problem.” He represses the urge to throw up his hands in a sign of “I come in peace,” but he doesn’t know what else to do with them, so they hang limply and indecisively in front of him. Miyano's boyfriend is—it would be rude to say that he's scary, because he's seen the way he acts around Miyano, who doesn't seem to think he’s anything close to intimidating, but he's also Miyano's boyfriend, a term that feels—he shouldn't say it's strange. It shouldn't be any stranger than Kuresawa's girlfriend—bad example, because Kuresawa’s so weird, and Shirahama’s suddenly, overwhelmingly relieved that Miyano doesn’t make hour-long professions of his love—but the thought rests uncomfortably in his head. It's like there's an itch he doesn't know how to scratch.

flailing dying etc etc. how strange shirahama, care to examine why that may be? perhaps in front of an audience of many psychological researchers? for my curiosity's sake.

Sasaki takes the time to inspect him now, squinting at him with a look that’s not akin to judgement but does feel like some kind of thing, and Shirahama would be embarrassed about his inarticulacy if he wasn't already beyond embarrassed with himself. Though he's always hated the feeling of assessment, he does his best to not squirm under Sasaki’s gaze. What Sasaki's likely remembering is the strange hanger-on to Tashiro's high-five run and jump, but even if that's banal in comparison to, say, the date-spying—which is mortifying in retrospect and has given him an eternal respect towards Hanzawa, though he’ll never vocalize this to anyone for fear of the result—something about recognition is just sour.

first of all: hanzawa mention yoooo

second of all: i think we should start a countdown on how long it takes before shirahama starts to disintegrate into dust. mans is not lasting through this conversation lmao

“Ah,” Sasaki finally says, snapping a cord of tension in Shirahama's shoulders. “You're on the basketball team.”

A strange flush scatters across his neck. “You remembered that?” His voice cracks at the last word, and he tacks on a whispered “Sorry!” that Sasaki accepts without fanfare.

hm. well then.

“…Kagiura, right?” His voice settles. “You were looking for him.”

At that, Sasaki falls silent.

cough. now what's that all about sasaki.

Shirahama almost offers to call up Kagiura, but they're not particularly close, and Sasaki's expression doesn't really read as “excited” or “pleased.” In fact it's kind of reading as “ticked off,” which doesn't bode well, because he's pretty sure that if he got into a fight with Miyano's boyfriend, he'd lose. Embarrassingly.

i dont think he can handle getting any more embarrassed rn he wont survive kiri spare my boy

also very interesting reaction sasaki. studying him like a bug.

Then, delivered in an unsettlingly flat voice: “I don't know him.”

lmao

“What?”

“Kagiura,” Sasaki clarifies, who indeed does say his teammate's name like he's never said those syllables in that order before. Come to think of it, he had called Kagiura by some kind of nickname, hadn't he? “I just… knew of him. Was just curious,” he mumbles.

lmaoooooo

“He does always get a bunch of confessions on Valentine's day,” Shirahama grumbles on instinct. Then he realizes there's a lot of terrible implications to that routine complaint and backtracks. “Not that—”

shirahama your phrasing!!! these guys are gonna kill me lmaooo

“He's popular?”

He feels, suddenly—not actually suddenly but an ebbing and flowing always—wrong-footed. “…Yeah?”  Huh, Miyano's boyfriend is kind of a weird guy. Whether this thought puts Sasaki squarely in the space of “not scary” is debatable. But it is some kind of comfort.

HELP. so true shirahama you get it.

There’s a rustling sound by the bed. The room falls silent in an instant, and Shirahama finds that he’s locked eyes with Sasaki. Something like meaning almost passes through there, but before Miyano's boyfriend can say something about needing him to be silent, or his unnecessary check-in, or his unwelcome presence, Shirahama tumbles out excuses in rush of whispers. “I’ve still got to help out with the festival—just thought I’d check—I’m sure you have it handled—I’m going to—I'll go.”

channeling my inner hirano here, sasaki dont try to project your thoughts into the people around you because of your boyfriend. that scares and confuses people.

but anyways shirahama kyouji takes his tactical retreat from whatever that was to probably spontaneously combust, more at ten.

He stumbles out of the office, thankful he hadn’t even taken two steps past the entrance, and closes the door as quietly as he can. His mouth is so dry he’s not sure any of those words he'd said were audible. It’s entirely likely he stood there, gaping and sputtering like a dying fish, before running away.

run shirahama run!! but you'll still be stuck in the same place in the end.

No one's there to look at his expression and tell him. Shirahama's glad for it and the fact that there's no mirrors in the hallway—the last person he wants to look at is himself.

and with that last sentence its time to begin burying myself in the ground. maybe put some purple irises around me to give it some color. anywho.

this is SO AWESOME KIRI!!! like i say this everytime i read something you write (because it's true) but you really did something so amazing here. i love the constant tension and conflict inside of shirahama that he doesnt, or maybe just refuses to, understand. i love sleeping miyano haunting the narrative in a way. i love the awkwarness between sasaki and shirahama who dont really know each other at all. i just loved all of this!!!

something there.

hello shiramiya fans. got inspired by ch 51 to write something. it is under the cut but you can also read it on ao3

—

On some level, Shirahama’s always been aware that he’s weak-willed. But this—this feels like something else. “Tashiro,” he says. “I'm going to slack off.”

“For the last time, I'm not—what?” Tashiro cuts his complaint short, turning to face Shirahama with a searching look.

Whatever this is, it sucks, that’s for sure. He grits his teeth. “I'm just—I have to dip out for a second.”

“Huh,” Tashiro says, the word suffused with both carelessness and judgement. His eyes flicker around their surroundings, and he adds, “Okay. It's not too busy, anyways… did you ask—”  

“I already asked Karasubara.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

It’s a good question, but it’s not one that has an answer. It’s just—it probably isn’t anything serious, but Miyano hadn’t looked great, and what if it is serious? Even if his boyfriend’s taking care of him, it’ll be good for Miyano’s classmates to know how he’s doing. And that way he—they—won't worry.

“I don't know,” he says, and because he’s vindictive: “Why didn't you compete in the crossdressing contest this year? You seemed so pumped about it last time.”

Tashiro's hands stray to his hair, and he twirls a loose strand around his fingers. It vaguely strikes Shirahama that it’s not dissimilar to one of the sprites of the sporty basketball girl he’d romanced last week. “I didn't want to shave my leg hair,” he says, even though last year Miyano hadn’t shown a single inch of his leg.

Tashiro’s just non-committal like that, Shirahama supposes—even now, he likes to act as if his ping pong captaincy just “happened” like an accident. He's spent three long-suffering years on the basketball team—he knows the apathy Tashiro unintentionally or purposefully projects is deceptive.

“What are you waiting for?” Tashiro asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Go.”

It’s enough of a push, and crucially: it feels like enough of an excuse.

—

There are too many people inside this school. Shirahama can hear Tashiro's voice in his head still, the strange wry twist that he'd clearly picked up from someone else, paired with his evergreen bluntness—what did you think was going to happen at a cultural festival?

I wasn't thinking, he replies in his head, aware that it's a horribly strange conversation to be having, and the kind of shameless, setup-to-punchline answer he'd never give in real life. But when he'd thought about the decorations, he'd mostly thought about having something that would look nice, feel nice, and have their class at ease. He hadn't been thinking about all the other people that would be milling about.

If they're staring at him, he certainly isn't going to chance making eye contact. So he ducks his head and soldiers on towards the relatively isolated nurse’s office, and in a sudden fit of bravery pauses for only a moment before opening the door. That courage immediately leaves him when the door opens with a sharp creak and he startles, hold almost slipping from the doorknob, but it's the pathetic thought that counts. Or something.

As he's about to slip in and shut the door behind him, a rustle sounds from one of the beds. The breath leaves Shirahama's chest, and he watches as Miyano's boyfriend—Sasaki, that was his name—emerges from the curtains, hair wild in a way that reads more like “bedhead” than “artfully tousled”—not that he'd say it was ever artful, but he's got no place to be critiquing Miyano's boyfriend's hairstyle…

—and speaking of. Sasaki’s staring at him. He sure is tall—for a moment Shirahama wonders why he'd never played basketball, but it’s the kind of wonder that’s paired with utter relief at the nonexistent situation. Then he feels very strange about that thought until Sasaki, with the sedate aura of someone who’s just woken up, blinks at him as if to communicate something.

Shirahama stares back, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Close it quietly,” Sasaki says. Shirahama finally re-registers that his hand is hanging slack on the doorknob. “He's sleeping.” His voice is low, smooth, and deliberately softened to the point that Shirahama has to strain to hear it.

He wavers in the still-open entrance; his legs don't let him run away. The door closes with a soft click, but it may as well be a marching drum.

“I just… came to check in on him,” Shirahama says, too many beats late, careful to pitch his voice just above a whisper. He's not sure he manages. It's the “too many people” thing again, only concentrated—somehow, he’s the one out-of-place in a school he's attended for two and a half years.

Sasaki nods. “Thanks for looking out.”

“Oh… no problem.” He represses the urge to throw up his hands in a sign of “I come in peace,” but he doesn’t know what else to do with them, so they hang limply and indecisively in front of him. Miyano's boyfriend is—it would be rude to say that he's scary, because he's seen the way he acts around Miyano, who doesn't seem to think he’s anything close to intimidating, but he's also Miyano's boyfriend, a term that feels—he shouldn't say it's strange. It shouldn't be any stranger than Kuresawa's girlfriend—bad example, because Kuresawa’s so weird, and Shirahama’s suddenly, overwhelmingly relieved that Miyano doesn’t make hour-long professions of his love—but the thought rests uncomfortably in his head. It's like there's an itch he doesn't know how to scratch.

