#wrote this when i was supposed to be sleeping oopsie

[habizuh-studios]

-SVSSS GODS AU- - u can choose if it's transmigration w sqh and sy or not..! - almost ALL characters roles explained + main story included.. asks about this au are welcome :> - TL;DR at the end!

Huge thanks to @happypeachsludgeflower for inspiring me with this bc of their one tag mentioning sy being a wisdom god and sqh being a creation god!!! they have amazing au's show them some love pleaseee!!!

Shen Yuan is the god of wisdom/knowledge. because of that title, he's popular, but he's rarely ever active so his follower count isn't as big as it could be. it's said that you have to be interesting enough to catch his eye, so it's common practice to dress up when in prayer to him, to offer him valuable things, etc. it seems he's liked creatures the best, but who knows. he's a relatively new god compared to the others.

Shang Qinghua is the god of creation. he's often very busy, but people pray to him when on creative endeavours or giving birth and such. if you catch his eye, he might write it in your fate for you to have good fortune- or eternal suffering. depends on what he's feeling, so some fear him. he was the first god - the one who made this world - so it's improper to pray to him about your hardships. he can often be seen with Mobei-jun because he's his favorite.

Mobei-jun is the god of precipitation/the ocean. yuh. he's very close with the god of creation and people often pray to him for good harvest, good travel, etc. due to his powers with rain and water and stuff. but he mainly controls icier domains, so people pray to him for the weather as well.

Shen Jiu is the god of misfortune and chance. Often prayed to when people want revenge, but that fuels his hatred even more. unlike the other gods, he's fundamentally "broken" in the way that he doesn't get power from followers, but negative emotion. people stay away from him because of that, but there are exceptions.

Liu Qingge is- you guessed it! the god of war/battle. people pray to him for strength and luck for those in the army and military victories.

Tianlang-jun is a fallen god who used to be in love with a mortal woman. he used to be the god of "love," but that devolved into something less positive as the years went on. he had a strong connection with the mortal realm, loving to learn about it, but after falling in love with Su Xiyan, he neglected his duties.....

Wu Yanzi used to be the god of destruction, having ascended based on his demonic acts and such. he was banished a few centuries later or whatever, but he took shen jiu in as a protege and helped him ascend.

Yue Qingyuan is also fundamentally broken, but everyone got over it. you see, it's basically a divine right to ascend; it's in your fate, you're born as one, or you're chosen. but yue qingyuan forced his way in by doing something w a sword. his lifeforce and power are stored in it, and it's used sparingly. he's known as the god of peace due to this fact, though it used to be more unsavory.

Mu Qingfang is the god of healing and health..! people pray to him for those things as well as help with plants due to his extensive fauna knowledge.

Likewise, most other gods have duties similar to those that they would have had in cang qiong mountain (all the peak lords are gods).

Huan Hua palace exists as a city, but it's in the mortal realm. people call it the city of gods because of it's gilded looks and high prosperity rates. gods seem to favor cultivators in this area as well. Gongyi Xiao is one of them!

Zhuzhi-lang is still half-snake but he resides closer to the underworld. he is still related to tlj and basically acts the same with tweaked origins...! but he interacts with gyx a lot more because of huan hua's attacks against the border of the underworld/mortal realm.

Most disciples (Ning Yingying, Ming Fan, etc.) are the god's deputies.

Where is Luo Binghe, you ask?

Luo Binghe is still the main character. He's the son of love god tlj and mortal woman sxy, but he doesn't know it. he's strong and heals fast and is good w a sword and is sexy and allat, but he's still abused and bullied by his peers. he's adopted by a poor washerwoman and prays every day to the gods above to change things-

he has bad feelings towards shen jiu because he feels as if it's his fault for pushing most of the misfortune in the world on lbh, in a way he's not wrong because wu yanzi and tlj were - well, they interacted closer than the other gods were with wu yanzi, and shen jiu silently cursed tlj bc of it. absentmindedly, maybe, possibly, but cursed nonetheless.

anyway- one day, his prayer is answered by the god of wisdom. they aren't supposed to mess with mortal affairs, but shen yuan does so anyway. however, he does this after the washerwoman died. after being shown hatred for so long, he has this weird relationship with sy - why show him kindness now and not sooner? but he's still eternally grateful.

Plot progresses and he has to go to the underworld or whatever to retrieve Xin Mo in order to do. something. anyway in the underworld resides mobei-jun, as that is his preferred domain, who is treated somewhat like a king bc of his godly status. tlj is also there as a fallen god, wu yanzi is locked up in there somewhere, coercing lbh and stuff.

as he's about to enter the underworld, shen yuan disguises himself as a mortal to be w him and guide him on his journey as he remembers who lbh was all those years ago when he showed him kindness. being a demigod and having what is basically aphrodite in his genes, he rizzes up many women and stuff, but only has eyes for shen yuan.

they do plot stuff in the underworld yada yada, sy fakes his own death because he has to attend to godly business.

lbh becomes king of the underworld in his absence, de-throning mbj who he tricked into what is the equivalent of signing him a contract. mbj basicallyyy works for him now even though he's technically more powerful.

THEN SY COMES BACK. miscommunication ensues, maybe i'll flesh this out more later idk.

BAREBONES PLOT!!! BUT EVERY CHARACTER WILL HAVE A ROLE EVEN IF THEY AREN'T INCLUDED IN THIS --- TL;DR: Gods!AU in which luo binghe prays every day for good fortune (blaming his bad conditions on shen jiu, the god of chances/misfortune) until his mother dies. after wandering around for a few months being homeless, sy (the god of wisdom) saves him/shows him kindness. With his help, he stands on his own two feet and continues his life.

Plot stuff has to happen as lbh is the son of tlj (ex god of love) and mortal woman sxy, so he ventures to the underworld to get legendary sword xin mo for plot reasons. shen yuan disguises himself as a mortal to help him, but fakes his own death bc of godly business he has to attend. lbh, distraught with grief, becomes cold and heartless. he forces precipitation!god mbj into what is essentially signing a contract to work for him and becomes a king/god of the underworld

then shen yuan COMES BACK. svsss-typical miscommunication and plot banter ensues. there's a lot of lore w other characters too if you're interested!! i might flesh this out later :)

[mysicklove]

summary: Sukuna might not be the best older brother, but at least Yuuji doesnt seem to mind.

wc: 1.6k

a/n: wrote this instead of kinktober. oopsies. i was feeling soft, ok? leave me alone.

big brother au masterlist

Two little fists bang at the door and you find yourself awoken from your sleep. In your half-sleep state, you manage to hear the desperate rattling of a door, and you furrow your eyebrows. Then, a sniffle, and a broken sob. “Brotherrrrr!”

“No Yuuji!” Sukunas voice echoes in your shared room, and at this, you seem to jump awake. Sukuna, turns his stare from the door back to you, and his lips curl upward. “You awake? C’mon lets go for round two. Been waiting hours.”

You pull yourself up, ignoring the suggestive kisses that your lover places down your neck. Another cry is let out from behind the door, and more pounding. “I-I'll be a good boy! Please, please, please Kuna!”

Sukuna growls into your neck, pulling away and yelling back a, “Yuuji, I told you it's adult time. Go watch your cartoons before you piss me off!”

A whined, “Noooooooo!” Is let out, and Yuuji by now must be sobbing, clawing at the door like some sort of puppy.

You turn to Sukuna, and his cocky smile returns, leaning forward to press more kisses along your cheek. You pull away, a scowl on your face, and he groans knowing what's to come. “Aw cmon, don't be mad. You promised me we would go again. ‘ts not my fault the brat is a clinger, Uraume is supposed to be watching him.”

You pull the sheets away from your body and Sukuna makes a noise of complaint. “Hand me your shirt,” You demand, pulling on your underwear as quickly as possible. He rolls his eyes at your tone, but pulls the cloth over his head and throws it to you. You are quick to put it on, satisfied when it comes just above your knees. 

Then you pad over to the door, while Sukuna sighs, and pinches his brows. He isn't getting lucky for nights to come, you've already decided.

When you open it, you find Sukunas four year old brother standing with his bunny stuffed animal, and tears streaming down his face. When he finally processes that its you, he immediately drops the bunny, and stumbles over to you as quickly as he can, the cries coming louder. His arms shoot up and he is warbling a, “Up! Up!”

You are quick to abide by his request, picking him up and pressing the boys body to yours, and shushing him when he sobs into your neck. Your hands run through the near identical pink hair, and you mumble out a, “I know, I know. Sukuna is so mean. Its okay. Shhhh, don't cry.”

The boy fails to listen, and you don't blame him. He must have been really hurt by his brother blatantly ignoring him. You glare at your lover as you make your way back toward the bed. He holds his hands up sheepishly, and you roll your eyes. You crawl back into bed, resting your back on the headboard, while the four year old straddles your lap, crying into Sukunas shirt.

“You coddle him too much,” The pink haired man complains, glancing at his brother who was staining his shirt.

You scoff at him, continuing to run your fingers through the boys hair as he finally begins to calm down from his wish being granted. “So you were going to let him just cry out there?”

“It's what our parents did to me, and I turned out just fine.” You bite back a frown, but place a comforting hand on his own. His eyes flicker to you, and he nods, not saying anything. You are glad their parents are gone, and he is too. Although being left to raise his brother was more tedious than he thought, to Sukuna at least.

The last of Yuuji's tears fall, and you wipe them away with a small smile. The boy leans into your hand, loving every second of physical touch. He always seemed to want to be touching one of the two of you, whether it by means of having you carry him, or him very tentatively asking his brother to hold his hand. In those moments, Yuujis smile seems to be the brightest. 

The puffy eyed kid turns to Sukuna, while continously holding onto your arm so that you don't stop your petting. “Brother is so mean!” Yuuji complains in a high voice, but he doesnt sound upset, only mimicking what you told him earlier. In fact, a smile was already beginning to creep on the boys face, already forgetting about the situation. 

A playful finger jabs into the boys chest, and the boy squeals with delight. “Wouldn't be mean if you weren't such a brat.”

Yuuji shakes his head, a massive grin plastered to his face. “Nuh-uh! You are brat!”

Sukuna raises his eyebrows and you chuckle, nodding at the boy with approval. “Tell me about it,” You encourage, and the boy in turn giggles, liking that you took to his side. 

The older of the two holds a predatory smile, and you raise your eyebrows. “You wanna say that again, kid?”

Yuuji doesnt understand threats, nor does he know that brat is considered an insult. “Brother Kuna is brat! Like me!”

Sukuna’s hands dart out to your lap, and make their way to Yuujis sides, quickly running his fingers over the skin. The boy squeals again, and then begins to frantically giggle at the ticklish feeling. Your lover's hands are tortuous on the boy, and in turn Yuuji's laugh begins to echo in the room, as he tries to squirm away. “No! Kuna! No!” He squeals, tiny fingers clawing into you as he tries to seek help from you. 

His brother holds a small smile too, obviously trying to hold the cold front, but can't when hearing the infectious laugh. Eventually, when Yuuji seems to be loosing airflow from all his laughing, you defend the boy, batting away your lovers hands from his small body. Yuuji comes collapsing into your abdomen, trying to catch his breath, but smiling non the less. You stare fondly at him.

Sukuna, on the other hand, manages to find a paper folded in Yuujis pocket. He glances at the kid, who is already watching him with pure adoration. The kid had a huge problem of idolizing his older brother, even after being tortured by tickling and left outside the room.

Yuuji points to the paper. “Gift!”

“Did you draw us something?” You question, tapping on Yuujis nose. He smiles and nods, squirming in excitement for you guys to see.

Your lover unfolds the paper, glancing at you with a bored expression. You read right through him though. He is curious to see what his brother made, you just know it. Yuuji's hands grips onto your shirt.

Inside is three stick figures, obviously drawn by a young child. Some of the heads are too big, and they are drawn with purple crayon, sloppy, but made with love. There is a little figure in the middle, coated with pink hair, and holding onto two taller peoples hands. On his left side is a carbon copy of the little one, also with pink hair, but frowning. On his right, was the color of your hair made sloppily with marker, and a smile big enough to match Yuujis. Cute.

“That ones me!” Yuuji exclaims, pointing to the little figure in the middle. 

“I couldn't tell,” Sukuna says very much sarcastically. Yuuji doesnt understand it, so he beams with pride, excited at the idea of possibly being compared to his brother that he idolizes so.

The boy giggles, and turns to you for confirmation. “Do me and brother look alike?”

You hum in thought, dramatically tapping your chin. “Definitely. But, one of you guys happens to be way cuter than the other though.” Before Yuuji can ask who, you lean forward and blow raspberries on his stomach, chuckling when more squeals and giggles come tumbling out. Sukuna hides a smile.