Sasaki takes the time to inspect him now, squinting at him with a look that’s not akin to judgement but does feel like some kind of thing, and Shirahama would be embarrassed about his inarticulacy if he wasn't already beyond embarrassed with himself. Though he's always hated the feeling of assessment, he does his best to not squirm under Sasaki’s gaze. What Sasaki's likely remembering is the strange hanger-on to Tashiro's high-five run and jump, but even if that's banal in comparison to, say, the date-spying—which is mortifying in retrospect and has given him an eternal respect towards Hanzawa, though he’ll never vocalize this to anyone for fear of the result—something about recognition is just sour.

“Ah,” Sasaki finally says, snapping a cord of tension in Shirahama's shoulders. “You're on the basketball team.”

A strange flush scatters across his neck. “You remembered that?” His voice cracks at the last word, and he tacks on a whispered “Sorry!” that Sasaki accepts without fanfare.

A light shrug. “Just happened to.”

Shirahama throws his memory back to the interaction. He remembers the stray basketball, for sure, but on review something clicks into place. “…Kagiura, right?” His voice settles. “You were looking for him.”

At that, Sasaki falls silent.

Shirahama almost offers to call up Kagiura, but they're not particularly close, and Sasaki's expression doesn't really read as “excited” or “pleased.” In fact it's kind of reading as “ticked off,” which doesn't bode well, because he's pretty sure that if he got into a fight with Miyano's boyfriend, he'd lose. Embarrassingly.

Then, delivered in an unsettlingly flat voice: “I don't know him.”

“What?”

“Kagiura,” Sasaki clarifies, who indeed does say his teammate's name like he's never said those syllables in that order before. Come to think of it, he had called Kagiura by some kind of nickname, hadn't he? “I just… knew of him. Was just curious,” he mumbles.

“He does always get a bunch of confessions on Valentine's day,” Shirahama grumbles on instinct. Then he realizes there's a lot of terrible implications to that routine complaint and backtracks. “Not that—”

“He's popular?”

He feels, suddenly—not actually suddenly but an ebbing and flowing always—wrong-footed. “…Yeah?”  Huh, Miyano's boyfriend is kind of a weird guy. Whether this thought puts Sasaki squarely in the space of “not scary” is debatable. But it is some kind of comfort.

There’s a rustling sound by the bed. The room falls silent in an instant, and Shirahama finds that he’s locked eyes with Sasaki. Something like meaning almost passes through there, but before Miyano's boyfriend can say something about needing him to be silent, or his unnecessary check-in, or his unwelcome presence, Shirahama tumbles out excuses in rush of whispers. “I’ve still got to help out with the festival—just thought I’d check—I’m sure you have it handled—I’m going to—I'll go.”

He stumbles out of the office, thankful he hadn’t even taken two steps past the entrance, and closes the door as quietly as he can. His mouth is so dry he’s not sure any of those words he'd said were audible. It’s entirely likely he stood there, gaping and sputtering like a dying fish, before running away.

No one's there to look at his expression and tell him. Shirahama's glad for it and the fact that there's no mirrors in the hallway—the last person he wants to look at is himself.

[hhawks]

BELLYACHE.

✰ starring: hawks/keigo takami x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: as the number two hero, hawks has the ability to do conceivably anything he wants. spend any amount of money, travel to even the most remote places in the world, and even cover up the string of murders committed by the girl he’s deathly in love with. ✰ content: lovesick-to-the-point-of-crime hawks, serial killer on da loose, mentally-ill-but-also-not-really reader, slight domestic vibes, hawks wants to marry a serial killer <3, bloodlust, mentions of addiction, a liiiittle bit of consumption imagery, medical/anatomical problems because i'm Not a biology student i had to call my stem brother for advice ✰ warnings: descriptive murder, killing, wee bit of gore, clinical insanity tbh, INTENSE daddy kink, overstimulation, face fucking, somnophilia, mild dubcon at the end <3  ✰ word count: 14.1k ✰ a/n: it’s kinda fucked up but also not fucked up enough to warrant like, a psychiatric visit for me. part of my own one with the wind collab for the love of myyy lifeeeeee <3 lowkey self indulgent i just want to murder people

he lifts the police tape up with one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. the morning is gloomy, clouds on the precipice of pouring down tears, the air humid. it's one of those days he wishes he could spend at home, but alas; duty calls.

"what are we lookin' at?" he asks, sipping his latte. it's a little on the bitter side even though he'd asked specifically for extra sugar, but it'll be fine. he winces, swallowing anyway.

"mr hawks," the officer greets him. "good morning. it's another case."

"of?" stupid question. it's too early in the morning for his brain to function at maximum capacity, so it takes him a few seconds before he shakes his head. "oh. forget i asked."

"that's no problem mr. hawks," the officer nods nonchalantly. "the same lookup. drained of blood, needle puncture wounds in the wrists, elbows. sliced open from collarbone to diaphragm." they both look at the body on the ground, a pale girl with blonde hair, dark eyes wide open in a permanent state of shock. hawks almost feels bad for the girl, stripped naked down to her hips, her flesh split. he hopes the incision was made at least after she had died.

"so all the same markings of the crimson reaper then?" he takes another swig of his coffee. the girl definitely put up some kind of fight, with bruises on her arms, hands. but, as always, nothing of the killer is left on her body. not any skin under her nails, not any fingerprints. the crimson reaper knew what they were doing. they always do.

the officer nods, their cap tipped almost over their green eyes, hair tucked neatly into a bun. hawks looks down at them as they look at their notepad. "without a doubt," they say grimly. "that's the fourth case this month."

hawks remembers the day he was assigned to the case of the crimson reaper. he, endeavour, best jeanist; all of the top-ranking pro-heroes were called into the same hero safety public commission conference room on a monday morning, one just like this. gloomy, threatening to rain down judgement on the streets of musutafu. the president ran a hand through her hair, somehow greyer than it had originally been, eyes tired and sunken in. "good morning president," hawks chirped, trying to brighten the mood. "you look chipper as ever."

"thank you, mr. takami," she said, her tone clipped, blunt. "i'm sure all of you know why we've gathered you in here." of course they did. almost all of the pro-heroes were in the know of them, their signature killing style of draining the victim completely of their blood while still alive through various needles in the victim's arms and elbows, before slicing their chest open to leave a single, bright red rose petal.

dubbed the crimson reaper, this killer has ravaged the streets of musutafu, instilling fear within the hearts of the citizens. no one has any idea who it could be; the hero commission have vowed a full investigation into finding them, dead or alive. the crimson reaper doesn't discriminate; there have been no found connections or patterns in the victims that they take; only that they all end up with the same rose petal nestled safely between their lungs.

the problem, though, lay with the fear of the people. "we cannot let the crimson reaper take away the ability of the citizens to feel safe walking along streets, or in their homes," the president briefed. "we need to find this sick, twisted psycho, and bring them to justice."

23 cases in six months. it was beginning to be a persistent worry in the minds of many pro-heroes, but hawks especially. he had a weird, personal affinity to each case, and plus, the hspc president put him on the spot when she asked, "takami, we want you to be the leading agency on this case." and being their number one lackey, he couldn't say no.

so here he is. a small drizzle is breaking out above him now, and he watches the officers scramble to set up the tentage between the two walls of the alleyway, careful not to let rain tamper with the evidence. he looks up, at the crack between rain clouds and how a trickle of sunlight wedges its way between them. a blessed morning, despite everything.

hawks crouches by the body, looking for anything out of the ordinary, different from the previous cases. examines the clean, precise incision along the victim's chest, pink and crimson blending into a strangely beautiful medley of flesh and blood. the flaps of flesh have been stretched, pulled away, the gaping gash of her chest exposing her lungs and her heart, with the crimson reaper's signature left in the very middle; a single rose petal.

"i'm going to look around and see if any of the shops around have cctv," he announces, not taking his eyes off the woman. that poor soul. "finish with the photos, bag anything that could be of use and send the body to the morgue. also, any ID on her?"

"she has a school access card under the cover of her phone," one of the other officers pipes up, pointing at a phone left on the ground, a clear case with a blue and white student card in it. "name's kaida tomita."

"great," hawks gets to his feet, taking another swig of his coffee. "find friends, family, whatever you can. i want to know where she was the night she died, where she lives, everything."

there's a soft chorus of "yes sir!" as he walks off, nodding at them with a charming grin on his face. he tucks his wings closer to his body, careful not to move or touch anything at the scene of the crime. ducking under the yellow and black police tape, the rain greets him once more, small puddles of rain water gathering along the sidewalk. he walks, taking a right out onto the main road, looking for competent shops that may have had some kind of security footage that captures the alleyway.

something catches his eye. something not quite fitting with the colour palette, the doom and gloom of this dingy alleyway with a dead corpse mutilated on the ground. a flash of pink in the peripherals of his vision, laying haphazardly on the ground next to a pair of trashcans. hawks bends down, squinting slightly before sighing. one white glove, a gash tearing through it from the opening down to the base of the index finger. he picks it up and stuffs it in his back pocket, before straightening and continuing his walkaround.

it proves fruitless; the crimson reaper sure knows how to choose their locations. nothing but dilapidated shophouses for several streets, no one frequenting the area enough to be asked if anyone had any idea how this poor university girl ended up in an alleyway, completely drained of blood and her chest ripped open for everyone and their god to see. he commends them, just a little for the amount of thought they must have put into their killings. enough that the entirety of the pro-hero industry has almost been run into the ground with how much havoc they're wreaking.

by the time he returns to the scene of the crime, most of it has been cleaned up, the body transported in a bag to be sent for an autopsy. "shall i compile all the notes and have it sent to your agency?" another officer asks him, a pretty, young girl, and he nods.

"that would be great. thanks, darlin'," he gives her a small smile. "thanks for all your hard work here."

she flushes, a slight rosey tint to her pale cheeks. "it's no problem, mr. hawks," she grins back. "thank you for your service to musutafu."

he just manages a weak smile. seeing case after case like this, it's tiring. it's a shame to tell how used to it he's gotten, but there's no point in denying that he's at that point where waking up to a new pager specifically for this case just filled him with annoyance rather than dread. but he keeps his head up and keeps working. because that's the promise he made as a hero. to serve, and to protect.

"baby, i'm home."

keigo drops his bags by the door, and just like every single day before this, is greeted by approaching footsteps and the smell of apple honey. "daddy!" he hears, and the way his shoulders relax and the apples of his cheeks tip upwards as he sees you.

you, the picture of perfection, your plush legs and arms wrapping around him. "oh my god, i missed you so much today." you breathe into his neck, smelling of sweat and hero work and a long day, and a twinge of his expensive cologne lying under all of that. "it's been so long."

he chuckles, spinning you around. "it's barely been a couple of hours," he chides you playfully. "missed your daddy that much, huh?"

"i miss you all the time," you whine. "you need to quit your job and stay home with me all day."

that earns a hearty laugh out of him, and a warm, wet kiss on your forehead. "tell that to the hero commission, princess. you know how much i'd love to stay in bed with you all day."

you step on his toes, wrapping your arms around him as he waddles the both of you into the kitchen. it's spick and span, always is, with a couple of dishes left of the drying rack and half a ham and cheese sandwich lying on a plate. "were you eating that, princess?"

you shake your head. "ate the other half an' got full," you beam up at him. "left it 'cause i knew you'd want it."

he chuckles. "you know me too well," keigo reaches for it, letting you bridge the gap between it and his outstretched hand, passing the sandwich along. "how was your day? you managed to catch up on your sleep after staying up all night last night?" he pinches your cheek, and you giggle, swatting him away.

"yes! yes, i did, i did," you nuzzle against his neck. "was so boring at home without you though. been thinking about you all day," your words turn breathy, pushing yourself into him more and more and more, as if you were trying to fuse the two of you together. your voice drops low, a murmur barely audible to him. "couldn't wait for you to get home."

keigo smiles. he knows exactly what you mean what you say that, but he wants to hear it from your mouth directly. "is that so, baby girl?" he shifts you, hoists you by your waist up onto the kitchen counter. "couldn't wait for me to get home?"

you whimper, shaking your head, nuh uh. "couldn't," you stutter, spreading your legs just a little bit. "needed— needed to touch."

"touch?" he asks, voice mocking innocence. "touch what, baby?"

you whine, a little embarrassed by his question. "you know what i mean." the tension between you is palpable, and you need him to step in the gap you've made between your legs. "daddy."

"i don't think i do," keigo munches on his half of the sandwich, feigning complete obliviousness to your advances. "think you need to tell me what you mean, darling."

you groan, head tipping back in annoyance as you find his hand in yours and pull him closer to you. "needed you to touch me," you murmur, shy. you guide him up your thigh, his thick fingers, calloused from hero work so rough and skittish against your plush, soft skin. a shudder runs up your spine. "right here."

his hand ends up right between your thighs, your hands, tiny compared to his, holding his wrist in place as his fingers brush up against the thin cotton of your shorts. "ah," he exclaims, a little exaggerated. "my little princess cunt needed some attention from daddy, is that it?"

you nod vehemently, relishing in every purposeful brush of his knuckles against the damp spot right in the middle of your shorts. "mmhm," you hum happily. "missed you so bad today, daddy."

"yeah?" he steps closer to you, pressing his chest to yours, his hand still toying with your cloth-covered cunt. "gorgeous baby. so desperate for cock, aren't you?"

you whine. his words, so crude, so blunt but so true. it makes you flush furiously, shyness creeping up on you slowly, heat pooling between your clenching thighs. "for daddy's cock," you agree, looking up at him with begging eyes. "wan'— wan' daddy's cock so bad."

keigo kisses your forehead. "have you been a good girl for me today?" he asks, slipping your shorts to the side, toying with the slick that coats your pussy, stroking up and down slowly.

it's so sensitive you can barely speak, just the ghostly touch of his fingers, the featherlight intention behind every stroke. you don't want to answer him because, well, you haven't been. you're growing impatient with how he's taking his time with you, stretching out your time with one another. but you've been aching, throbbing for him all fucking day, so you squeeze his wrist harder, forcing him to stay where you want him to.

"baby," he warns. "don't be bad."

you grind helplessly against his hand, relieving all the pent up need and stress as you rut your hips pathetically up and down his fingers. "fuck me," you demand. "i need you to fuck me."

keigo tuts. a soft, yet sharp sound against his tongue. "disobedient slut," he murmurs. watching tears spring into your eyes as you hump his hand, too much to handle but too little to cum. it's the perfect torture for you; to make you desperate for him, and yet never give in to you in his entirety. "fuckin' so eager for me, huh?"

you ignore his punchy words, whimpering against his fingers. your thighs are aching a little from the position, the constant move of your hips against his thick fingers. "fuck me," you demand again. "daddy, daddy," you paw at his trousers, trying to undo his belt.

but you don't get far before he smacks your hands, harshly to make you stop. "stop it," he scolds, a low growl in his voice. "you're being so disobedient right now." he snatches his hand from between your thighs, tuning out your whines of protest and yanks you by the back of your neck. "get up."

you have no choice, the pinch on the back of your neck forcing you to comply. you get up and he pushes you down in front of him, down on your knees putting you in the eyeline of the bulge in his pants. your eyes light up just looking at it, your hands uncontrollable as they come up to paw at his buckle, undoing it. such an easy little thing, keigo thinks. just need some cock in your mouth and you're all good for me.

he helps you get his buckle undone, your soft, trembling fingers pulling down the hem of his trousers. the smell of him is intoxicating, the reeking stench of sweat and work and burnt ashes as you bury your nose in the crevice between his boxers and his thigh. you look at him and he looks at you and your pupils are dilated, almost frenzied. “my little nympho girlfriend,” he chuckles. “you’d die for my cock, wouldn’t you?”

you don’t have to answer. the hitch in your breath does it for you. the way your lip quivers and you can’t seem to find the words to protest. keigo just snickers. just pets your hair, and cradles your cheek against the hard bulge in his boxers. “answer me.”

“‘d die for your cock,” you whisper, daring enough to let your tongue poke out of your mouth, licking up his cock through the fabric. “i’d die for it, wanna ride it.” you pout, looking up at him. a breath leaves him in a shudder.

“go on, then.” he murmurs, cupping the back of your head. “take it out.”

your fingertips, cautious and reluctant, dig into the waistband of his boxers, and your teeth baring to bite the fabric softly. it comes down slowly, stretching over his hips, the apex of his thighs until his cock springs free, and your mouth begins to water. every single time you pull out keigo’s cock it surprises you. and every single time it does, he chuckles at your reaction, your eyes widening, your mouth gaping uncontrollably. it boosts his ego just a little bit, the way you shake quite a little, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

don’t think i’ll ever get tired of this. 

you take your tongue and lick up a fat stripe from the base to the tip of his cock, worshipping his frenulum, sucking the head of his cock. you don’t think you’ll ever stop thinking it’s the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen in your sorry life. keigo shudders under your touch, the hand cupping the back of your head instinctively pushing towards him, forcing your cheek pressed up against his cock. the course hairs on his pelvis, shimmering and blonde, tickle your skin and you stop to giggle for a second. 

“let me,” you’re insistent, squirming out of his hold and rearing back. “let me,” you repeat, dropping your jaw to fit the thick, mushroom tip of his cock into your mouth. it’s a lot, it always is; sure, keigo wasn’t the tallest guy, but he made up for it in how thick his cock was. in stature, the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his waist. even now, it’s a chore to work his cock into your warm, waiting mouth, but he had to control himself, not buck his hips forward and push the seam of your lips apart. you work to get the cock fully in your mouth, suckling and slurping on with, making obscene sounds. they’re music to his ears, he smiles, the sounds of you choking and gagging on his cock as he watches you swallow it down to the hilt. 

“that’s it, good girl. good girl, taking all of daddy’s cock like that. fuck,” he seethes. “daddy’s gonna use your mouth now, okay? just keep your jaw— yeah, just like that. yeah, good fuckin’ girl.” his fingers twist into your hair, his other hand coming down to cup your cheek as he pistons in and out of your mouth. his breathing’s laboured, fucking his pretty girlfriend’s mouth like a pussy. 

you choke back a moan every time the tip of his cock rams into the back of your throat. you’re quite used to this, to be honest; being used as a tool for keigo’s pleasure, but it made you even wetter hearing the whimpers and whines drool out of his mouth like liquid gold, knowing that you’re the reason he’s feeling so good right now. so you relax your jaw and let him use you the way he needs. because you can’t deny the fact that the space between your thighs is growing hot, slick with your own arousal as your lips stretch open with every thrust.

and then keigo’s pulling out of your mouth, tapping your cheek with his cock drenched in your spit. you whine, “you didn’t cum.”

“don’t wanna cum in your mouth today,” he murmurs. “c'mon. up."

he should get you a collar and a leash, he thinks. just so he can yank you along where he wants you, and god knows you'd follow him on all fours. you're pliable today, and thank god for that because he needs to sink his fat cock inside of you before he blows his load on the carpet. keigo tugs you along to the bedroom and shoves you down onto your stomach on the bed, knees hitching up. digs a hand under your hips and raises your ass.

"show me that pretty pussy," he whispers, cheek pressed against the fat of your ass. he can see the outline of your puffy pussy through the thin jersey cotton of your pajama shorts, fat and drooling. his fingers dig into your hips, warm tips slipping under the waistband. "no panties?" he asks, and even with your head in the pillows, back arched for him, you can hear the smug look on his face.