A second later Yuuji comes flying out of your lap and into Sukunas. The older grabs him forcefully by the hood of his jacket, like a mother cat does to its kittens. You roll your eyes at the treatment, knowing well that Sukuna by now knows how to hold a child. But the boy doesn't mind, now sitting contently in Sukunas lap and staring up at him. “You wanna look like me?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” Sukuna licks his hand, and you furrow your eyebrows. Then he very much too forcibly runs his fingers through Yuuji's hair. You jump watching the boy nearly collapse backward at the motion of his hands, but braces himself. Sukuna has a really bad problem of treating his brother with a little to much force than what a child should be used to. But Yuuji was a strong kid, so he never barked a lick of complaint – it was only you that were biting your fingers with nerves. 

Sukuna brushes the pink hair backward, similar to his hair cut. Then he uses more saliva to spike it up. Once finished he nods at the kid, content with the hair that looks identical to his.

“Alright. Good. Now go grab a sharpie, we gotta give you some tattoes.”

Yuuji borderline has a tantrum when you tell him why you can't do that, while Sukuna laughs the entire time. But, the two of you compromise, and now there is a picture hung in Sukunas room where Yuuji is coated with black marker tattoos, identical to his brother.

[rosenclaws]

Don't hide from me || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You get hurt on a mission and hide it from Logan. Safe to say he is not happy with you.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, talk of violence, blood, and injury

wc: 3k

a/n: Hi guys, tw for pet death but we had to put my childhood dog to sleep today. He was 16 and he had a good life but it's rough. Writing has always helped me so I just sat down and wrote today. I'm always a sucker for this kind of trope and I also have trouble asking for help so this was born. Idk if I like the ending but I always struggle with those so oopsie

This was not how you imagined your first mission to go. You had assumed it would be easy, boring in fact. It was supposed to be boring. Maybe a little fighting here or there but nothing serious.

Well you were sorely mistaken. Your hand puts pressure on your side as you lean against a tree. The rough bark digging into the cuts on your suit. You wince as you look down to see a massive gash right in your stomach.

"Fuck." Your breath is labored as you slowly slide down the tree. You don't heal like some of the other mutants can. In fact your powers were relatively tame compared to others but you were still an asset to the team.

You had been training for months and months. Learning to control your sparks into blasts of energy and manipulate the electricity around you. You had never been more excited to receive your suit. Handed to you by Logan himself after your final training day.

The proud look on his face made your whole body fill with butterflies. Logan had been your biggest help. He was a very distracting teacher though due to the fact that he's your boyfriend too but if anything that made him push you harder.

"Come on sweetheart, you need to do better than that." He says with a smirk. He's barely broken a sweat while you've been giving it a hundred and ten percent.

"Fuck off." You huff as you lay down on the mat. Body exhausted from the hours of training.

"You're getting better. Just need to keep working." He steps over you, bending down and holding out his hand.

"One more time and we're done." He helps you up and kisses your forehead. Walking back to his spot he raises his arms and braces himself.

"Hit me." Taking a deep breath you channel all your power to your fingertips. Feeling the jolts of power start to form. With all your strength you fire right at Logan. To your surprise it hits him square in the chest and sends him flying into the wall.

"Logan!" You run over to him but he's already up by the time you make it. A big smile on his face as he wraps his arms around you. A burst of pride in your chest as he kisses you sweetly.

"I knew you could do it."

It made it even sweeter when you were finally deemed ready to join them. You were ready. You wanted to prove to all of them that you could do it but most of all you wanted to show Logan.

Show him that all his extra training helped and that you were strong and you could do this on your own. He had always shown a slight worry about you joining the team. He says it's because he's worried and protective but a small part of your brain tells you it's because he thinks you can't do it. That you're not ready.

So this. Well it almost felt embarrassing. The mission was nothing new to the rest of the team but to you it was overwhelming. Fighting with everything you had and sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough. You took out soldier after soldier but they kept coming. But you were fine. You never asked for backup. Convincing yourself that you could do this. Thinking back to all your long days in the simulation and wiping away any doubt that lingered in your head.

Logan had left your side early on much to his reluctance so you were on your own. You were too focused on the guy in front of you that you didn't notice the man sneaking behind you. You cried out in pain as he dug his knife into your side.

Without thinking you blast him far away, taking out the guy in front of you too. Pure adrenaline courses through you as you run to safety. Now you're here, the sounds of fighting still rage on behind you. Blood is seeping onto your hand at a faster rate than normal.

"Okay. Okay. Okay okay." Sorry Professor but you'll fix your suit later. Your sleeve was already torn so you tear the rest as much of it as you can off. Turning it into one long strip of fabric. You unzip the top of your suit to get to the wound. They briefly taught you how to patch up injuries more akin to scratches not stab wounds. You tie the fabric tightly around your waist. You groan as the pressure shoots a sharp pain through your body. The sounds of fighting were dying down.

You know you should tell someone but the last thing you wanted was to be taken off the team after your first mission. You wanted to make them proud. You loved being on the team.

The injury isn't that bad, if you could just make it back to the mansion you would be fine. Patch it up with the right material and then sleep it off. Thank god you and Logan didn't share a room. Fuck. Logan. He was going to kill you but what he didn't know won't hurt him.

Just this once.

Zipping up your suit again you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Just make it back to the mansion. You walk as best you can back to the jet. Your limping, favoring your non injured side and it's incredibly obvious. Still you put a smile on your face. The team clocks your ripped sleeve immediately. Logan scowls as you get closer making you shiver. Or maybe that was from the blood loss.

"So how was that for your first mission?" Scott beams as he walks over to you. He slaps his hand onto your shoulder and you wince.

"Good. Is it always like this?" He notices something's off but doesn't say anything. Instead he keeps his hand on your shoulder as he guides you back to the jet.

"You alright Sparks? What happened to your suit." He asks when you get closer.

"Long story, some guy ripped it and when I ran to the forest it got caught and just. tore away." You lie right through your teeth.

"Don't worry we'll fix it when we get back." Ororo smiles and you thank god they bought it. Well almost everyone bought it.

As you head up the ramp you feel a hand on your side. Your whole body tenses as pain shoots through your side. You bite your lip hard to keep yourself from screaming. You recognize the hand as Logan's as his wide chest bumps against your back.

"You alright sweetheart?" He asks, a skeptical look on his face as you wave his hand off.

"Yeah, just really tired." You sigh as you sit in a chair.

Some relief spreads through your body as you subtly press the arm of the chair into your side. Putting more pressure as you feel the blood soak through your makeshift bandage. He narrows his eyes as he inspects you like an animal. Your heart picks up as he places both hands on either arm rest, caging you in as he leans close.

"What are you doing?" You shrink under his intense look. He sniffs and a low growl emits from his throat.

"I smell blood. Somethings wrong." Fuck. He's caught you. The rest of the team starts to file back in.

"Yeah there's blood on everyone's suit, there's blood on you." You mumble as an excuse.

"Down boy, we're taking off so take a seat." Scott says. Logan stays put for just a moment longer before he finally backs off, flipping Scott the middle claw as he takes the seat behind you.

You can feel his eyes burning in the back of your head the whole flight home. You were sweating, body on fire as you focused on your breathing. The pain was getting worse and you wanted to cry for help. But you were determined to prove yourself here.

Your brain wasn't exactly working right either. Too focused on not throwing up to think logically. Finally the jet lands. You're so close. Just a little longer. Logan moves to go right back to your side but gets pulled away. You can vaguely hear him telling someone to fuck off as you stumble out of the jet.

You feel like a zombie as you walk back to your room. Stomach growing sick as you struggle to stay awake. Sweat pours down your face, body screaming for help as you barely make it to your room. Your vision goes in and out. The darkness calling to you as you swing open your door. That sounds nice, you can just close your eyes and sleep. Yeah. Then you can fix yourself up. Your vision goes black. The last thing you remember is someone yelling your name.

-

The first thing you notice when you come back to consciousness is how much your body hurts. The second thing was the hand that was holding yours tightly. Clearly you weren't in your room anymore. This bed is too uncomfortable and it smells too much like antiseptic.

The lab. You were in a hospital bed in the lab which means that someone found you which can only mean that Logan knew and you were in so much trouble. Maybe if you keep your eyes closed you can just go back to sleep. The urge to avoid the consequences of your actions was strong but you knew you couldn't. You lied and now you have to deal with it.

Surprisingly it's dim when you open your eyes. The ugly florescent lighting was off in favor of a few candles and a soft lamp. The hand holding yours twitched, holding you tighter. Looking to your side you see Logan laying his head on the bed. Guilt seeps into your soul when you see him there.

"Glad to see you awake." A soft voice says from the door.

"Jean." You sheepishly say. She flicks on the lights and you squint your eyes at the bright light.

"You're lucky that Logan found you when he did." Her voice is gentle but there's anger hidden behind it.

"I'm sorry. I thought." You sigh and look at Logan who was still sleeping.

"I thought I could handle it. I just wanted to be one of you guys." "You already were one of us, but we're just glad you're okay." She checks your vitals once more in silence.

"Am I in trouble?" You ask nervously.

"Yes." Another voice makes your heart jump, the monitor picking it up with a massive spike.

"Logan honey I-" He holds up his hand and silently asks Jean to leave. She gives you one last smile before leaving the two of you alone.

"Don't. Don't you dare." You shrink into the bed as speaks.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-"

"Hiding a fucking stab wound? For what? Exactly what did you think would happen here!" He raises his voice and you look down in shame.

"You are benched. Permanently." He growls, standing up and storming towards the door.

"What! Logan you can't do that."

"Fuck yes I can. Do you understand how stupid it was for you to hide an injury like that? How irresponsible you were!"

"I thought I could handle it!" The machines near you started to go haywire as you yelled back.

"I thought you were dead!" You go silent as the anger fades, he clenches his fists tightly.

"I smelled the blood and I knew something was wrong. The whole time I knew it. There was a trail of blood to your room and I ran and ran and when I finally got there." He pauses. Not even wanting to say the next thought.

"I'm sorry." You whisper.

You reach out for him but he just stares at you. A painful expression on his face as his eyes zero in on the prominent scar on your side. He shakes his head, turning away and walking out the door.

"Logan please." You beg for him to come back but he doesn't.

The lab is silent and lonely. Jean comes back to check on you, comforting you as you silently cry. All you want is for Logan to come back but he never did.

At least not while you were awake. In the mornings there were traces of Logan. His jacket is left on your bed the one you always steal to cuddle with. Snacks are waiting by your table. Little things to show you had still been there. Just not when you were awake.

It was only a couple days later that you were finally discharged. The Professor had called you to his office, letting you know that you were benched until you had fully recovered and you nodded in understanding. You can feel the stares of the rest of the mansion on you as you walk back to your room.

You've apologized over and over to the team and they welcomed you back with open arms. Begging you to never scare them like that again. Your mind wanders and your feet seem to think on their own as you find yourself in front of Logan's door.

All you want is for him to hold you and to tell you it's okay. Before you can knock on the door it swings open. There he stands in all his glory. He stares at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. It takes you by surprise but you hug him back tighter. You wince as he pushes a little too hard on your side and he lets go instantly. You don't want to let go, he's been gone for days and you need him.

"I'm here to apologize." You say.

"I'm sorry for not saying anything. I was afraid that you would think I'm weak." It hurts to admit but he needs to know the truth. Asking for help has never been your strong suit.

"That I wasn't strong enough and all I wanted was to prove to you that I could do it. I wanted you to be proud of me." You wait for any response but all he does is look at you. Silently he guides you to his bed. Wrapping a blanket around your shoulders that smells like him.

"When I found you, you weren't moving. There was so much blood. You were barely breathing." He shivers at the memory.

He doesn't think he'll ever get the smell of your blood and the sight of you sprawled out on the ground out of his mind. It's burned there. Every time he closes his eyes he sees it. He ran through the mansion. Begging for help with you in his arms.

They kicked him out once he brought you to the lab. He was close to breaking down the damn doors. He had super strength and a raging healing factor but he'd never felt so powerless before. When they finally let him back in he rushed to the bed. He never left your side. Watching and waiting for you to wake up. Begging you to wake up.

Was this his fault? If he had been by your side would he have been able to help? Or is this just the price of this life. To be a mutant and having to fight just to live. Losing you was not an option but it was becoming a reality he had to accept was possible.

"I'm always proud of you. Doesn't matter what you do. I'm always proud." You tug on his tank top and pull him close.

Kissing him with a soft passion, a desire, an apology. He carefully lowers you down to the bed. He lays you on your side as he deepens the kiss, hand ghosting over the scar as he tangles his limbs with yours.

"I'm so sorry Logan." You bury your head in his chest.