"no panties," you answer, a deep sigh into the pillows. you can't see what he's doing, but you pray to god he'll let you off and just fuck you till you're a sobbing, drooling mess. so it comes unexpected to you, but not unwelcome, when his hand rears back and lands on your ass with a loud smack. you squeal loudly, flinching at the contact but he stops you, wrapping a strong arm around your hips.

"stop running," he says, the low timbre of his voice, nearing a growl, making you stop in your tracks. even you, the biggest brat keigo's ever seen, wouldn't dare disobey him like this. "wanna act like a desperate whore, you get treated like one, yeah?"

the sheets become acquainted with your drool as he continues with you, landing a succession of spanks; one for every time you "disobeyed" him, asked for too much, stepped out of line. this is what he knows you love, being put in your place, him having his way with you. at the back of his mind he'd rather kiss you sweetly, have you on your back facing him, fucking you slow as he watches your eyes roll back with every kiss his cock delivers to your cervix, but this; this is what you need. a rough, harsh fuck, battering your ass and your pussy till you're raw and red and begging him to stop. until you stop being a brat, and you listen to what he has to say.

"fuck me," you cry out, muffled into the pillow. he pauses, smoothing a big palm along the redness of your asscheek. "daddy— please, please."

he leans down, draping himself over your back. "what was that?"

"daddy," you beg, his title so sweet on your tongue. like honey, dripping gold. "please fuck me."

keigo hums. "finally decided you're gonna be good for me, then?" he sits back on his haunches, hands gripping your hips. "finally mellowed down into the good girl i know?" you wish you could shut him up, but with his big, rough hand pinning your neck down there's no way for you to speak, no way for you to glower at him. so you lie there and you take it, take every burning fingerprint he scalds into your skin, the unpleasant sting of the cold air against your abused, reddened skin. he peels down your shorts, watching the way your slicked up pussy drools for him now, strings of arousal latching on to the soaked fabric as he peels it away.

your pussy clenches around nothing, exposed to the cold air. a small whine rips through your throat; wriggling your thighs slightly. "c'mon," you whimper. but keigo stays put. watches the mesmerising slick of your pussy, puffy folds all on display for him to watch. "it's embarrassing!" you protest, trying to get him to do something, anything. but if keigo's good at one thing, it's putting you in your place.

smack. you recoil as another excruciating blow lands on the fat of your ass, right where your thighs meet your cheeks. "behave. you get what i give you, when i give it to you. got it?"

you whimper quietly. keigo doesn't like that. doesn't like when you hide your answers from him. so he grabs you, stuffs two fingers in your mouth and pulls, forcing your head up painfully. "got it?"

"yeth!" you cry, muffled around his fingers. wincing, he lets you down, a rare gentleness in his rough hands. he smoothes a hand down your back, shushing your soft sniffles.

"prettiest fuckin' pussy," he whispers, and you can feel the hot breath against your skin. "gonna fuck you now, okay?"

a thrill skittles down your spine when you hear those words, your back arching, ass humping back. "yes, yes please," you breathe, twisting your neck so you can look back at him, kneeling over you. his boxers are shucked down to his knees, positioning himself at your cunt, and you can feel it; the slow, agonising rub of the tip of his cock against the slit of your pussy, threatening to fuck it open, stretch you out. "daddy— oh, fuck me!"

there's a line between demanding and begging, and you toe it every single day. you better thank you gods that keigo's ears deep in love with you that he overlooks it, that he chuckles to himself as the fat mushroom tip of his cock catches against the slit and pushes in. the both of you hiss, the contact of his cock in your gummy walls so familiar and yet you're completely thrown off by the sheer girth of him stretching your ill-prepared hole. no matter how many times you and keigo fuck, how many times he has you cumming on his cock beforehand, the first breach of his cock in your pussy will always sting. you clutch the bedsheets in your fist, silk bunching up and shielding your palms from the onslaught of your sharp fingernails.

he heaves a breath, leaving his lips with a shudder as his hands grip your flesh. tightening around the fat of your hips, he sinks himself deep into your eager, drooling pussy. "princess," he drapes his body over yours, broad shoulders and thick waist and so big over you. "god, princess, let me in."

it's so much, too much for your tight pussy to handle. "'m trying," you mumble. "s-slow down."

keigo chuckles, mouthing at your shoulder. "not so big and bad anymore, huh? where's my feisty little girl gone?"

it always happens. you just need a little bit of cock in your pussy and you're reduced to a blabbering, slobbering mess on the sheets, your hips mindlessly pushing back onto keigo's cock as you beg him to slow down. he could still himself and just kneel behind you and you'd find a way to fuck yourself to orgasm without him moving an inch. you may be a brat, may disobey him for a second to paw at his cock, but keigo knows all you need is a cock inside you and you're right as rain for him.

today is no different, he thinks as you fuck yourself back on his cock, watching your pussy stretch around him and swallow him down to the hilt. it's mesmerising, borderline insane the way you suck him in, the way you fuck him until you're satisfied and don't stop for a second until you're done. even with your head buried in the pillows you have control, squeezing the length of his dick until he's breathless.

"s-stop that," he stutters, his hand sliding up your back, pinning your neck to the pillows. "you're squeezin' me too tight, birdy."

and you can't answer, hands flailing, fingers flexing with the weight of him mounting you. you can feel him so, so deep inside you, it's like he's in your throat, pushing past your thoughts and residing in the forefront of your mind. "c-can't... 'elp it," you manage, a half hearted sorry dripping from your lips like the drool leaking out the side of your mouth. it's messy, overwhelming, but god if it's the only thing you live for.

keigo ruts into you, one leg planted on the bed by the side of your torso, holding your hips and bouncing you back onto his cock. "is that good?" he grunts, his sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes. "you like that, princess?"

"love it," you slur, dizzy from how deep his cock is pressing inside you. every single thrust feels like it's breaking the wall of your cervix, the slight sting of pain whenever he rams his cock as far as it'll take him. "h-haah," your fists tangle in the sheets before letting go, your right hand drifting down between your body and the sheets to find your clit, the sensitive bud dripping with slick, puffy and neglected. the first fingers make contact with it and your knees almost give out, the sensitivity of your clit sending shocks through your torso, down to your toes and up to your shoulders, a familiar feeling traversing through your veins.

"yeah?" keigo teases, his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking from your shoulder blade to the nape of your neck. "gotta rub your little clit? can't let daddy do all the work now, can you?"

and you whine in response, a pathetic inability to say anything. you can feel him in your throat and you've gone almost brainless with the thickness of him stretching your pretty pussy out. "n-need to," you whisper, shifting your head so you can glance back at him, and when you do, you almost choke.

keigo's the picture of debauchery. his face is tinted pink, ears tipped red and you're sure that if you cradled your palm against his cheek his blood would run so, so warm. he's looking at you with a frenzied look in his eyes, golden melting in his eyes, looking at you wth an intensity that threatens to frighten you. he's looking at you like land to conquer, wings ruffled and spread slightly. you know he loses control of them in times like these, and that they're one of the most sensitive areas of his body, beautiful crimson shielding the two of you like a dome; like he's covering the both of you from the world, and it's just the two of you right now. it is. to you, it is.

your jaw slackens as you rub your clit to the look on his face, the curves of his cheekbones, the angular structure of his jaw, his pink cheeks, the way he's grunting as he sheathes himself inside you again, and again, and again. "k-keigo," you whisper, the circles you draw on your clit getting messier and sloppier as the tightness in your core begins to build. it's excruciating. "daddy."

"i got you, princess," he groans. "you gonna cum?"

you nod, wordlessly. you don't think you could force yourself to say more than that, your heart caught in your throat and his dick in your tummy. you're so distracted that it takes you a couple of seconds to realise that he's snaked his own hand between your thighs, knocking your smaller one out of the way.

"need to feel you cum," you hear him say, strained, like he's speaking with his jaw locked and gnashing teeth. seeing how tense he looks, he probably is. keigo's fingertips are so calloused, so rough from work that it makes you squeal with how ungraceful he's being with your poor, bullied clit. "you're close, aren't you? can feel you— fuck, you're fucking squeezin' me."

"oh my god, oh my god," you cry, palming your stomach as if it'll help alleviate the overwhelming sensation of both your pussy and clit being bullied beyond recognition. "daddy, oh fuck, daddy!"

"i know," he shushes your cries, rubbing his free hand soothingly down your back, and then planting it by the side of your head. "gotta— don't cry, baby, 's just me." keigo sinks a little deeper, rubs your clit a little faster. "you're gonna make a mess on my cock, aren't you?"

you cry out at the crudeness of his words, trying valiantly to shake your head no. but you can't lie; you could feel the pressure in your navel. one small push, one more flick of his fingers against your clit and you're done for.

"come on, princess," he grunts. "need you to cum for daddy, got it? wanna fuckin' see you squirt all over me, come on," and with his renowned intent, keigo's thrusts became impossibly faster, driving impossibly deeper. one clumsy brush of his knuckles against your clit and you're gone, gone, gone, flung headfirst into a crashing orgasm. your eyes roll back and you see white, and you don't realise you're gushing liquid until you hear keigo curse, the lewd squelch of his cock plunging into your leaking pussy filling the room.

"fuck," he spits. "holy fuck, yeah. that's it. that's my fuckin' girl."