It feels so good to be by his side again. He tilts your head up to look at him. He grows serious as he brushes your cheek gently. You're alive but there's still a horrible worry inside of him. Though he doesn't think that will ever go away. Not as long as he loves you and he's never going to stop doing that.

"Don't ever do something like this again. I'm serious sweetheart, I can't lose you."

"You won't." You can't promise him that. Not at all. Bad things happen to those he loves but he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to you. You yawn and cuddle closer to his side.

"How can I still be so tired after sleeping for so long?"

"You really hurt yourself sweetheart," He glances at your side. Knowing that under the blanket was a scar that would never fade. A constant reminder of his own failure to protect you.

"I'm sorry for leaving," He knows it was a dick move to leave has he had done but he couldn't take it. He was so angry. So afraid.

"Just don't leave me again." You say sleepily. His arms wrap around you, his hand rubbing your back soothingly until you fall asleep. He watches you for a while. Not tired himself but keeping his promise of staying with you.

"I was so scared," He admits to no one but himself.

He rests his chin on your head. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in his ears. The sweet reminder that you're okay. He closes his eyes as the nightmares in his mind return. Seeing your lifeless body. The blood. All of it. He tries to shake them away but the thoughts still linger.

"Please, don't leave me. I love you too much to let you go." He whispers his plea to himself, to you, to whoever is listening.

He kisses the top of your head and you smile in your sleep. The comfort of Logan reaching your dreams. That's good enough for him, as long as you're okay. That's all he needs.

[mushexpress]

landing on gold — modernau!blade x gn!reader

summary — you get pulled in for a kiss. alternatively, what happens when you play spin the bottle at a college party and it lands on a certain blue-haired someone

content warnings (spoilers) — a bit ooc (it's an au!), slight steamy makeout session, tension, mentions of alcohol consumption, drinking game, suggestive language, the usual college party tv stuff

notes — 1k. this was supposed to have multiple endings with different reader x pairings but i only ended up writing blade's oopsie. wrote this in an early morning frenzy.

wake up, eat, study, exams and sleep. that was what all your days have consisted of for the past few weeks and you have been so sick of it. you spent most of the time tired or frustrated so you jumped at the first college party invite to celebrate the end of "hell" week.

aventurine knew how to throw a good party. the invite list wasn't so big that it made you nervous.. in fact, by the end of the night, it felt like an intimate party with people you were already familiar with — admittedly, some too much.

a few of you had found yourself in the host's bedroom, spacious but cozy, some were splayed on the king-sized bed or on the pair of green loveseats in the corner. you were fiddling with your empty plastic cup, sitting at the edge of the bed, remnants of alcohol sliding around at the bottom.

"finally, i think it's time." aventurine claps his hands together before ducking out of the room, a mischievous spring in his step. somebody groans behind you at the loud volume of the now absent man's voice.

it doesn't take long for him to return though, with an empty glass bottle of beer he probably snatched up from the floor or beside an upturned table.

"what is it?" you ask, almost sighing, discarding your cup onto the desk. it felt like the perfect time to wind down and you weren't sure if you were up for another one of aventurine's antics.

"well, i'm glad you asked my little gem," you raise your eyebrow at the affectionate nickname but he ignores your scepticism, "because everyone will be participating!" another round of groans sounds out but it catches everyone's attention anyway and you feel the buzz of anticipation circle the room. he has been a gracious host so far, making sure there was an endless supply of drinks while the mood was kept to a certain degree of good fun. and besides, none of you will be spending a dime tonight despite the copious amounts of alcohol consumed and it's thanks to aventurine — the least you could all do was listen to him.

"let's play a game, everyone form a circle now." slowly everybody gathers on the wood floor, heat gently touching your legs, the heating mats underneath it doing a fine job.

"now, everybody knows how to play spin the bottle... right?" a few nods and smiles in response and then you have the lightweight glass bottle in your hand.

"you first, little gem."

your heart is pounding in your ear and you're afraid everyone can hear it. are your lips dry? do you smell like alcohol? oh god, what if it lands on... questions race through your head and you're not sure if it's making you dizzy or if it's still just the alcohol pumping in your veins.

the bottle spins so quickly and slows just as fast and your eyes are wide as they slow to a stop in front of blade.

a low whistle from aventurine is enough to make you want to turn to him and punch him. "congratulations." you don't hear anything else as your eyes rise to meet blade's and you're stunned by how calm he looks, a stark contrast to the fast thump, thump, thump of your heartbeat.

you swallow hard, resisting the urge to wet your lips lest he thinks that you're actually nervous over this silly party game.

you're not sure what to do and you were hoping blade would do something other than just sit there and staring you with those eyes, a pair of molten gold that pinned you to the spot. it's not until he sits back, leaning on both of his palms in such a casual manner that you realise it's up to you to make the first move — you did spin the bottle.

trying to force even, quiet breaths into your lungs, you move and crawl towards him as he continues to watch you. blade's eyes flicker down for just a moment, watching the movement of your body before scanning your face once again.

"i'm sorry for this." you almost whisper the words but he only gives you a slow smile, eyes travelling and sticking to your lips like burning honey.

"don't say sorry." he finally says, his hand reaching up to cup the side of your face before his fingers slip into your hair. he holds the back of your head, giving your hair a slight tug so your face is tilted, both your lips so close together. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it makes you so drunk your eyes close as he eventually pulls you in.

his lips are hungry and greedy, and they melt against yours. isn't supposed to be just a kiss? but it's not unwelcomed and your hands scramble from the floor to his chest.

"shit." he murmurs and you swallow the words and the sting of hard liquor straight from his mouth as you both hit the ground, blade losing his balance. but you both don't pull away, his hand still holding you in place, and you feel electricity jolt down your body and pool there.

"we should record this." you pull away at the sound of aventurine's idea but instead of confronting the blond-haired boy, your eyes lock back with blade's.

he's a sight to behold. face flushed and panting, his cheeks are a blushing red, his lips shining from the sloppy make-out session and you feel his body rising up then down against you.

but despite all of that, it's his eyes that catch you once again, half-obscured by his fringe as they seem to have turned a few shades darker with something more than just plain lust. you could only describe it as desire and that look shoots itself into your core, making you ache with need that you know he feels too.

"come on guys, it's only the first spin." aventurine scolds, motioning for the both of you to stand up and collect yourselves but blade, again, refuses to move. he senses your hesitancy too and as his breathing calms, his hand tickles the small of your back.

"let's find a room?" all you could do was nod, hiding your face from the others as they watched in awe, both of you hurrying off in search of a private place.

[i-talk-too-much]

A Misunderstanding (Part 2)

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,272

Warnings: none, smut in later chapters

A/N: it's been *checks watch* way longer than I thought it would be. oops. also, I made a little oopsie in part 1, I originally wrote her final was in two days, but it was actually supposed to be in a week… so I have that changed now ahaha. Anyways

(Part 1)

Summary: You and Dick were childhood friends before you both drifted apart - him living with Bruce and you moving away. You are reunited after you move to Gotham and Nightwing saves you from a criminal.

————————–

Dick laid awake in his bed that night, the covers splayed around his legs. The thoughts swarming his mind about the earlier meeting kept him awake. Your face, your mannerisms, everything – nothing changed after sixteen years. 

No, that’s not true. You had changed. You were no longer the kid he knew back when he was in the circus. You grew up, just as he had. And the time in your apartment proved it.

He didn’t know what pushed him to visit you. To check on you, he said, but that was something he thought of in the moment, a simple excuse to talk to you more. 

He brought his hands to his face, palms against his eyes as he sighed into the still air.

He felt like an idiot. How could he have let the time go? Why did he not respond to your letter all those years ago? 

Actually, Dick knew why. He knew exactly why he dropped the letter into his drawer and forced himself to ignore it. But, it seemed so stupid in retrospect.

He shifted to lay on his side, hoping the change in position would allow him some much needed sleep. Instead, his eyes caught sight of his desk.

A thought formed in his mind and he sat up. 

He could write you a letter – a letter explaining what happened. Maybe he could ask to meet-up, if you were willing.

And with hope filling his chest, he left his messy bed and set to work.

——

You were stressed. Stressed out of your goddamn mind for the exam that was tomorrow. 

Honestly, you probably didn’t have to be as worried as you were – you had been putting your all into your classes. But, it never hurt to study more, to go to the library for a last-minute review.

Reaching the first floor of your apartment building, you passed by the long hallway of mailboxes.

You paused by the entrance, deciding on a whim to look in your own. It was long since due for a check-in, a pile of letters no doubt straining against the small compartment. Everything was digital nowadays, including your bills. Opening the small storage in the wall, you wondered what kind of mail you’d receive.

There was less than you imagined. Approximately six sat inside and you pulled them out, sorting through each, none grabbing your attention. That was, until the last letter came into view.

It was sleek – the envelope colored black with the flap on the back taped down by a dark blue sticker. It was charming. You read the white-inked ‘from’ address, the name almost making you drop everything you were holding. 

Dick Grayson.

“What the hell,” you slowly whispered into the empty hallway, your brows furrowing. You re-read it two more times, disbelieving the written name. 

How the hell did he get your address? And why was he sending you a letter now? It’s been sixteen years! He should’ve forgotten all about you at this point.

You thought he had, after not receiving a reply. A nostalgic ache settled in your chest, the familiarity of it making you shake your head, stuffing the black letter and the others into your bag. You didn’t have time for this, you needed to get to the library. 

The walk to the building was filled with thoughts about nothing but the letter. What could he have written? What would have made him send you a message, sixteen years after you sent yours? Did he only now receive the letter you sent? 

You scoffed at the last idea. 

You had more faith in the postal service than the fucking police, there’s no way it was only now delivered. Then, what could the reason be? It felt as if the envelope was burning a hole in your bag, you being acutely aware of it sitting inside, holding the answers to all your questions.

By the time you arrived at your destination, you had mentally gone through every possibility. Countless scenarios ran through your mind and none of them seemed to fit. 

This was bad – you needed to focus on studying. 

Finding a secluded area in the library – a table in the back – you plopped into a chair and pulled out your laptop, some papers and set to work. Every so often, your eyes traveled to your bag, the letter taunting you. It was after thirty minutes passed and all you managed to do was stare at a page thoughtlessly, that you finally decided to open it.

You gently took out the envelope and slowly peeled the blue sticker from the back. Lifting the flap, the page inside felt expensive. Sliding the paper out and unfolding it, your eyes scanned the words, absorbing the content inside.

To Y/N:

Hope you’re doing well. It’s been a long while since we've last seen each other, huh?

 …Mainly my fault, I admit. 

I did get your letter all those years ago, but I placed it in a cabinet and forgot. Life became busy, time sped by, and I never had the chance to look at what you sent me.

Until I began looking through old bins in storage and found yours inside.

I promise I never forgot about you. Not one day. I just never had…time.

I know it's been almost 16 years, and it might be a bit late for me to mend ties – but would you want to grab coffee sometime?

Here's my number if you–

You stopped reading, feeling an inexplicable wave of indignation course through your veins.

Were you that easy to brush aside? To forget? Surely, in sixteen years, there would have been at least a moment where he could've reached out to you.

And yet, here he was, sixteen years later with a half-assed explanation and a nonchalance that irritated you.

He was funny if he thought you would cave so easily. To rush to send him a message, to call and hear his voice.

You ignored the slight clench of your heart. 

If he made you wait sixteen years, he'd have to accept waiting a little bit more. 

——

You didn’t know how you got through that exam, but you did. 

The moment your feet stepped onto the sidewalk outside your college building, you felt an imaginary weight lift off your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, the air inside your lungs almost felt cleaner. Almost.

With the results of that exam out of your hands now, all that was left was to enjoy the break and wait for the final grade. You had half the mind to go out to the club to celebrate, but the recent mugging still made your blood run cold.

Bing-watching a show with take-out it was, then. 

And two hours later, that was still the plan – until a certain hero dropped by your fire escape window and invited himself inside to lounge on your couch.

"Is this gonna be like – a thing?" You motioned ambiguously toward the situation with your hands. "You stopping by my apartment on your patrols?"

He shrugged and grinned, a cheeky smile reaching his eyes. "It can if you want it to be." 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead opting to offer the man some of your food. “Want some? It just came, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

He smiled at the hand-out, taking the deliciously-filled plate with both hands and chowing down as he settled back into the cushioned seat. “Plus, I’m on break. The others can call if they need me,” he said, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of food. “So, what are we watching?” 

“Well,” you began. ”I’m watching a space documentary. You’re trespassing.”

Nightwing gasped dramatically, splaying a hand across his chest. “Me? Trespassing? I would never.”

You chortled, deciding right then that he’d always be permitted in your apartment – but you wouldn’t tell him that. Pressing play on the remote, you leaned back and copied his position against the couch.

While you were absorbed in the beautifully rendered scenes of the cosmos, you didn’t notice Nightwing glancing around your living room, taking in every little detail. His eyes landed on a certain black envelope sitting on a desk by the window.

“Damn, that’s insane!” You exclaimed, amazed by the facts shown on the screen. You leaned forward and placed your fork down with your finished plate on the coffee table. “Hey, do you think the stars–” you cut off, seeing his head turned toward the window. “Nightwing?”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment until he replied, “yeah? Sorry, what were you saying?”

You paused, observing his expression before responding softly. “Everything all right?”

“No, yeah, definitely. Just got distracted by something shiny, s’all.” He got up, taking his empty plate along with yours to the kitchen sink. “You know, that black envelope looks fancy. Looks like one of those wealthy Gala invitations.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes fitted over to your desk. “Ah, that? Nah, it’s just a letter from someone I knew.”

“Knew?” You heard the sound of running water and dishes clattering. What a gentleman. “Not a lover, then?”

“Pfft, no,” you laughed, taking a sip from your cup. “He’s a childhood friend I lost contact with. Somehow he found my address and sent a letter.” After a moment, you added, “and now that I think about it, it’s a little creepy.”

Forced laughter seemed to bubble from Nightwing’s lips, the sound reverberating through the small apartment.

“Can I ask who the sender is?” His voice held a light note to it. You raised a brow. 

“Why? Jealous?” You teased, almost wishing he was.

A bark of a laugh escaped his being as he replied. “Jealous? Yeah, sure, let’s call it that.” 

Deciding to satiate his curiosity, you answered truthfully. “If you really want to know, it’s from Dick Grayson.”

“Grayson, huh? Bruce Wanyne’s trust fund kid?” At your wordless confirmation, his lips upturned in a joking manner. 

“Tell you what, if he’s creepy,” Nightwing paused, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll protect you from him.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your lips matched his own, humor thick in your voice. “And how are you going to do that?”

He crossed his arms. “With my fighting skills,” he answered defensively, then mumbled, “obviously.”

You chuckled at the pout on his lips. “Obviously.”

“In all seriousness though,” he moved around across the room and lifted the letter before continuing, “wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him, if you’re comfortable. Did you two part on bad terms?”

“I mean,” you paused, resting your cheek on your palm and mulled over the answer. “I don’t think so?”

Nightwing shrugged. “Then it’d probably be fine, right?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something about his attention to the letter felt off. With the way he was acting, it seemed personal. You narrowed your eyes.

“You know,” you tilted your head. “With how determined you are, it’s almost like…” 

Nightwing’s head swirled toward you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“You’re friends with him, aren’t you?” 

His shoulders visibly sagged at your statement, the corner of his lip lifting. “Was it that obvious?” 

“Wait, so is that how he got my address? From you?” You stood up, slowly walking towards the man standing by the desk as you became lost in thought. “Was that why you were shocked when you saw my ID? Did Dick talk to you about me?” Hope filled your voice, the emotion speeding up your words.

Nightwing raised his hands, stopping you from crashing into his chest. “Slow your roll, Y/N. One question at a time.”

“Did you tell him my address,” you asked, crossing your arms and straightening your back. 

“I did,” he answered. No part of him appeared guilty, however. 

Your mouth tightened with displeasure. “Without my permission? Why?”

He brought his hand to the side of his head, scratching the space behind his ear. 

“I knew how much he wanted to see you again, so I thought it'd be fine.” After a moment of your unwavering stare, he quickly added, “and now that I see your reaction, I’m never going to do that again before asking you.”

You breathed out a laugh. “You say that like there’ll be others asking for my address.” 

Nightwing’s body relaxed at your softened expression. ”Knowing you for as long as I have, I’m sure there will be.”

You take a moment during the lull in conversation to walk toward the couch and sit on the armrest.

“What’s he like?” You brought your uncertain gaze to his. ”Do you think I should reply to him?” 

He leaned back against the desk and lifted his shoulders nonchalantly. “From my standpoint, I’d say go for it. If you decide he’s not worth it, just block him. No harm, no foul.”

He moved toward the window, opening it just enough to slip onto the fire escape before turning back and facing you.

“And if he was truly a dickhead, I’d tell you. In the end, though, it’s up to you. Your choice.”

——

That night, you kept turning the letter in your hands, rereading the last lines. 

Here’s my number if you want to give it a chance. Text or call, anytime. 

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

Your friend always,

Dick Grayson

Nightwing was right.

There’s no harm in catching up with an old friend. And if things go south, you could just block him and move on. You've moved on once before, you could do it again.

Contemplating it one last time, you steeled your resolve and saved his number into your phone before typing out a message.

————————–

Tagging: @bluebirdhangingonawheepingtree @hungryhungarian @escapism-r-us @xasement @zbeez-outlet @scrambled-eggs-y

[kyufessions]

Anaheim

inspiration: anaheim by NIKI

context: the note you wrote for keeho one night

warnings: angst (teared up writing this a bit oopsies)

word count: 0.8k

[ part one of the nikiwon series ]

dear stephen yoon,

do you remember that late afternoon we drove around the roads of anaheim with the sun setting gradually, the burnt orange skies fading into the darkness as time pushed us by? we shared joyous laughter for several hours, music blasted with windows rolled down for the entire universe to witness. your happiness was evident, so breathtaking to me. gosh, everything about you was so beautiful. still is. and the kisses you shared with me were always so precious; so soft and tender, full of nothing but love and care. and everytime you kissed me, i wanted to feel that too. not care, because of course i care for you, but love. i prayed every night, asking whatever God(s) may exist for love to appear within me for you. to feel the same exact love you felt for me for all those months we shared. but i never could, and that’s why i’m writing you this as you sleep behind me in your bed.

i’m going to miss the feeling of your rugged carpet under my skin, even though i always crack jokes about it. your soft snores are echoing through your small room right now, making my heart ache but not in the way i wish it were. you’re probably dreaming of me, of our future that i emptily promised in the beginning of our relationship thinking i’d be able to fall for you. but it’s almost eleven months later and every time i whisper those three empty words, i can’t help but feel terrible. like a monster. but why? why can’t i fall for you? why can’t i fall in love with you? why won’t my feelings allow me this? it’s nothing with you, not at all. but with me. my emotions- they aren’t making sense in the slightest. but i don’t want to keep leading you on, so i’m doing this for you. for us.

those late night drives down the same supposed road you always drove on, i lied about remembering it. i never could. i’ve never been good at directions, you know street names were never my forte. but i remember that old bakery at the stop sign with the chipped green paint on the front sign, and the stationary store we always stopped by together just a couple doors down to buy stupid matching pens we’d never use but just display for others to see. my favorite was the thrift shop though- gosh the hours we’d spend in there just trying shit on and (sometimes) not even buying anything. remember when we picked each other terrible outfits and wore it out for a date? best date i will ever be on. i’m keeping my polaroids from that day because, well, i never want to forget you, keeho.

just because i wasn’t able to fall in love with you the way you and i both wanted, doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of being loved. i want you to know that. and remember it forever. i want you to forget me. and the pain i’ve caused. maybe in another universe, however far that universe may be, we’re both sitting on the hood of your car sharing a red velvet cupcake by the beach, the sand surrounding us as the sounds of the waves become background music to our conversation and shared love confessions. maybe in another lifetime we ended up together, and we stayed together until we turned to dust and bone. but for some reason, this universe we’re both stuck in doesn't want us to end up together. it doesn’t want us to have that happy ending we both crave, the ending we both deserve. and i’m sorry i can’t change fate to have our lives interlocked for the rest of our days.

i can tell my love hurts you. i can tell you feel my words have no meaning when i say i love you. and when i say that i’ll love you forever. it hurts me to see you love me so hard that you’d sacrifice yourself for me, and to notice the overflowing hearts in your eyes bulge out whenever you listen to me intently, when i can’t even reciprocate those feelings properly. fuck, keeho, this hurts. i just. im so sorry. in the morning, i’ll be gone and i’ll become nothing but a distant memory to you. eventually. hopefully.

your heart deserves to be held in the highest regards with the most tender hands you could ever hold within your own, not in my cracked ones that have thorns embedded into them. keeho stephen yoon, im sorry for entering your life and leaving abruptly. i’m sorry for entering your life that one afternoon at our campus welcoming party. and i’m sorry for not ending this sooner to save us more heartbreak. i’ll always remember you and have you with me. until the next life, my lost love.

sincerely,

your past life lover.

[drawlfoy]

Wonders of Ohio P.8

masterlist (read parts 1-7 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no ma’am this was spawned in the pits of my hell brain

summary: y/n’s family takes on a particularly mysterious exchange student, draco malfoy. fyi: this is NOT a non magic AU--draco is still a wizard

warnings: swearing, college admissions (ew), vague mentions of a car accident

a/n: hey...ahahahaha yeah so when i disappeared from the writing scene i was actually sitting on this chapter because i wanted to finish the entire scene up until draco came back home, but i haven’t quite figured out how everything is going to work in the middle of this story bc we’re getting into the thick of it. things are only going to get more and more wild and while i have the ending already written (oopsies), there’s still a lot to cover between december and august. i promise you it’ll be worth it tho--thanks so much for waiting!

word count: 2.5k

no music recs because i wrote this in november and i don’t remember ANYTHING!

tags tags tags (message me if you’d like to be tagged!) @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan

Y/N froze as she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

In any other situation, she would have fibbed, the lies rolling off her tongue and falling into a neat pile.

But this wasn’t just any situation. 

“Drac--uh, Draco,” she began, rather lamely. She wondered if he could see what she had been doing and then immediately stopped that train of thought--of course he could, she was sitting there crouched with his letters all over the floor next to her.

Y/N had never seen him look so terrible--his eyes were saucers and his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“What’s up?” she asked. Maybe I got really lucky and he hasn’t noticed yet.

His mouth opened and closed a few times as he seemed to agonize over what to say. 

“Give me those letters back,” he finally said. “And come into my room. We need to talk.”

She scrambled to get everything back into the satchel--honestly, how had all those fit into such a tiny bag?--and tossed it into his hand. He refused to make eye contact and instead yanked her into his room, shutting the door before closing the blinds.

“Uh...what’s going o--”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You know what you read.”

She withered under his gaze, all of a sudden trained on her with a heat that could melt through iron. 

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he said tying up the satchel and tossing it into a drawer. “You’re going to sit right there and tell me everything that you know. And no lying. I can always tell.”

Something about the weight of his words told her that the last part wasn’t hyperbole. “O--okay. Um, I know that you’re kind of strange, and I know that your family definitely isn’t into politics because unless you’ve changed your name I haven’t been able to find shit on your family...I know that you’re here for some kind of punishment, or at least that’s what the letter said, and that wherever you’re from believes in, uh, magic, or something…”

Y/N had never been so scared of Draco as she was right then. He stood looming over her, his eyes calculating and cold. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Uh--how did you--”

“Is there anything else you want to know? Ask now or forever hold your peace. I promise I’ll take care of this.”

Y/N blinked. “What? What do you mean take care…”

“Don’t...just don’t ask that right now.” Draco’s demeanor made a switch from intimidating to exhausted. His previous towering presence looked more mournful than anything. 

“Ok,” said Y/N, willing to take something else over nothing. “So...why are you here? Where are you actually from? What happened to your dad?”

Draco drew in a few slow breaths. “My family’s name is Malfoy. I never lied to you about that. We’re from England, like you think. But we’re not really from the same world as you.”

He looked at her, gauging her reaction. When nothing came, he continued. “I’m...magic, as you would probably say. Like, wizards and witches and shit. Like the stuff all of you here celebrate for Halloween. Just more real.”

“You’re off your rocker is what you are,” said Y/N. “Magic isn’t real.”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Draco replied, his tone wearing down. “Not to you. It’s very real to me.”

“Were you in a cult or something because that’s absolute batshit cra--”

“Oh my fucking God can you just listen,” he said in one long-winded breath. “Thank you. Not that it matters that much if you actually believe me and I’m not allowed to show you any magic--they almost sent me back home for spelling my hair neat that one time in the car with you--but you should believe. Did you really think you were just sick after Homecoming? Like, did you think that was the common cold or something?”

“Well…” Y/N trailed off as realization dawned on her.

“I don’t know how you got into that store, but it was magic. Whatever object you picked up did something to you. You would’ve died from muggle care--the only possible treatment was extracting whatever magic had somehow gotten inside you.”

“So you were the person in my dream.”

“Yes. Anyways. So back in England, my family got wrapped up in some...dark business with a very evil wizard. I had to do some things that I’d rather not get into, and those things were serious offenses in the eyes of the Ministry--which is like your government. I was sent here as a punishment instead of something more severe.”

Y/N snorted. “Assuming all of this is true, why did you get sent to America? Normally exchange students see trips to the US as a kind of vacation...but I do understand the part of Ohio being used as a punishment.”