"fuck me," you barely manage. "f-fuck me through it."

and he does, never stopping the movement of his hips against yours, his fingers still circling mercilessly against your sloppy clit. you can barely breathe, the force of your orgasm still sending shakes down your legs. they're uncontrollable, too heavy and you have to drop them, your pelvis flat on the sheets. "'m sorry," you babble, "c-can't hold mys-self..."

keigo hushes you. "don't worry princess," he whispers in your ear. "don't need you to work anymore, yeah? just lie there and take daddy's cock now, okay?" he presses kisses down your spine, sweet and sugary compared to his words. "daddy's gonna use you now."

and that he does. keigo has a habit of getting carried away when he's on top, when he has power over you. he pins your hips into the sheets, making sure they don't move as he rears back until only the tip of his cock remains in you, before pushing forward and slamming his fat cock into you, over and over and over. your cum and squirt making for extra lube for him to violate your pussy over and over.

you're powerless to stop him, limp and crosseyed as he uses you to chase his own orgasm. just little whines and whimpers that escape your lips when he pushes particularly deep; but other than that, right now, you're keigo's warm, wet fucktoy with the perfect pussy to cum in.

"'m not gonna last very long," he whines. "where do you want it, princess? where do you want daddy's cum?"

"i'side," you whisper. "ins-side!"

"yeah?" his mouth quirks up, canines flashing. he drapes himself over you again, mouthing at your ear. "want me to cum inside?"

you nod, small uh huh, uh huhs spilling out of your useless mouth.

"want me to knock you up? give you my kids? when was the last time you took your pill, baby?"

"n-not," you barely manage. "not on t-the pill anymore."

"that's what i like to fuckin' hear," he chuckles, brows furrowing just slightly, feeling the tangle in his navel now too. "gonna make you all fat and round with my kids. yeah?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. "maybe if i knock you up you'll finally listen to me."

you squeal as he drives himself into your one more time, tip of his dick nudging against the sweet spot inside you, threatening to push past the tight ring of your cervix. just presses his chest against your back and pushes, grinds the head against your walls. "daddy, too much!" you cry out, arms scrambling for purchase. his thrusts are brutal; you can practically feel the bruises he's pressing into your skin, pretty blue-black marks you know will show up tomorrow morning. 

"shut up." he hisses, taking both your wrists in one of his own, pinning them above your head. "shut the fuck up and take it." keigo shudders, trying his hardest to hold on just a little more, just one more thrust before he's falling apart, a groan clawing through his throat and bubbling out of his mouth as he cums and cums and cums. it's overwhelming, the feeling of him filling you to the brim and more with cum. white hot and thick, dripping out the sides of his cock as he plugs you full.

you hear him sigh, arm collapsing and giving way until he's flopped on top of you, cock softening inside you. you welcome the warm weight of your boyfriend on top of you, hoisting one of his arms in your hands to tuck between you and the sheets, resting your cheek against the toned muscle of his bicep.

"long day?" you ask, finally. the smell of the both of you, your floral sweetness mixing with the sweaty hue of his tired body, drifting through the air. he's so tired, barely moving, but you don't mind the crushing. it was comforting, in its own way.

"the longest," he sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck before he snaps up suddenly. "oh. right," he reaches over to the side of the bed where he'd shucked off his jeans (you don't even remember him doing that, probably in your haze of lust.)

"mm?" you hum, smiling softly at him. he pulls out a white glove, one torn from the base to the index finger, and flicks you in the head with it.

"gotta stop leaving your traces all over the place, baby," he chides you gently. "never know what would've happened if someone found it before i did.”

keigo and you met years ago- at a coffeeshop near your university where you studied forensic psychology and he studied english. you'd spilt your matcha latte all over his shirt and apologised profusely, and he'd laughed it off.

"no worries, sweetheart," he took your chin in his fingers, a soft smile playing on his lips. "hey— enough apologisin' yeah?" 

and after that, you began bumping into him more and more. it would have been worrying if you weren't so enamoured with his gaze, midas gold and luxurious, yet still held an air of comfort in them. like you could crawl into him and lay yourself to rest in him. you didn't realise the bright crimson feather that stuck itself to the bottom of your tote bag, following you wherever you went. by the first week, he knew your whole schedule. he knew which classes you were in, which dormitory you stayed in, the sound of your roommate's voice.

it wasn't his fault you were so pretty, so delicate, so vulnerable. it wasn't his fault he thought you needed extra protection. you were just so lovely, anyone would be lucky to even be looked at by you. what if you got into trouble? what if you needed help? it was just for safety, he convinced himself.

keigo thought you were stupid. thought you didn't know about the fact that he was tracking you. he convinced himself that, to him, you were another air headed bimbo to fuck and then move on to the next one. of course, he'd never gone to these lengths for any other girl before, but somehow, you were different.

and to you, he was different. your roommate warned you of those golden eyes, that warm smile that seemed a little too friendly. "he's fine," you insisted, looking at yourself in the mirror for the fifth time that night, pulling your skirt down, pulling your dress up as you waited for keigo to text you, to pick you up for your first date. "i'll text you if anything goes wrong, i promise."

and of course, the date went well. he took you to dinner and then to a lovely little park, and then back to his apartment to fuck your brains out. tugging your wrist in his, you remember the way you tripped over each other to get to his bedroom, pulling clothes every which way. it was almost embarrassing how fast the word daddy slipped out of your mouth that night. but how couldn't you, with the way he was prying your legs open, calling you his good baby? with the way he was feeding you his cock, slapping the fat tip of it against your slick folds? it was natural, almost sickeningly so.

you liked him. god, you liked him. an outrageous amount. like you couldn't stand to be without him for more than a day. and strangely enough, he found your neediness endearing. like he wanted to be the centre of your attention all of the time. keigo was so unfamiliar with the concept of actually liking someone that he couldn't tell how he felt about you until that night.

see, the thing with keigo was that even though he was wrapped around your pinky finger, he found it so hard to move on from his... prideful ambitions. and so every time you rounded a corner to see some skank's arm draped around his torso, or some bitch's hand stroking his wings, you broiled in a mixing pot of anger and jealousy. no matter how many times he reassured you, no, sweetheart, i'm not cheating on you and baby, you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen. it wasn't enough for you. not until you had them in front of you, motionless, pale, and drained of blood.

keigo had wondered where you went. you'd left your tote bag in your dorm room so he couldn't track you down. usually he’d leave it, roll his eyes and wait for you to reply but when you let his calls run to voicemail and you left him on read too many times, he decided to go out. tuck some crimson red feathers in the corners of buildings, alleyways just in case you came by. sent other feathers drifting around just in case you decided to stay in one place. and finally, after what felt like hours, he stumbled upon a small alleyway with a figure too closely resembling yours crouching down by the ground.

he listened to the soft choking sounds, the pleas of please, stop, it hurts. stood there and did nothing but watched. not because he was scared, no. but because he was curious. curious who lay in front of you, and why. he let your victim thrash about, writhing in pain before eventually stopping, laying limp in front of you, and when her head hit the ground with a satisfyingly hollow thump, he recognises her as the girl he talked to just earlier this morning.

keigo watches you, ominous fascination coursing through his veins, golden gaze pathetic. he was a hero, groomed and perfected by the safety commission, and he just let a girl die; for what? because he was so enamoured with the girl who killed her? because he was so infatuated with the way you breathed now, your shoulders rolling back like this is your first hit of a joint, relaxing and softening from weeks-long tension?

"impressive," is the only thing he says, and when you whip around, there's some sort of kindling ferocity in your eyes. he holds his hands up in surrender, a sign of innocence. "no, truly."

you have a quirk; when it manifested, your mother had you wear gloves, made you stay away from other kids. because through the sweat glands of your palms, you could drain any living being of blood within minutes. it was scary, naturally, for your mother to find that out. it explained why you always felt faint; that without draining somebody else's blood, you never really had enough on your own. blood didn't clot fast enough to stop you from losing blood rapidly. blood was precious, blood was essential to you. other people's blood.

the pints of blood the hospital supplied you was never enough. the blood donations, transfusions, nothing worked the same way as when you laid a hand, skin to skin on somebody's arm and drained them. that feeling of euphoria, of strength rejuvenating in your bones. it felt like breathing for the first time, a thirst quenched, a hunger quelled.

over the years you'd perfected it; sped it up so you could drained a whole average sized body in seconds, or learn how to tell when a certain amount has been drained. but though you learned to control it, to decide when your glands worked as needles, when your blood becomes too thin, or runs too low it's harder for you to control. harder for you to discern when you should or shouldn't utilise it. your god-given gift.

"like a vampire," keigo joked when you told him this.

"fuck off," you seethed, slapping his bicep. "what are you gonna do now? sell me out to your dumb pro hero agency?"

"it's the hero commission, sweetheart," he started. "and of course not. why would i do that?"

you shrugged. "thought you wanted to be the next big shot pro. can't do that if you're an accessory to a murder."

so you aren't as dumb as you seem. keigo smiles. as much as he loved the way you went dumb on his cock, or dependent hanging off his sleeve begging him to ask the counter for some ketchup, he liked you like this; scheming, plotting, always one step ahead. you were always one step ahead.

this wasn't the first time you'd done this. of course not, he thinks, it can't be. because as you slip a pair of pristine white gloves back over your right hand with a practiced precision, fishing out a rag and wiping down the surface of the skin, it was obvious this was like routine. "diluted bleach," you murmured, explaining the acrid smell. "gets rid of any fingerprints or dna."

he watched you clean any evidence of yourself from the corpse, before getting back up on your feet. "you're not gonna bury it?"

you shrugged. "they're gonna find it either way." you turned to him, a small smile on your lips. he would have thought it adorable if you didn't just drained a girl completely of her blood right before him. "and plus, i forgot my shovel."

keigo couldn't help but chuckle. but pull you into his chest and kiss you, slow and deep. "what a girl," he whispered in your ear. "that's my fuckin' girl."

fucked up couldn't even begin to describe your relationship with keigo after that.

and ears deep in love was an understatement to how keigo felt about you.

he ruined every crime scene, botched every manila file. protected you fiercely in every way he could in his position in the hero commission. never once did he question what he was doing; to him it was you first, everything else came after.

did he get reprimanded for his slowness on the cases? on the mysterious disappearances of forensic evidence? on the fact that no one was any closer to solving the case of the crimson reaper? of course. but he didn't care, because as long as he came home to his sweet girlfriend, your arms wrapping around his neck and peppering his face with kisses like a dutiful wife, he'd abuse any power to keep you safe.

and that included today. "ms president," hawks greets when he walks into the room, the clinical fluorescents washing out any life from the room. it feels sterile; the blank stares, the gloomy, overcast weather that painted the backdrop of the meeting through the large glass windows.