His face was void of amusement. 

“I wasn’t sent here because Ohio is boring,” he said. “I was sent here to be forced to assimilate into muggle society--”

“Muggle?”

“People who aren’t magic. Anyways, that was the punishment. Having to live with and associate with muggles, far enough away from home that I faced no threat of vigilantism and couldn’t escape.”

“Oh.” Y/N deflated into her seat as it all began to hit her. So that was why Draco was so disgusted with her. There was a reason why some gut feeling told her that he would never see her like....that.

“Anyways, for the less exciting part.” Draco turned to rifle around the jewelry box they’d kept in the guest room. “It’s crucial to the safety of my people that you don’t know about us. Muggles get scared, and sometimes they hurt us. They nearly wiped us out a few generations ago.” 

He turned around, wielding a small wooden cube that glimmered in the light. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I have to do this. If they know you know, they’ll send me away.”

“Do...what?” She stared up at him as he approached, holding the square out in his palms. “Draco, what’s going--”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” he said, his tone pleading. “I’m going to make you forget.”

~

Y/N eyes flickered open. It was chilly in her room--one look confirmed the fact that her window was wide open--but she had a thick blanket pulled over her. As she shed the last pulses of drowsiness, one thought bubbled to the surface: 

That fucker.

She sat up, threw the blankets off her bed, and started towards the guest room.

“Hey,” she said, yanking the door open and standing in front of a very surprised Draco. “Nice try. Are we actually gonna talk this through, or are you gonna put me to sleep again?” 

“Wha-”

“I remember everything, dipshit. Especially the part where you didn’t let me say my piece before you knocked me out.”

“I-”

“Try and steal my memories again and it’s on sight, Draco.” Y/N sucked in a deep breath and finally slumped down onto his bed. “You were saying?”

“How did you...er...you’re not supposed to remember me,” he said. “Do you have any magic blood in your family? Do you know?”

“Look around. If we had magic blood we wouldn’t be living in Ohio.”

“I’m not joking around.” He joined her and laid back. Y/N tried to not make a mental note of how a few strands of his hair brushed up against her cheek for a second. He smelled of peppermint and pine. “There’s no reason why that shouldn’t have worked. You definitely aren’t magic--I can feel it, no offense--and that Obliviation cube was explicitly created to work on muggles and wipe specific memories of magic.”

“I guess I’m just better.”

“Not funny. I’m definitely going to get sent to some random village in...I don’t know, Siberia for this. And your whole family will be obliviated. The whole point of me telling you was so I could get you to understand why I had to wipe your memory.”

“That’s horribly disrespectful, you know. Not even asking for my consent before doing such a thing? Try again.”

“I will,” he said, sitting up and grabbing the cube again. 

Y/N sprung up and scooted away. “Wait! Wait! That was a joke! Can’t we just talk this through? I’m a really good liar.”

“Lying doesn’t matter in front of the Ministry. They have their ways.”

“And what’s the Ministry going to do?” she asked. “Because, right now, it looks like I know about your secret and they’re not knocking down my door yet. Are they seriously going to break into my own home and perform some kind of lie detector test on me out of the blue? Are they really gonna cause a scene like that? No? I didn’t think so.”

Draco looked even paler than usual as he examined her from the other side of the bed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “I hope you’re grasping the severity of this. This isn't a fun little joke. This is the difference between my community living or dying.”

“I get that. But if I say I’m not going to tell anyone, then how is your community at risk?”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“Draco.” Her tone was strong enough to make him snap his head up and meet her eyes. “You saved my life. I’ve lived with you for almost 3 months. Trust me when I say I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Swear on my life.”

The silence was tangible between the two as he stood there staring.

“You have to trust me,” said Y/N. “Please.”

Draco met her eyes again, a type of helplessness written so deeply into the etches of his face that he nearly looked like a different person than the proud, posh British boy that was usually him. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She let out a sigh of relief as he put the cube back into the drawer. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, though,” he told her. “Once I figure out how to fix this, I won’t need to trust you anymore.”

“You’ve been trusting me with your life since the moment you got into a car with me for the first time. Do you have any idea how many teenagers crash on the freeway? I don’t get why this is so different.”

He scowled. “I think it’s very obviously different.”

“I can pull up the stats for you real quick if you want. Just so you can grasp the severity of the situation that you’re minimizing right now.”

“Damn it, Y/N, you don’t understand!” Draco slammed his hands on the dresser, the wood making a loud smack sound as it connected with his palms. She jumped. “All my life I’ve been...You just don’t understand.”

“You have no other option, Draco,” said Y/N. 

“I...I know.”

~

The next few weeks were profoundly uncomfortable. If it wasn’t just for the fact that there had been a burglar turned home invader turned...whatever on the loose, Y/N was now dealing with the fact that her world as she knew it was turning upside down.

Draco was magic. He was different, and while this at first had been difficult for Y/N to believe, she began to realize just how much sense it made. The way the most ordinary of daily objects confused him...his discomfort with using the internet...his distaste for all of the people he met…either he was raised under a legitimate rock or he was telling the truth....

And perhaps the most conclusive revelation regarded his stance on his feelings towards her. After that night at Sylvia’s, Y/N had begun to think that there might be something there, or at least that something there might’ve been possible.

Now she knew that it wasn’t. And she had to be okay with that.

Draco was for the most part normal apart from the fact that his wariness around her was obvious. She could feel him keeping a close eye on her in the halls when she spoke with her friends. Sometimes he’d even level a look in her direction, a clear demand written all over his face: Not a word. You promised.

Evening teas stopped entirely. Draco ate in his room for breakfast and seldom said anything on the rides to and from school, and, to be entirely honest, it helped. She could feel her hopeless crush become weaker as the month of November wore on. Her giddy excitement towards a possible love interest was directed to the nervous dwellings on her UChicago application. 

Results were out on December 3rd, and she was absolutely buzzing. Fuck weird blond boys that came into her life and told her of an entire mystical and magical world out there--the gothic, hallowed architecture of UChicago was waiting for her. 

“Honey, it’s almost 5!” 

“I know.”

Y/N sat, cross legged on her bed, as she looked at the email she’d received moments ago from UChicago. In 3 minutes, the portal would open up. And her fate would be decided.

“Don’t open it yet, your father and I are coming!” Mrs. Y/L/N yelled from the kitchen. 

She smiled--for once, her father had managed to take a night off of work to be there for her. The only person missing in their home was Draco, and she supposed that he didn’t count anymore. At least not in the classic way. 

5:00pm.

“Hold on, hold on.” Her father’s voice carried down the hall, paired with the sound of feet thumping up the stairs.

Her parents appeared in the doorway, rushing to her and peeking over her shoulder.

“Are you ready to open it?” Mrs. Y/L/N asked, placing her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. 

“Uh...yes.” Her stomach flipped as she pressed her mouse over the blue hyperlink, directing the screen to show a login page. She wasn’t quite sure what it would look like--perhaps her decision would be right there when she logged in--but despite her racing thoughts, she input her portal information, pressed enter, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Dead silence.

“Honey.”

Her mother’s voice was strife with...some kind of emotion, whatever it was. Y/N dared to pry her eyelids open just a pinch, giving her just enough vision to read out the clear “CONGRATULATIONS” spanning the entirety of her page.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!”

The euphoria that followed was indescribable. Her father’s arms, encircling her shoulders in a way he hadn’t done since she was a child, her mother’s professions of how proud she was...incredible.

The only thing sullying it was a Draco shaped figure looming in the doorway once the hysteria died down.

“What happened?”

“I got into UChicago!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. 

He simply stared at her, his gaze cool and uninterested. Y/N felt all the joy drain from her face. “I hate to butt in, but I have some news too. I’ll be traveling back home for the holidays.”

“Oh.” Irritation was written clear as day across Mrs. Y/L/N’s face. “When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

final a/n: heyyyyyy everyone let me know what you thought. what do you guys think will happen next chapter? how do you think this is going to end overall? ik this is a draco x reader but do you guys think that draco still has a ways to go before he can have feelings for y/n? or does he already have them? im inch rested please lmk your thoughts

also my endless apologies to ohioans i did not mean to add the slander in there ik that plenty of you are lovely people <3 cancel me if you wish 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

I really really love the when you become a fallen piece, could I possibly have that with Diavolo? Pretty please? Thank you for reading this.

Yes, definitely! I will write this here, so I hope it’s not weird!  I was debating whether or not I should post it on the other thread with the brothers, but maybe here it’s okay too <3

P.S. after I wrote it: I MAY HAVE GONE A BIT OVERBOARD WITH IT, OOPSY DAISY-

---

Long ago, before the Celestial War happened, you, as another Seraph, would look up at Lucifer and how he was loved by everyone, how his brothers adored him...And you?

You were like a caged dove, without any bit of freedom...

You were raised and taught - not like all the other angels - but you were meant to be the key to the Devildom and Celestial Realm allegiance.

You were meant to be the future King of Devildom’s future wife.

So while Lucifer received praises from Gods, from the Cherubim, from the other Archangels...

You, on the other hand, only received criticism from the lower-angels constantly on your back, punishing you if you didn’t behave as you were meant to.

And your dark feelings kept harbouring inside your heart for a long time.

These feelings were only amplified tenfold when Lucifer had the audacity to rebel, along with his brothers, and was welcomed with open arms in the Devildom, by the same man that was supposed to become your Husband...

How vile.

And you wondered...

If you were to rebel and run away as well...

Would he welcome you with so much enthusiasm?

...Of course not, why would he?

He may be your soon-to-be Husband, but all the angels were strict: “You must be his wife, but never grow feelings for such a disgustingly impure, immoral, unethical and vile monster such as him. He is evil incarnated, that’s why he’s the future Demon King!”

So you kept enduring and enduring, until you were finally brought before him, not yet to wed, but to spend the day together and get used to each other.

Needless to say, Diavolo, despite thinking that Lucifer was gorgeous...He found you to be more than ethereal, for lack of better words in any language.

He was happy, he wanted you by his side, despite all the inhibitions and shyness that were brought along with you, but he understood the situation, he was already aware of it, thanks to Lucifer, who was already aware of the problem, naturally.

So for the whole day, he tried to help you ease around him, to look at him with your beautiful E/C orbs that sparkled like the stars in Heaven, to see you, without your wings covering you, as all Seraphim had the habit of doing, he wanted to hear your crystalline voice, loud and clear, not just whispering in his ear whenever you had the courage to say something.

He wanted to hear your laugh, that would be like a lullaby to his ears, he wanted to see your genuine smile, that made his heart explode with a myriad of emotions.

And more importantly, he wanted to touch you, to feel you skin, delicate and soft like a cloud, to taste your lips that were sweeter than any Celeastial Realm dessert.

He wanted you, and he wanted to make you his partner in crime, to tease Lucifer and his brothers, to make witty schemes and pranks together, to sneak around, to make fun, to dance, to laugh, to walk around, to have dates, to do so many things together.

Diavolo was so eager for your wedding together, and so were you, frankly.

You found safety and solace around him, something that you never thought would happen any time in your life, and now you realised why Lucifer was welcomed so nicely to his Kingdom - Because Diavolo wasn’t evil and merciless as the angels wanted her to believe, he was a benevolent ruler who only sought the good of his people and wanted all 3 Realms to be equal and be peaceful.

This didn’t sit well with the angels when you returned back to the Celestial Realm, as they could see you vibing with happiness, they could see your cheeks pink like the roses from the Garden of Eden, and more...Your heart...It was trembling with emotions.

You were in love with the Demon Prince.

You destroyed the allegiance without even realising, and the angels were furious with you for ruining all the centuries of trying to educate you properly, to make you become an obedient little wife.

You screwed up for falling in love with the man you were supposed to marry.

And now, you had to receive the Divine Retribution that few angels had the misfortune to deal with.

You were thrown out of Heaven.

You were let to fall down, from the Celestial Realm, to the Devildom, while all the other angels were throwing insults at you, for being a shame to God and your title as a Seraph, and that you deserve every bit of pain you will have to endure in the future.

Barbatos had already forseen this happening, so Diavolo was waiting for you to fall, so he would be there to catch you before you hit the ground, not wanting you to feel more pain that you must already endure.

Of course, as Lucifer had already gone through all this before, he was informed about the agony, the transformations and the changes in one’s body, but even so, he wasn’t prepared for how emotionally gut-wrenching the sight of the woman he loved so much, sobbing in pain, just because...

Just because she held the same emotions as he did for her.

It wasn’t fair.

Why should she have to suffer for loving someone, while he was safe and sound, not even feeling an ounce of physical pain, nor trauma?