"mr. takami," she smiles, tightlipped. hawks could count the wrinkles that stained her forehead, etched like valleys, fruition of the canyons of burden she shouldered. "so kind of you to join us."

"of course, ms president." his hands, shoved deep into his pants pockets flexed, a small wring of anxiety that plagues him whenever he's called to these meetings. that they'd finally saw through him, and are coming for you right as they speak. "it's always a pleasure to be here."

he was taught since he was a little kid, since he was taken in by the commission; the job he was made for. the purpose he was born to fulfil. to make musutafu a better place, to protect civilians. and he did! he did a damn good job. but right now, more than anything else he'd been taught, there came you, who turned his nights into days and touched fleeting heart and turned it to gold.

"the other ranked heroes should be here soon," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "how's the crimson reaper case? any good news?"

hawks' hands slip out of his pockets, straightening them by his sides and bowing slightly. "i'm sorry, ms. president. i can't say anything's any better than it's been since the last meeting."

her breath hitches, and with a grim expression, turns away from him. "no matter," she starts. "i know we are all working as hard as we can. we will get this killer," there's a certain acid in her tone, corroding and pooling on her tongue. hawks can hear the frown, the anger and the frustration in her tone. "and we will keep musutafu safe."

endeavour is the first one in the room after that, his big, hulking figure looming by the door way. "madam president," he greets, and then turns to hawks. "brat."

hawks scoffs. "rude."

the meeting runs as all the previous did; briefing everybody on the current situation, any updates, any findings, anything new that had come up. hawks explains the newest death; the background, who she was, the places she'd been before. "there's no connection between this victim and the rest," he continues. "which further cements that the reaper doesn't have a pattern. i wouldn't go as far as to say these victims are picked randomly, but that is how it appears."

"then everyone's in danger of being killed," edgeshot pipes up. "there's no way we can predict who'll be next."

there's a grim hum of agreement.

"an equal risk," hawks agrees. "there's no telling who s— they'll go for next."

"and you're sure," ryukyu raises her voice. "that we're nowhere closer to finding anything about them? after, what, 24 deaths? not a single piece of evidence?"

"really makes you wonder how much work you're putting into this," rock lock comments, the snideness in his voice not going unnoticed. "hawks agency not putting in enough hours?"

"why don't you fuckin' try it, wannabe?" mirko glowers at rock lock. “oh, that’s right. you don’t even have your own agency. why don’t you try becoming a ranked hero before you give your opinion?” 

“ms. usagiyama,” the president clips. “mr. takagi. i would rather there be no internal conflict within the pro heroes when there’s a common enemy that deserves our utmost attention.”

neither of them say a word after that. blunt tipped tones and thick tension; it was natural for the frustration to get to them, have them saying things they’d usually be able to contain. hawks smiles weakly, mumbles a small, it’s alright, before continuing. “we do have several leads,” he starts again. “we are investigating especially those with blood-related quirks, since the signature style of the reaper is the victim drained of blood. we have yet to find a reason for this, why the blood is being used.” 

“we had the tests run at all hospitals and donation drives in musutafu,” best jeanist adds. “testing the blood sample from the body to see if any of the blood had been donated. nothing came up. whatever it is, the killer’s using it for themselves.” 

“well maybe we should check neighbouring cities,” kamui woods suggests. “the reaper only comes by once a week at most. they could be from neighbouring towns.”

“you think they’d lug five litres of blood to another town?”

“five litres is nothing. that’s a 5 kilo dumbbell.”

internally, hawks chuckles. he knows the drained blood has led them on a wild goose chase; any blood drained was already in your bloodstream, since the glands drained the blood from their body directly into yours. you’d only started puncturing holes with needles to throw them off; make them think that it was external instruments that aided in the blood collection. in fact, that was his idea, brought up one night at dinner when you were tossing ideas on how to make it more fun for you.

that’s what it was. fun. other than the element of needing blood— you didn’t need nearly as much as you were getting. one body could last you maybe a month or two if you stretched it right— you did this for fun. it's a thrill at this point, doing them closer and closer to the city centre, in places where people could peer into an alleyway and see you crouched by a motionless body. there's a glint in your eye, keigo notices, when you see somebody you want. an interesting quirk, a streak of your favourite colour in their hair; once you set your eyes on someone, you'll never take them off.

they were right, in that one thing about you. it was random. unpredictable. you never let them know what you're about to do next, and you liked it that way.

"we do," endeavour starts, clearing his throat. "have some eyewitness reports from around the area. the killing— this one, most recent one— happened around 3 to 5 in the morning according to forensics, and a, uh, miss miyazaki toi reported seeing a figure in green along the street, leaving the opposite direction from the alleyway at about 4:30."

madam president perks up. "any other indicators? hair colour? height?"

"she, uh, said she was too far away to make out anything of essence."

"gait? posture? anything?"

endeavour shakes his head. "nothing, madam president. i can get in touch with the eyewitness again, but it's not likely she'll have anything new to share."

hawks clears his own throat, thumping his chest once. whoever that miyazuki or whatever saw, that wasn't you. and he knows this because at 4:30 am you were fucked out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucked you into his mattress. whimpering, drooling, clawing at his skin for him to slow down, his hips slapping against yours as he emptied his balls into your waiting pussy.

and also, you don't wear green. not your colour.

but he knows madam president, knows that she'll exhaust every avenue, every lead until it turns up dead at her doorstep. this eyewitness testimony just bought you a couple more weeks as they chase down whatever poor soul was walking along a street at 4 in the morning.

as the meeting concludes, several pro heroes pat hawks on the back, thanking him for working overtime for this case, taking such a genuinely draining case under his wing. he just smiles, murmuring in acknowledgement. he can see the tight rings of sleeplessness wound under their eye lines, and for a moment, he feels a speck of pity for them. maybe he does feel sympathetic, that a savage killer ravages the streets of his town. but he can't bring himself to condemn your actions. can't find it in himself to look at you with anything but utmost adoration, like a kitten who had brought a chewed up bird to him in its mouth, big doe eyes asking, are you proud of me?

keigo is. always has been proud of you. you made a name for yourself, never left a trace of yourself in your wake. you are such a clever girl, beautiful and kind, and you bring sunshine to your household with the aroma of the cookies you bake every saturday. keigo loves you. endlessly, relentlessly. if he had to jeopardise his career and watch the city of musutafu tremble in the wake of your actions just to see that smile on your face every time he came home, it was done. in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

he flies home that night. picks up a couple of custard tarts for you on the way, from your favourite bakery, and a bubble tea. maybe you'd eat dinner together and he'd sit you on his lap while you watched another shitty romcom that he would deny he loved. maybe he'd wash the dishes while you focused on your assignment, chewing on the back of your apple pencil from a habit you never really grew out of. either way, he's excited to come home, to see you, feel you in his arms again.

the sliding door is ajar when he lands in the balcony, tucking his wings tight behind him as he pulls it a little more open, slipping inside. he's hit with the aroma of curry wafting through the threshold before he spots you, his love and light, his achilles heel standing by the stove in your favourite pink and white apron, stirring a pot. he lights up; it's embarrassing how fast he drops his bags and shuffles over to the kitchen, quietly wrapping his arms around your front as he leans against your back.

"keigo," you murmur softly. "welcome home, baby."

keigo hums. "i missed you."

you giggle softly. "you always say that."

"because it's always true." he raises his head slightly, tucking it into the crook where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your skin. you have a litany of marks, varying in shades, deep blue or a fading red scattered along the plump skin. "i miss you every second i'm not with you."

you twist the knob of the stove off, giving the curry one last customary stir before pushing off the edge of the countertop, twisting around to face your boyfriend. you heave his heavy arms around your torso, under your armpits and slump back into him. "you're such a sap," you whisper, burying your face into his shoulder, tucking your head under his chin. he rubs his nose along your temple, sweet nothings murmured into the space between you.

"did you miss me too, baby?"

there's a flicker of embarrassment that flashes hot in your bloodstream, and you can't seem to brush it off. "yes, daddy," you whisper back, letting out a shaky breath. "missed you, so, so much."

he smiles, brings one hand up to tip your chin upwards before catching your lips in a kiss. a gentle, breathless one, one that has you swaying on your tip toes, clutching on to the collar of his work jacket. "that's my sweet girl," he murmurs. "wanna make you my wife one day."

and you giggle, rolling your eyes. "you're all talk," you chastise him, turning away again to begin plating your dinner. the lid of the rice cooker pops open and you scoop heaps for him, and just as much for you. "how much curry do you want, honey?"

"lots," he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist again, tucking his chin on your shoulder. "chicken?"

"yup," you pat his cheek. "your favourite."

keigo watches as you scoop ladlefuls of curry onto his plate, stewed chicken and vegetables in a rich traditional curry atop a bed of rice. god, his mouth is watering just watching you plate it. he has got to make you his wife.

as he sits next to you at the kitchen island, bowls of curry half eaten he looks over at you, chewing thoughtfully, eyes glimmering, and wonders what good he'd done in his last life to deserve someone like you. as you settle in his lap for your nightly movie, dead poets society playing on the tv, he strokes your hair, runs his fingers down your back. he wants to savour every hour, minute, second he's got with you. fall into a dimension where neither of you are needed anywhere but in each other's arms.

time is a leaking faucet, dripping and draining into the rippling river between the two of you, the rhythmic, drip, drip, drip reminds him that this time is finite, that there is nothing in the world that lasts forever and ever. and as hard as he might try, there will come a day that he will have to part from you.

but that day is not today, he reminds himself as you lean your tired head on his plush chest. you squeak softly when his grip around your waist tightens, and he pulls you closer to him. "i missed you," he whines, high and pitchy and so unlike the outer facade he had put on for his public image. "baby, oh baby, i fuckin' missed you so bad."

you giggle. "you said that already," you loop your arms around his neck. "say something different."