He was holding you tightly to his chest, not even feeling anything while you were clawing at his back and arms from the pain, not able to think or speak coherently, as he could only watch your feathers and a pair of wings slowly burn, even the bone structure of it, while stumps of bone and keratin were protruding from underneath your scalp, getting bigger and bigger, and twisting around in intricate shapes, resembling that of some animal.

“This is not fair! This is not fair! Why...! I was raised to be your wife, but now that I want to, I’m being punished! Is it so immoral to have feelings? To love your Husband? Why is nothing I do ever good for anyone? Why can’t I ever be like the ones I admire so much? Am I really fated to waste away and rot like a caged bird forever?” you’d cry out, as Diavolo put your hands on his own horns, to tug on them, to make himself feel the same hatred, rage, agony, despair as you did, because you were bound by an unbreakable bond, wrapped with the string of fate, from heart to heart.

Diavolo felt powerless for the first time in his life, as there was nothing that could stop, or even lessen such pain - no medicine, beverage, food nor plant or drug - and he could only hold you and curse every living being for not being able to keep you safe from all this madness.

Since he was born a demon, he never had to endure any pain, but seeing you go through it all, it made him want to find some curse and curse himself, so all the pain you’d feel, he’d feel as well, just to punish himself for making you go through all this - Because he blames himself, even if he would never tell it to you, in fear of making you feel even worse.

He wasn’t sure how many days passed until your physical agony subsided and your wings were charcoal black, like a raven’s, and your horns were fully out, but he knew that the worst wasn’t over yet.

Every day, he had to hold you and reassure you that he’ll never leave you, and that he loves you and he would never give you up, just because you are not a Seraph anymore - Your beauty was as ethereal as always, no matter what.

He had Barbatos make sure you bring you food to help you get used to the Devildom cuisine, without purging, because your body wasn’t used to bats and poisoned apples, but to cloud cakes and paradise fruit.

He would hold you tight every night, allowing himself barely a wink of sleep, as he felt it his duty to guard over you while you slept, so you wouldn’t be plagued by night terrors, even going as far as casting spells to help you sleep better, not even sure if they worked or not.

He would get you all sorts of clothes and jewellery, showing you off to everyone as soon as you were ready to step out of your shared room, because you were the most beautiful being alive, and nothing was going to erase that fact - And neither should you ever forget it.

Because Diavolo loved you with all his heart, and was waiting patiently for the day when you’d be able to get fully accustomed to your new life as a demon - But not any demon, but THE Demon Queen - so he could start preparing the Wedding, with you by his side, letting Asmo to style your hair, do your make up and style your wedding dress, making sure it matches with some colour with Diavolo’s suit too, while you two and the brothers, mainly Satan and Belphie, would choose how to decorate the wedding venue, the Ballroom, and Levi would help with the music, while Mammon would provide entertainment and Beel would be in charge of the menu.

And Lucifer would be the one to walk you down the isle, as he was the one you looked up to for so long and gave you the courage to aspire for freedom.

You were finally where you belonged, and you were happy, with the one person you loved with all your heart, and went through so many hardships for, and you had nothing more to fear any longer, because nobody would be as stupid as to go against the rules of THE Demon King just to harm you.

Especially not while he always had his arms and wings wrapped protectively around you.

[guqin-and-flute]

Last Line Tag Game

Rules: post the last line you wrote from any WIP and tag the same number of people as there are words.

I was tagged by 3 people (@ebonykain, @ladyofrosefire. and @sunshine304; THANKS GUYS 😁) So I'll do 3 from the last 3 I worked on, I suppose? And then just make up the amount of people I tag because that would be A LOT.

Xiyao oneshot: "Silk flowers don’t turn to face the sun."

PtL fic; Working title Retaliation: "The gentry always talk out of their ass when it comes to reputation."

(injury/blood mention) 3zun fic; Working title Sleeping Oopsie: "It was so much harder when the room was soaked in the stench of iron and split flesh, his mind searching for the battle, for the danger when--"

THAT'S TOO MANY WORDS, I'm just going to tag people (don't feel obligated if you don't want to!)

@little-smartass @greenwitching @frozantears @madtomedgar @rkivees @theleakypen @paradife-loft and my back hurts, anyone who wants an excuse to share bits of their fics, I wanna see, I tag you!!

[sugarstarlights]

🍁 Was Mads made into a puppet once? Can you expand on/summarize those events, if so? Is that where the complicated relationship with trees comes from?

((This is a Great question, and I'd love to.

The complicated thing about Mads' puppet experiences is that they happened in the part of the timeline that I wrote in high school, on a private rp site, 1 on 1. I didn't necessarily pick up from the beginning of his story on here, because he was developed enough that I didn't want to restart. I would've maybe put up some sections of that for context but things went wrong with my rp partner and I'm not comfortable displaying their writing or content.

In response to the actual question though, here was the series of events:

Mads was a constant liar. I wouldn't say it was habit or instinct, they were very conscious choices. The first time he met Sarandiel, they claimed he deserved a punishment to learn not to do that so much, and altered his soul to lengthen his nose when he lied and shrink it when he was emotionally honest. At the time, the astral plane was damaged, and the affects of voices' soul essences was affecting their souls on the material plane as well. What was supposed to be an extra punishment only on the astral plane, while he was asleep, turned into a real-life issue that Sarandiel just sort of went "oopsie!" over and didn't bother to immediately fix. (This was also somewhat intentional.)

His body began to gradually turn into wood. Sometimes it hurt, when it transformed his joints, mostly it was horribly numb, but it was a slow, awful experience that he tried hiding from people until he couldn't. When it had almost taken him entirely, Seculus came to make sure he wasn't alone when he may or may not have died. Obviously he didn't, and they stayed, and that was the start of his first healthy relationship.

Aside from that though he was a wooden marionette for about a month before Sarandiel bothered to do anything. Still capable of movement and speech, but he couldn't taste, touch, smell, or sleep, and obviously didn't pass for a human. This left him listless, hollow, alone, and constantly desperate for sensation for a long enough period of time that it was intensely traumatizing. He spent a lot of time sitting around perfectly still, looking like an actual puppet, since there was really no point in doing anything. There was a separate event during this that began the objectification issue, but I'll go into that another time.

Once it was over, Mads had certainly learned his lesson, alongside a newfound terror of Sarandiel, and it didn't come up again until he fixed the astral plane, which is where the tree thing came in.

In order to complete the task, Sarandiel pumped a lot of their energy through him to make his power stronger. In the process, intentionally or not (definitely intentionally), Mads turned into wood again, a marionette but this time with internal machinery and a winding key that he couldn't move without being turned and couldn't turn himself. This was only on the astral plane, but after the fix time began to move strangely there, and, of course, when it all happened, he was in the middle of a forest he'd just created, on his hands and knees, fingers in the dirt. Once again Sarandiel just kind of left him there, and every night, for what felt like days at a time, he would sit trapped, silent, numb, completely still, unable to look away from the single tree growing in front of him. Trapped with nothing but forest sounds and his thoughts for extended periods of time, never getting a break between this and his waking hours. He nearly went nuts trying not to sleep, but it was inevitable, and eventually his somewhat broken mind taught itself to shut down completely, going empty and quiet until something actually happened; he calls this "turning off", and this is what happened in the forest the other day, though less intentionally than normal.

There's another part to the tree thing, however, and that's the objectification. Once he began seeing himself as an object, he came to the conclusion that puppet = wood = tree. And as a piece of wood stuck permanently in place, for a long time, and then used as a tool, that made him a tree, or at least similar to one. He began personally relating to towers of wood stuck in the forest doing and thinking nothing, only to be used by animals and carpenters, and started getting stuck in a similar thought process to that whenever he thought about trees for too long.

These were the major, initiating events, but he was turned into wood several other times as well, including while using this blog. Once Seculus left, he remained wooden on the astral plane as he assisted Sarandiel with the tasks they required him to perform with his powers. Repeatedly after that, as punishment, either for disobeying, actively running away, or defying their attempts to change him mentally, he would be puppet-ified again for shorter periods of time to try and scare him straight. It generally worked, honestly.

Most of the results of these experiences are very visible in his behaviors, triggers, and habits, and the frequency of his puppet transformations are the reason why he occasionally and falsely believes his body is wood again, especially his hands, as it could happen at any moment and he doesn't fully believe that he isn't still a puppet underneath his angel skin. The complete numbness of the experience fucked him up, and is the source of his problems with dissociation, as he never really felt like he had a body at all, and when he did, it certainly wasn’t his own. As well, the bodily transformation, being a direct change to his soul by the god who has explicit power over the alteration of souls, has convinced him that it isn't only temporary, that he is permanently and inherently a marionette, and that's part of the reason why it's stuck with him as strongly as it has.

His puppet side and its effects on him are a part of the plot that I find incredibly interesting and like to explore whenever I can, but unfortunately there's only so many times you can dig up the same half-dead horse, and the last time I tried to do so didn't go very well.

[aesthetical-bucky]

Three’s A Lucky Number

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: You’ve sabotaged Bucky’s dates three times, but what happens when the super soldier finally confronts you about it?

Requested by @hailmary-yramliah​ -  Hey! So I love the fic Hungry Heart and wanted to request again since you're an amazing writer! XD Could you do a BuckyxReader where the reader is jealous of Bucky's date because she has a crush on him and he's oblivious? Maybe he finds out when the reader sabotages his date and he confronts her? Or you could go a whole different route hehe thanks in advance! ❤️

Warnings: Language, sex toy play (at the end), implied smut, a smidgen of confrontation in a confined space. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know! 

Word Count: 2,220 (oopsies)

Authors Notes: This was requested by the lovely @hailmary-yramliah​ and I’m sorry because I got so carried away with it but it just wrote itself? Hehe! Hope you enjoy reading :)

If looks could kill, the blonde-haired bitch Bucky invited over would certainly be dead by now. You were sat next to Steve when Bucky walked in with her hanging off his arm as they sat on the opposite couch. Truthfully, you didn’t understand why she was here and if you were honest, you didn’t want her here. His date had spent the entire day at the compound, mingling with the others and trying to fit herself in and they had reservations for dinner in an hour at some fancy top restaurant. You hated it and you knew jealousy was an ugly look, but at this point, you couldn’t care less. “Oh, is this Chloe?” You smirked pointing to the lady. Bucky’s eyebrows creased as he tried to figure out what you were up to. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Bucky seethed, giving you a warning look which you blatantly ignored.

“Who is Chloe?” The dragon with the voice whispered, her hand grazing his thigh and it was making your blood boil.

“Some girl he brought here last night to fuck. No big deal.” You shrugged nonchalantly, earning a warning nudge from Steve.

“Y/N, Come on.”

“It’s true and then the night before that he brought home that… uhhh what’s her name…” You clicked your fingers and smirked as you continued. “Fiona from statistics!” 

“Y/N!” Bucky warned. Your eyes flicked over to hers and grinned. She was shifting uncomfortably in her seat and scoots away from Bucky, something he easily notices. “I’m so sorry Jess. I don’t know what her problem is.” Bucky scoffed, interlacing his fingers with hers. A lump formed in your throat at their hands, your anger and frustration building up. 

You harboured a crush on the soldier pretty much since the day you arrived in the tower and officially became an Avenger. But you knew he was out of your league but it didn’t stop you from trying. Bucky had reservations for the type of women he dated, the same type that was sat opposite you right now biting her lip like the seductive horny bitch she is. 

And sometimes you felt really angry towards Bucky because that bastard was so oblivious to your attempts. You even told him he looked like sex on legs when he strolled through the kitchen in his sweats and that tattered old henley of his. His hair dishevelled and sticking up so high you could probably pick up a clear WiFi connection. His response? He just told you to be quiet. It broke your heart every time, your crush was turning into feelings and you wanted nothing more than to protect him from all the other single women in the world. You wanted him to be yours, not hers.

You watch as he whispered something in her ear. A blush forming on her cheeks as she twirled her curly hair around her finger. A loud pitched laugh invaded your ears. Anger boiled up when you saw the blonde-haired bitch throwing her head back, Bucky eyeballing her exposed throat.

Bucky was driving you crazy and he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. 

“Fuck sake.” You cursed with an eye-roll. Though your eyes widened when you realised you just said that out loud, but at least the bitch stopped laughing.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Tony smirked when he sauntered in the room adjusting his bracelet. Tony was probably one of the few who knew of your love for the soldier. It was hard to deny it when he found your journal full of desires and inner feelings for Mr Barnes. You made the mistake of writing a dream you had in the journal, a dream where you became Bucky’s wife and bearing his children. Tony hasn’t stopped bringing that up ever since and you hoped he wouldn’t now. “Is your husband annoying you?” He cackled. 

Fuck

“Don’t encourage her Tony.” Steve interfered.

Wait, did Steve know about it too?

“Y/N, come with me please,” Steve ordered, walking into the kitchen and pouring a couple of glasses of wine. 