"like what?" he looks at you quizzically. "like, oh, i dreamed about fucking you all day."

"crude!" you slap his bicep. "another one."

he hums, in thought. "i couldn’t stop thinking about you."

"that's so cliche." you laugh. "come on, number two hero, most eligible bachelor in japan. hit me with your best shot."

"marry me." it's out of his mouth before he can stop it, before he can think. what usually was meant to be kept under lock and key, spoken into existence. what plagued his every day, clouded up his mind, finally out there for more than his subconscious to hear.

and the way your face changes, the subtle relaxation of your cheeks and your mouth, he watches all of it with bated breath, with a small glint of hesitation, of regret. he'd never regretted anything he did with you, but there was something to be said about the twist in his heart as he waited for you reply. "are you seriously asking me like this?" you whisper, eyes wide, mouth hanging a little.

"and if i am?" he asks, and before he has a chance to regret it, you kiss him, quick and fierce and so, so desperate, like you can't stand to be disconnected from him physically for even a second more. he breathes you in, shifting so he's sitting up a little more attentively, holding you down against him. you whimper into the kiss, his bruising grip on your arms returned by the way you dig your fingernails into his skin. like you're marking one another, leaving indents as evidence of your influence over each other's bodies.

your hand finds home on his collarbones, fingers splayed out over the warm flesh. you find his pulse point, pressing your thumb against it. "say it again," you beg, some kind of sick, twisted, desperate need to hear those words drip from keigo's mouth again. "again." you demand, pressing harder.

"marry me." it comes out strained, the pressure of your hands tightening around his neck cutting off blood momentarily. it makes him dizzy, but the figure of you in front of him is still crystal clear. "baby, marry me."

the world burns around the two of you. moves on, runs along, but the two of you are stuck here in this moment, visiting it and revisiting it. you hold him and he holds you, the only person he's ever genuinely cared about, the only person he's loved.

weeks pass, and the crimson reaper is all but gone.

this is the longest time in the last year since that name made the news with the finding of a new body. to be exact, it's been 34 days since the last crimson reaper killing. hawks can see that musutafu has breathed a sigh of relief, and the hero commission has stopped being so anal about daily reporting. patrolling has been a lot less stressful. pro heroes are getting a semblance of control back.

you're fine. hawks knows you are; you're just as chipper, bouncy, and lovely as you've always been. he wondered for a little bit if there was something different in that tomita girl's blood; so much so that you didn't need your regular weekly fix, or even the mandatory monthly one. but you laughed it off, telling him don't worry, baby, and that he'll see soon enough.

you're a smart girl. he trusted you to make good decisions.

after that night, his sudden question and your hand on his throat demanding him to repeat it, you found yourselves in the throes of progression. towards what, from what, you couldn't really tell. all you knew is that there was a softness within keigo that, even with how loving he'd been since you met, you'd never really seen till now. all you knew is that, to him, wife sounded so much better than girlfriend.

he hasn't proposed properly, he reminds you, and that until he can put a ring on your finger, that night was but a promise to greater things to come. but that didn't stop him from calling you his wife every so often, under his breath, over the phone. it was casual, yet subtly intimate. you couldn't help but flush some nights after that when he kissed you everywhere, and the word wife would drip from his mouth if he wasn't careful.

you thought it adorable. you loved— love— it. you tried the word husband on your tongue, once, twice. my husband. i'll have to ask my husband. i'm seeing my husband. it... fit. weirdly. of all the things in your life you would never have thought that you'd come anywhere near calling anyone your husband. but for keigo, it fit.

keigo's asleep when you come home.

it's ticking close to 3 now. all the lights in the apartment are off, save for a lamp in the hallway. keigo always leaves that one specific lamp on for you to come home to, and you always switch it off on your way to your bedroom. and that's what you do, adrenaline still rushing through your veins. you aren’t tired; you never are after a night like this. sometimes you wonder if keigo’s initial assessment of your quirk was right. vampire made so much sense with how much more energetic and powerful you felt after a kill. 

synergy courses through your veins, up your arteries and through your beating heart. the adrenaline, the electricity, the excitement. 

you pad through the living room and the kitchen, stopping to pour yourself a glass of cold water before shuffling softly back to the bedroom. keigo’s left it slightly ajar for you, and you can see, with the small sliver of dim orange glow, the man of your dreams splayed out on your bed, the covers pulled up and rumpled around his torso. keigo sleeps shirtless, always has, and from where you stand you can see a little bit of his golden skin, softened muscle under the covers. 

he’s beautiful, peace and comfort painted across his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest signalling his deep sleep. you pad over softly, placing your water cup by your bedside and leaning over your boyfriend to plant a small kiss on his cheek before walking to the bathroom. 

the water is warm against your back, rivulets of slightly pink-tinted water running down your body. sweat gives way and you start to feel clean, the smell of lavender and mint steaming in the room, fogging up your mirrors. you lean your head back against the cold tile, letting your eyelids flutter shut. it’s been a long day. college in the morning, work in the afternoon, homicide in the evening. really tuckers a bitch out. 

but yet you can’t stop the trail of your fingers, the light, ghostly touch along the front of your torso. it’s been a long day, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking about keigo this morning, waking you up with his tongue on your clit, hands gripping the flesh of your hips so tight. you can’t stop the tingling of your hands, filled with the blood of the last victim you drank. all your energy, circulating to the heat in your core. you stifle a soft moan now, letting your soft fingertips inch down lower, and lower. 

you like that, don’t you? you could hear keigo’s voice in the empty chamber of your mind, a smug smile on his lips peering up at you from between your legs, nosing along the sensitive top of your cunt. like it when daddy wakes you up like this.

you did. you do. you can’t stop thinking of it now, not as your fingers make contact with the swollen nub of your clit. you give it one tentative press and gasp, back arching into your own grip. the water is warm, so warm, beating down on your tired body and you just want to let your brain and all its stupid little thoughts to ooze out of your ears, wash away with the running shower. 

“daddy,” you whimper softly, imagining his big, calloused fingertips instead of yours, his body caging you up against the wall. he’d hold you close to him, so close, chest to chest so that your tits press up against his pecs, his left hand wrapped around your back, his right playing with your sensitive pussy. you whine, just thinking of the way he’d shush your cries, coo at you as you bite down hard on his shoulder. 

your thoughts are a haze as you dip your fingers shallowly into your cunt, sticky and slick with both shower water and your own arousal. the moans you let out are criminal, ripping through your mouth and through your lips before you can stop them. you need to feel him, any part of him now. now.

stumbling out of the bathroom, you dry your feet on the rug, patting yourself half dry before shuffling back to your bedroom, naked and damp. the bed dips where you kneel, sinking slightly and keigo stirs, but doesn’t wake. your hands are trembling, your need and excitement barely contained under a sheen of self control. need it. you need it.

you peel back the covers that obscure him from your preening gaze, miles and miles of tan, smooth golden flesh laying in front of you, sun spots and moles mapping along his torso. he’s so beautiful, it makes you want to devour him whole. he’s wearing a pair of grey boxers, the outline of his cock subtle but still, there. your mouth waters at the sight. 

“daddy,” you whisper again, mesmerised by the way his skin glows in the low lamplight, greeting you as you pull the waistband of his boxers down. “‘m sorry, need it so bad.”

keigo’s still sound asleep, completely oblivious to your mischief. you pull his boxers down, over his hips and down his thighs, and there it is; his cock, already half hard, twitches as you touch it, let your fingertip drift along the underside of it. the patch of blonde curls brushes up against your knuckles as you touch him and it’s so soft. you whimper; you want his cock in your mouth. 

so you bend down, and lick a stripe up from the base to the tip. keigo smells like fabric softener and an undertone of vanilla from your shared body wash, comforting and comfortable. gods, you want him so bad. you fit him into your mouth, and you hear a hitch in his breath, and you feel a spike in your heart rate at the prospect of him waking up to see his cock halfway down your throat, but he doesn’t rouse. just shifts slightly, and you continue.

keigo’s cock is so thick, so long, and whatever you can’t fit comfortably in your mouth you resort to stroking it slowly. your eyes flutter closed, like a baby with a pacifier. you’re quiet, humming and whimpering every so often, content with his cock in your mouth. you wish you could do this to him every night, give him a little surprise when he cums down your throat still asleep. 

you bob your head along the length of him, swallowing as much of him down as you can that you choke, gag a little. the heat in your core is searing, never-ending, building as you moan around his cock, your slobber easing the glide of it down your throat. at this point you’re drooling all over his pretty dick, breath hot and eyes hooded, watching the rapid rise and uneven fall of his chest. he’s close, you can tell by the way his thighs are clenching, balls twitching. he’s fully hard on your tongue, tip flushed red and leaking, and you think it’s a waste to have him cum anywhere but right inside you, nestled right up by your cervix.

so you pull off his dick, smile at the slight huff from him, and climb gracefully atop of him. this is new to you; you’ve only ever sucked keigo off, played with his ass for a little while he was sleeping, but never went as far as to fuck him while he was asleep. it sends an unholy thrill down your spine, and as soon as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge along your slit, you’re dumb to the world. 