“Please don’t lecture me, Steve.” You sighed. 

“Was those lies really necessary? You know about Bucky’s past Y/N. You should be happy for him so why on earth are you trying to sabotage his third date this week?” He demanded in his ‘Captain’ voice.

It was true, you knew Bucky wasn’t actually sleeping with anyone because he wasn’t that type of man. But when he brings different girls to the compound, you knew it was only a matter of time before he took a dip in their manhole.

I’d be happy with him. God, if only you knew Steve.

“Now please take this glass of wine to Jess and apologise. It’s not a request.”

“Fine.” You mumbled, taking the glass from his hand and reluctantly going over to them. Bucky watched you with careful eyes and as you neared Jess, you pretended to trip over your feet, sending the full glass of wine down her white dress. 

“Oops.” You shrugged with a grin as she desperately patted down her dress. 

“Oh my GOD! BUCKY! Your friend is a fucking lunatic!” She screamed and Bucky growled and you took it as your cue to leave the room. Only to have a large metal hand wrap around your wrist and march you both out of the room.

You were stumbling hopelessly behind Bucky towards the elevator, his fast walk pace was impossible for you to keep up with. 

“Buck! Slow down!” You hissed as his grip tightened. Bucky repeatedly pressed the elevator button and more-or-less threw you inside once the doors eventually opened, you backed away from him when he stood in front of the buttons, again repeatedly punching his floor number.

“FRIDAY, shut the fucking doors!” Bucky snarled, clenching his hands into fists and breathing heavily. 

You stood there on the other side of the elevator nursing your bruising and sore wrist as Bucky stared straight ahead with his arms folded over his large chest. He almost looked identical to a dragon, minus the smoke flailing out from his nostrils and the tips of his ear turning a bright red. You knew you were gonna be in for it just by the thunderous look on his face. 

The elevator ride to his floor was intense, to say the least. The quiet hum of the elevator, the heavy breathing and the tension surrounding you was so thick it was scary, almost like a severe gas leak, you’d just need one little naked flame to make an explosion. You almost couldn’t stand it. 

You turned to face Bucky and sighed. “Buck, I’m really sor-” you flinched when his large hand suddenly moved towards the big red STOP letters above the numbers and he punched it. The elevator came to a halt and now you didn’t know what to expect. 

Bucky faced you, then stalked slowly towards you, prompting you to take a step back until your back was flushed against the wall. 

“Why are you sorry, Y/N? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much that you took it upon yourself to ruin any chance of happiness?” Bucky seethed, his steps not faltering. “I want to know, what did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I upset you? WHAT DID I DO?!” He growled and your eyes screwed shut, your body tensing from his tone. His flesh fingers gently held your chin. “Look at me, Y/N.” Your eyes opened, his anger replaced by confusion. “Please tell me what I did.”

You felt guilty and you knew Bucky could see the guilt whirling around in your irises. “Nothing,” you whispered under your breath with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you, Y/N. Didn’t you once have a dream about me? About being my wife and having my beautiful children?” The corners of his lips lifted into a sly smirk. Your eyes widened to the size of planets. 

“How did you KNOW about that?!” You cringed. 

“I may or may not have stumbled across your little journal. Mrs Barnes.” He chuckled, but not in a tormenting way. Bucky wasn’t teasing you, he was just actually quite flattered. “Why did you keep your feelings from me for so long huh? We could have been married and having our babies right about now.” He smirked. “Tell me doll, did you think about us making those babies, hmm?”

And really, you wished for Hell at this point to just open up and take you. This was a nightmare, the one person who definitely wasn’t supposed to read that journal, did. And you had an intuition that Tony may have had something to do with it. 

Bucky dipped his head downwards. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath fanning against your lips. 

“I’m so embarrassed right now.” You mumbled

“I’m actually really flattered but I wished you would have told me sooner because I have been going out of my mind over my feelings for you.” His usual ocean blue eyes are a darker shade. You can feel his heartbeat under the palm of your hand. “Do you still want me?” He asked and your eyes are drawn to his plump pink lips. With no words spoken, your hands wrapped around his neck and crashed his lips to yours in a heated passion. Bucky’s hands slithered down to your waist and behind your thighs, giving them a gentle but firm pinch silently asking you to jump. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your tongues and teeth clashed against one another. 

“FRIDAY, my room!” Bucky panted against your lips. His hard member feeling so constricted in his pants.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY responded and the elevator started moving once again.

Once the doors to Bucky’s floor opened. He carried you down the hall, your lips attacking his neck on the way. Bucky kicked the door open with his heavy combat boot and stumbled inside, kicking it shut harder than necessary. Bucky stumbled over to the bed and threw you down. You giggled when you bounced and saw the hungry look in his eyes. 

“FRIDAY, lock my door and alert the team that Y/N and I are busy for a couple of days.” He ordered and the AI beeped in acknowledgement. 

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.” The AI responded. Leaving you and Bucky in total silence once again. 

“Now then.” Bucky taunted, removing his Henley and kicking his boots off. “I believe a certain someone sabotaged not one, not two but three of my dates.” He tutted with a shake of his head. 

You brought a finger up to your lips and pleaded with doe eyes. Knowing full well it wasn’t going to help you in this situation. 

“Three dates. Three possible relationships ruined. I think you need three different kinds of punishment, doll.” He smirked, pulling a few items out from his bedside table drawers. Your eyes widened when you realised they were, in fact, sex toys. And you didn’t entertain the idea of those being used on you when they could have been used for the other women in this very room. 

“Buck- no I don-”

Just as though Bucky can read you like a book, he interrupts. “They’re brand new, doll. See? Still in the packaging. I haven’t even slept with anyone.” He reassured. “But you already knew that. So tell me, do you want this Y/N? Do you want me?” He asks for a second time. 

“I do.” You answer with a nod. 

“Ah, preparing for our big day huh?” He chuckled, tearing the plastic off with a simple flick of his wrist, inserting the batteries to the rabbit. Bucky presses the buttons to make sure it’s working and a wide Cheshire cat grin grows. “Perfect.” He throws it down on the bed and his fingers work on the button of your jeans and zipper and swiftly pulling the tight material along with your soaked underwear down your legs and throwing them somewhere across the room. 

Bucky lubes the shaft of the vibrator with a generous amount so you don’t feel any pulling. He grins as he gently pushed the plastic toy inside. The rabbit ears snugged against your clit as Bucky works through the first vibration. He grins, laying down on his stomach with his knee slightly bent, working through the different vibration sensations, sending you into a whole new dimension of pleasure. And if that wasn’t enough, he pressed the rotary button so the shaft wiggled around inside of you, occasionally touching your G-spot.  

Bucky set the vibration on the highest setting and your toes curled into his comforter as you neared your orgasm. And you were almost there when he suddenly shut the rabbit off completely. 

“Bucky!” You whined, which earned you an eye roll as he disregarded the toy. His breath hitched when your juices ran freely from your entrance. Bucky pulled you up to your feet and he sat himself down on the edge of the bed. He motioned to his lap and you went to straddle him but he shook his head. 

“Lay across my lap.” He ordered and you complied. “Second punishment, I hope you’re ready, Y/N. You’re in for a long few days.”

Taglist: @jobean12-blog​ @criminal-cookies​ @nano--raptor​ @marvelgirl7​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @the-wayward-robot​ @littleredstarfish​ @becs-bunker​ @evanstanwrites​

[emilia-lilith-doyle]

Denki Kaminari x Reader: Grinding (NSFW)

(Idk why but every time I try to write a smut, the only person that pops up in my head is Denkichu~… Btw I’m currently working on a Todoroki x reader)

(update: I did an oopsie and deleted half of this oneshot.. Kill me please. I do not remember what I wrote till now…)

Today was a boring day at U.A.

Aizawa was in his sleeping bag giving zero fucks about class, the wind and rain were lashing against the windows creating a calm atmosphere and half of the class was asleep. Should you sleep too? Nothing is happening anyway.

You looked over to the bakusquad, Kiri and Bakugo were listening to music while resting their heads on the table. Sero and Mina were looking at Memes together occasionally snickering at them. And Denki, well he was reading something on his phone. You turned your chair around and moved it closer to Denki’s table. (Just imagine you are sitting at Ojiro’s table, sorry buddy but ya gotta move!”

Denki stared at his phone so intensely, only using his thumb to swipe down.

“Hey, Denki what are you reading?” you asked him quietly.

“Just some smut!” He said nonchalantly, as soon as he realized that he said that loudly he started blushing at his girlfriend. Never has he mentioned anything sexual towards his girlfriend, she looked too innocent for that and he would feel guilty ruining her innocence.

“Mood!” She giggled. Wait what? Denki’s innocent girlfriend reading smut? Not happening, he must have misheard. His eyes were wide as he stared at you.

“Can I read with you?” She asked. With her words Denki wanted to jump up in joy but also crawl into the next hole.

“S-sure!” he was totally flustered. You got up from your chair and sat down on his lap. He turned the screen a bit so that both of you were able to read.

‘As he thrusted in I moved my hips in a circular motion to meet his rhythm. The loud and husky moans erupting from his throat where getting more and more and as I scratched my nails down his back he screamed my name cumming.’

Oh…Oooohh…o-h. Normally smuts weren’t that arousing to you but it felt so naughty, sitting in class on your boyfriends lap and reading some dirty oneshots.

Feeling bold you began rolling your hips lightly.

“Y-y/n don’t…ngh!” Denki grunted.

“What did you say? I couldn’t understand you babe!” You teased.

“Don’t do that here!” He whisper yelled. His eyes searched the room for any witness, but there was none.

“Oh come on Denki, it’s fun. And by your reaction I can feel that you want it too!” You whispered as you felt his dick getting hard under your thighs.

“I-I mean yes, wait no, b-but..we can’t do it in here!” He said embarrassed.

“Don’t worry Denki-chu~ nobody will notice that we are gone!” You said rolling your hips again causing Denki to squeak.

You got up and walked to the door, Denki was contemplating the idea for a second, but he couldn’t resist the urge to take you right now. It just sounded so wrong but also so right to him.

As he pulled the classroom door shut, he pushed you against the next wall. His fingers trailing between your thighs rubbing the damped material covering your womanhood.

“Wow.. somebody got quite excited, won’t you agree with me kitten?” He purred into your ear. (Natsume whyyyyyyyy?)

He was looking at you with those golden lust-filled eyes, making you grind right against his fingers. You wanted him, you wanted him badly, in fact you were so needy for his attention that you could have come only by his slight rubbing.

He slowly put his hand up you hips moving your panties down and taking them off of you. You whimpered and tried grabbing them but he held them out of reach for you.

“Do you want them back?” He chuckled darkly. “I’d rather have you without them, but let’s go before anyone finds out that we’re out here doing something we’re not supposed to do!” Denki put your panties in his pocket and dragged you along out of school towards the dorms. His grip on your wrist was strong, but it didn’t hurt that much, it just showed how much he needed you right now.

You walked through the dorms passing his room and going straight to yours. He walked into your room with you trailing shortly behind and pushed you against the bed. While you were sitting there Denki looked through your drawers until he found a small pink object. A Vibrator.

You didn’t buy it yourself but Mina thought it would be a ‘funny’ birthday present for your 18th birthday.

You looked at him with big eyes. First things first you never used that thing, not once.

“Undress! And sit back in the bed.” Denki demanded. It took you a few seconds but you started to undress yourself fully. You sat back down facing your blonde boyfriend as he came closer. He pushed your thighs apart and slowly started to push the vibrator inside. You felt a bit awkward but you didn’t mind it all too much.

Denki grabbed a pillow from you bed and threw it to you. “Now put that pillow between your legs!” You did what he wanted and sat back down on the pillow.

“I’m going to turn it on and I want you to cum kitten! Would you do that for me?” Denki was unbuckling his pants and sitting down at your desk chair. With the small remote in his hands he clicked a button and the vibrator turned on. He set it on a low vibration level but with every gasp and moan that erupted from your throat he began to set the level higher. Till at some point it was on the highest level and you were screaming Denki’s name making you cum the first time.

In the mean time Denki sat on your chair masturbating to your lovely sounds. His eyes were only focused on you while he was beating his meat in a rather slow motion. Your flushed face, drool dripping down your chin, your legs pressed together searching for any kind of friction, he loved all of it. He also was releasing small grunts and moans.

Your lovers eyes on you moaning your name brought you over the edge a second time. Your legs felt numb by now and your breath was shaky.

“Ahh..-nghh..Denki~” You were separate, you wanted to touch him, badly. When it came to relationships you were a really cuddly and touchy person, you normally seeked for physical attention. And in sex it was the same, you needed to touch him. So you tried to get up but your legs were so shaky that you tumbled back down again, luckily right in front of Denki’s feet.