it’s so exciting, your burning need met with his unconscious body, seating yourself on his cock. you whimper at the stretch of your ill-prepared pussy, unstretched, untouched, stinging with the intrusion of his fat cock. you fall forward, hands clattering to the sides of keigo’s torso, a gasp ripping through your lips as you slip, feel a sharp pop in your cunt before you swallow him down to the hilt. it’s not pain, not anguish that skitters through your veins, his long, thick cock bullying your walls and stretching you out. it’s familiarity. it’s the way your cunt is moulded into the shape of him, gummy walls giving way to him, your pussy spread around him, slick pooling on his navel.

it’s the familiar grumble of his chest, a grunt and a groan caught in his lips. “baby?” he calls for you, left hand reaching out to your side of the bed, as he does every night when you join him, just so he knows that you’re there. but his hands find blank canvas, and he whimpers, before his eyes flutter open just a little. and then the realisation sinks in; his body starts to wake up, synapses rousing from sleep, and he feels, feels your cunt pulse around him.

keigo groans. “baby.”

you giggle. “good morning, daddy.” 

you raise your hips just slightly, moving up along his cock before letting yourself fuck me down against him. he slings an arm over his eyes, wanton moans ripping out of his throat, and his other arm comes around to grip your hips. he guides you up, down, lets you fall against his chest as you fuck yourself violently against his cock. keigo does nothing; lies there and coos at you, “baby, naughty little baby. couldn’t even wait for daddy to wake up to fuck her, huh?”

you whimper. “no, c-couldn’t,” you manage to croak out. it feels like his dick’s in your throat with how deep he is, pushing up against your cervix, bullying your insides. he holds you close, digging his arms under your armpits and holding you, chest flushed to his. “god you— you feel so good.” 

keigo hums. “that’s my girl, that’s my girl. taking it so well,” he breathes, a stuttered gasp. “god, i’m close. did you— naughty fuckin’ girl, yeah— did you suck me off?”

you nod dumbly, panting into his mouth. “i did, daddy, couldn’t help it,” you babble, eyes crossing. “y-you looked so good, needed— ah, needed it!”

“just needed some dick in your mouth,” he hums, chuckling. “desperate little baby.”

you’re drooling on his chest, spit dribbling out of the side of your mouth. “feels— f-feels so good daddy,” you pant, trying to sit back up, planting your hands on his chest. “wanna— ride you properly.”

“go on,” he coaxes you, letting a hand drift down the side of your hip. “show daddy how you ride. make me cum.”

you fall apart, bouncing on his cock, the rough patch of blonde curls brushing up against your clit with every downward stroke. “daddy,” you whimper, head thrown back in ecstasy. “oh— oh!”

keigo grunts, the dim orange light illuminating the bounce of your tits, the vigour of your rhythm leaving both of you drooling, blabbering. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, captivated by the swell of your body, the pudge flesh and doughy thighs that encompass him. the tightness in his core begins to build, his balls twitching as he tries to stave off his own orgasm in favour of yours. “are you close?” he whispers, hand coming down to rub at your sensitive clit. “wanna feel you cum.”

“w-want,” you pant. “want you to cum first.” it’s a beg, a plea, a vow. 

he grunts, eyes squeezing. “i’m pretty fuckin’ close, baby,” he whispers, thumb rubbing circles faster onto the swell of your clit. “cum with me, okay? wanna— fuck, wanna feel with milk me when i cum. can you do that?”

you’re brainless, pathetic, but hell if you were going to say no to something your daddy so politely asked. you bite your tongue, nodding slightly, and let your head tilt in pleasure, euphoria rippling through your bloodstream. he’s so deep, so good inside of you it drives you crazy, the bashing feeling of his cockhead against the gummy sweet spot in your pussy. your fists tighten, gripping him harder as you feel pressure build in your navel. “i-i’m close,” you stutter, trying to keep your eyes open. “want you to cum. c-cum for me, daddy, cum inside.”

he almost baulks at your crudeness, but obliges nonetheless. keigo’s given your everything you’ve ever wanted or needed, without so much as a second thought. “yeah? wanna feel daddy’s cum inside you?” he coos in your ear, his hands running up your thighs and settling by your hips. “want daddy to knock you up?”

you nod pathetically, mouthing, yes, yes! as he squeezes your flesh, one of his thick, giant hands pulling away your own on your clit, tinier and smaller, and replacing it with his own. “please, please, daddy—”

that does him in, bursts the tightening of his balls and feels himself empty into your waiting, welcoming cunt. all he can feel are the weak pulses of your gummy walls around him; a weak orgasm milking him for all he’s worth. his touch, grip on your clit doesn't move, just continues to fuck you through your heavy orgasm. you both cum at the same time, the gush of your cum paralleling the thick, white seed that stuffs you so full that you can feel it leak out of you through the sides of his cock. “just like that,” he whispers to you, halfway out of his own orgasm, voice still wavering and thighs shaking. “say thank you, daddy.”

“thank you daddy,” you whine, and despite yourself, you continue dragging yourself up and down his cock. it’s sensitive, painful, but you can’t seem to stop. keigo groans, hands stilling on your hips. 

“slow down, baby,” he chuckles dryly, almost like he’s in pain. “daddy’s still cummin’— ah—”

“wanna make you,” you huff, some sort of twisted energy running through your veins. “make you cum again, daddy.” you usually only had enough in you for one round, especially at a time like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself now. the feeling of his first load of cum dripping down your thighs only served to spur you on, delirious, frozen in a state of abject desire and need. “fuck, daddy!”

he whines again, head tilted back, eyes wincing. “what’s gotten into you, kitten?” keigo trails his fingers along your hips, watching you bounce on his cock, eyes hooded with euphoria. “had a good kill?”

your kill. of course it is. the blood of someone else, someone so powerful, screaming through your ears, pumping like lead in your bloodstream. it’s almost oblong, despite the liquid nature of blood, causes your hands to tremble, fingers to shake. that’s why you feel ike this. that’s why you have so much energy. that’s why you need more. you grin at keigo, and for a moment, he feels fear.

your sharp canines flash in the moonlight, its dusty silver gaze glimmering in your body, in your eyes, in the way your nails dig deeper into his chest. for years, years, keigo has only regarded you with love. with subliminal adoration. with nothing but affection, holding you in his hands. but here, in the middle of the night, he notices a splatter of blood on your collarbone. winces at the sensation of your nails breaking flesh. 

for a moment, he fears you. he fears you’ve truly lost it. 

and to be truthful, you have. you’re delirious with ecstasy, you’re high— you’ve never felt like this before. killing has never come so close to feeding. blood has never come so close to addiction. but right now, you’d do anything for this feeling to last forever. the memory of you striking your victim down, your foot holding down his neck as he thrashed, looked at you with abject horror, shimmering like tears in his green eyes.

you’ve never felt so much fun in a kill. never craved those screaming pleas, those last gasps of breaths. never have you been so excited to roll up somebody’s sleeve and take off your glove, hold them with all five fingers, your full palm against their bare skin. but this man, god, was he tantalising. his deep voice, begging you to stop, begging you to leave him be. any amount of money, he’d promised. anything. just leave me alone.

but no money could give you this feeling. this excitement. you grinned, malice and cruelty trembling on your lips. “i’m so sorry,” you mocked his weeping tones. “i’m so sorry.”

“c-crim— ah— son… reap-per,” he breathed, choking out his words. “t-they’ll—” he coughed, gasping for air. puny, pitchy, desperate gasps for air. 

“t-they,” you mocked again, gripping his arm tighter, feeling the rush of newer, fresher, stronger blood enter your bloodstream. “they’ll catch me? you have so little faith in me,” he winced, and you just laughed, flashing him your canines. 

he turned paler, rosey tinted cheeks turning blue, gaunt. the life in his eyes slowly diminished as you sucked the last remaining litre out of his body. “y-you’ll never…”he trailed off, voice turning to a whisper, then to air. 

you’ll never get away with this. 

but you would. you knew you would. and that’s why you took your own sweet time cleaning the site where your hand just was, pulling your glove back on and fishing out your needles and making four incisions; one on each elbow, and on the back of each palm. just as you always had. you traced your gloved fingers along his jaw, cold and dead, the permanent plea on the tip of his tongue. it was such a pity, that he’d fought till his last breath and still lost. 

it was true whatever they said about you, you thought as you pulled out your scalpel. that no one was safe from you. the only real way to put themselves out of danger was to keep themselves out of sight, out of mind. because once you set your eyes on someone, you didn’t stop chasing them until they were in front of you, your scalpel in their throat, dragging down, down, down. 

the man’s skin split open like rubber, and once you made your initial incision, pinpricks of the little blood he had left rising to the surface, coating your pristinely white gloves, you dived in with greedy hands, like a vulture descending upon its prey. like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your fingers, alive with electricity, the static of your feast before you. 

you consumed. you devoured. you lived, fisting handfuls of flesh in each hand and prying it apart, the elasticity of the human skin the only testament to a dead man’s resistance. you uncovered inch by inch of glorious organ, of crimson stained ivory, of burst blood vessel. all pink and red and wet, and you want to make a mess, want to paint yourself in the remnants of this man’s blood and carry it home with you. you swore you have never felt so alive at the side of a dead man’s body.

one singular rose petal, fitted snugly in between the lungs. 

your cheeks tingled, face numb, and walked back home.

“they’ve done it again.”

the whispers on the street whistle like fallen leaves kicked up in the wind, rustling against the cool asphalt of the road. 

“the crimson reaper’s back.”

keigo barely makes it two seconds into his day before the pager buzzes. 

“did you hear who they killed this time?”

you’re half awake when he asks.

“baby?” 

you hum, softly, knowingly. 

“who did you kill last night?”

you open your eyes, and look at him through hooded lids. he’s pacing your room, golden eyes distraught, and all you do is smile at him.

seems like you already know.