“What are you doing baby?” He asked but you didn’t answer him, you just took his dick and began rubbing it faster.

“Owww-nhhh-ahhh, you’re doing so good baby!” He praised you, a sudden courage overcame you and you took his length into you mouth sensually licking over his tip. His breath hitches and his moans became louder as you gave you’re lovely companion a blow job.

His hand were gripping on the armrests, his knuckles were turning white. He was on the edge of cumming but he wanted to wait till you came again.

Your moans were swallowed by the wet noises of you sucking on his dick. The vibration of your hums and moans were sending him more over the edge.

“Let’s come together, babe!” He said gripping your hair and pushing his dick further into your mouth. His actions were making you dizzy, and eventually you both came.

You both panted and gasped, your legs giving out under you making you sit on the floor completely. Denki turned off the vibrator and took it out of you.

“You were wonderful darling!” He said kissing the top of your head. He helped you get up and laid you down in bed.

“You read a lot of smuts don’t you?” You teased your boyfriend.

“Only when I can imagine it doing with you!” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Maybe we should try more things that are done in there!” You suggested.

“Like bdsm?”

“Or hot and cold play, maybe some kinks or threesomes?” You giggled.

“Wow you are into threesomes?” Denki looked into your eyes.

“I mean have you ever seen Bakugo or Kiri?” You laughed.

“Okay maybe we should not have a threesome with one of them… I can’t lose you to them now, can I?” He kissed you on the lips, the kiss was more gentle and sincere then any of the kisses he gave you before.

“I guess not!” You giggle cuddling into him and enjoying the calm atmosphere.

[killjoy-loveit]

A Little Bit Like Clover

Request: Oh yay! May I please request a Rowoon/Seokwoo Barista!AU? One shot or scenario, Romance/Fluff, female reader, any POV where he falls for a a florist who works in a flower shop right across from his coffee shop. I don't really have a specific plot in mind other than that 😅 thank you! 💕

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. To the anon who requested this, I’m so sorry it took me so long :( I hope that the story lives up to your expectations!! Side note: I wrote this in a style similar to that of one I tried previously for another story, I personally like this style a bit so lmk what y’all think of it :)

Also this was proof-read by the absolutely wonderful 💚💚 @uwunnie​ 💚💚, whom I wish to thank for taking time out of her day to check over it for me!!

Word Count: 3,914

Genre: Fluff, overall v cute imo

May 3rd, 20XX

     The nice old man, Mr. Jones, that owned the bookstore across the street decided to sell. He would always come in on Tuesday of every week to buy flowers for his wife’s grave- Tuesday’s had been their date nights he’d confided in you one day. Sometimes Mr. Jones would choose her favorite flowers, other times he’d tell you to make a pretty bouquet. You were sad to see him leave, but you knew it was inevitable. It was difficult for him to run the store on his own, especially with him going on in years. Now you just wondered who would become your new neighbor. Would they be nice? Would they change from a bookstore? The possibilities were numerous.

June 1st, 20XX

     After almost a month the bookstore was successfully purchased. Still, you were unsure of who owned the space. You’d yet to see one individual frequenting the establishment, though it would be hard to pick them out anyways. There was always a gaggle of people moving about the old storefront nowadays, pulling out all of the old furniture and books. Clearly it wasn’t going to be a bookstore anymore. That small discovery made you a bit sad. You would miss going over there on your days off and finding new books to delve into.

July 15th, 20XX

     Finally you met the new owner of the store across the street. He’d come in right as you were finishing up a bright bouquet that would be one of the samples for a party planner you worked with. You’d glanced up as the bell had rung, the typical customer service smile coming to your face. As he stepped up to the counter, you wiped your hands on the apron tied about your waist. 

     “Hi, welcome to Oopsy Daisy. How can I help you?” Your voice automatically switching into the chipper, vibrant tone you used to interact with customers. It must’ve shocked him, you thought, as you noticed his eyes widen a tad.

     Nevertheless he smiled politely at you and extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Rowoon, I bought the store across the street from you.”

     Surprised, you reached out your hand to shake his, mouth parted slightly. “Oh, wow. I was wondering who’d bought it- now I know.” You laughed lightly, then proceeded to introduce yourself.

     “Well, I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. I’m not sure if you know, I changed the layout into that of a coffee shop, so if you ever decide to come check it out the first cup of coffee’s on the house!” 

     “I’ll make sure to stop by soon!”

July 16th, 20XX

     You were up earlier than usual as orders had piled up, what with it being the midst of wedding season. Oopsy Daisy wouldn’t open to the general public for a few hours still, which would leave you plenty of time to make decent headway on the orders. But you would make no progress without having a cup of coffee first. And what better time to try out the new coffee place across the street than right now? 

     Despite the early hour, right about the time typical business people would be floundering for their first cup of coffee, the shop seemed relatively empty. Two or three customers were placed throughout the shop, two at separate tables sipping on their coffee and looking at laptops, the other sitting in a comfortable chair with a book in hand and a coffee set on a table beside them. The store didn’t seem to change too much, despite the switch to becoming a coffee shop. Bookshelves lined the small brick wall that separated the coffee counter from the seating area. Small tables and comfortable chairs were scattered throughout the area, giving it a cozy feel.

     Walking up to the counter, you saw Rowoon standing behind it- pretty relaxed, a book in his hand. A mix of to-go cups and porcelain mugs caught your eye as you got closer, each one had the store name and logo printed on. The logo being a heart made of coffee beans around the shop’s name, which is succinctly called ‘Kinda In Love With Brew’. That made you smile.

     “Your store’s name is cute.” You said after reaching the counter, pulling his focus away from the book in his hands.

     “Oh, hey! I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again.” Rowoon grinned. “And thanks, I came up with it myself.”

     “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Shifting on your feet, you fiddle with the zipper on your bag.

     He just laughs, shaking his head. “A lot of people say that. Do I not seem like I could come up with a cute romantic name for my store?”

     “No, it just seemed like a mild romantic sort of name and I guess I didn’t see you as that type. Clearly I was wrong and shouldn’t set out to find a job in profiling.” You joke lightly.

     Rowoon sets his book down, leaning his forearms against the counter. “Now that we’ve adequately discussed my shop’s name, should we talk about yours? Or save that for another time?”

     “Another time perhaps, I’m on a bit of a time crunch.” 

     With that said, you quickly order a drink of Rowoon’s recommendation. And once the drink is in hand, you make your way back across the street. 

October 28th, 20XX

     It’s been a couple of months since Rowoon opened ‘Kinda In Love With Brew’, and you’d met on many occasions. It had become a habit to pop across the street for a coffee when you knew you would be slammed with orders. And he’d taken to coming over and chatting whenever business was slow, leaving his store under the watch of one of his employees. Normally people got on your nerves, which is why you ran your store all by your lonesome- not one employee to help you out. But somehow Rowoon didn’t. You weren’t sure if he had some charm to him that made it harder to be annoyed by him, or if your personalities just meshed well together.

     Either way it didn’t matter, you were well into becoming friends. Which is why it almost didn’t surprise you when he knocked on the door to your shop well past closing. After letting him in, you’d questioned his arrival.

     “Well,” He replied, taking a deep breath. “I saw the light in your store still on and I wondered why you were still working. It’s almost one in the morning.”

     Glancing over at the clock on the wall to confirm his words, your jaw dropped slightly. “I didn’t even realize… I just got carried away, I guess.”

     Rowoon raised an eyebrow at you. “Carried away or frantically trying to finish an order before the pickup time?”

     You smiled sheepishly at him. “Maybe it was more frantic than being carried away.”

     “I just don’t understand why you refuse to hire some help around here.” He sighs, looking intently at you. “You’re practically running on fumes at this point. If you keep this up then you’ll have to start turning away customers.”

     “I get annoyed by people easily, especially if I have to explain things multiple times. It just wouldn’t work if I tried to hire someone to help me. The cons would outweigh the benefits.” You mutter, picking at your apron awkwardly.

     “I don’t think they would if you found the right person.” Rowoon chided. “But right now what you need is sleep. Go home, get a good rest and finish the order later.”

     You shook your head quickly. “I can’t. They’re picking up the bouquets at nine and I haven’t even finished half of them yet.”

     “Let me help you then.”

     At first you’d been hesitant to let him assist in the bouquet making, but he’d actually done a good job. It turns out that he catches on rather quickly, so after observing you make two arrangements he was able to start making them on his own. It was nice having someone next to you, working in harmony, conversation flowing naturally. This wasn’t something you’d experienced before, and you found that you enjoyed it. Not to mention you actually finished a lot faster than you would have on your own. Hours faster. Once all of the arrangements were finished though, before Rowoon could leave, you promised to repay the favor or at the very least treat him to a meal when he was free. 

November 14th, 20XX

     It was about five o’clock in the evening when Rowoon rushed into your store, completely frazzled and unkempt. Luckily there was no one inside your shop at the moment, though this was because you were technically closed to the public. The asters you were holding falling to the counter in shock. Never had you seen him appear in such a state, he was typically calm albeit a little goofy. Yet here he was, standing before you, out of breath, with panic written all over his features. 

     “What’s wrong?” You moved out from behind the counter to where he stood at the entrance, hand smoothing down his back in an attempt to calm him down.

     Rowoon gulped in a deep breath. “There’s- there’s a lady in the store, and we already called the ambulance, but I don’t know what to do! How am I supposed to help her? I can’t-.”

     You cut him off, worry seeping into your veins and activating your brain. “What happened for you to call the ambulance? Was she injured? Did she slip and fall? Is she bleeding?”

     At each of your questions after the first he shook his head quickly. “She went into labor!”

     Eyes wide, you stared at him, mouth agape. “And you just left her there? What’s wrong with you?” You smacked his shoulder lightly before rushing out of your store to his.

     Sure enough, once you got inside you saw an obviously pregnant woman, sitting on a chair breathing heavily. A man was standing beside her, appearing very panicked, holding a phone talking to a person you believed to be an emergency operator. Only a few other people, all coincidentally men, were in the store, but each one of them appeared nervous and anxious on behalf of the lady who had just gone into labor. All of this energy couldn’t be good for her. The lady in question, looked scared, and all of the people around her weren’t calm either- which was helping nothing.

     Hearing the door close behind you, you determined that Rowoon had followed you. “Go get wet a cloth with cool water, wring it out and bring it to me.” You stated without looking at him, but he quickly followed your orders and moved past you.

     Without hesitation you raised your voice to address the people in the coffee shop. “Everyone who is not with the woman in labor, please leave! I understand that you came here for a coffee fix, but right now might not be the best time.” 

     As the other customers departed, you were left alone in the store with three other people: Rowoon, the lady in labor, and the guy standing next to her. As you approached, her gaze was flickered between you and the guy next to her.

     “Hey,” Voice calm, you pulled a chair up beside her and sat down. “What’s your name?”

     “V-Vee.” She hissed out, teeth gritting in pain.

     You worked on keeping your voice as calm and soothing as possible as you conversed with her, trying to help ease some of the nerves. Rowoon had appeared with the cloth in the midst of your conversation, which you’d handed to the guy standing next to her, telling him to help keep her cool. Overhearing the emergency operator state that the ambulance was still a little far out, Vee became panicked. She was blubbering about how she didn’t want to have her baby in a coffee shop, she wanted to have it in the hospital after getting an epidural, how she wasn’t ready yet. 

     “Breathe,” You reminded her, while you tried to come up with some words that might help. “The ambulance is coming, and soon enough you’ll be able to get to the hospital.” You locked eyes with her. “You can do this. Just think, in a matter of hours you’ll be holding your little one. Isn’t that amazing?”

     She nodded slowly, muttering under her breath. “I can do this.”

     It wasn’t long after this that the ambulance arrived, sweeping her and the man with her away. Which just left you and Rowoon in the store. Of the two, you were clearly the one with the level-head currently, as it appeared that he was mentally checked out at the moment. After guiding him to a seat and getting him a glass of water, you flipped the sign on his door to say ‘closed’. Then you began cleaning up spilled drinks, most likely occurring from witnessing a woman go into labor. Cleaning the spilled drinks didn’t take too long, thus you continue cleaning the rest of the store as you’d seen Rowoon do many a time through the wide windows of his cafe.

     Even after you finished cleaning, Rowoon still seemed to be in a state of shock at what had just happened. So, you did the only thing you could think of- you took his store keys from him, shut off all the lights, dragged him outside and locked up. 

     “Come on,” You murmured, hand wrapped around his wrist. “I’m going to make you a cup of chamomile tea.”

     Making your way across the street, you led him into your store, which you locked after entering, and up the stairs in the back to your apartment. Minutes later Rowoon was sitting on your couch, a steaming mug of tea in his hands. You were starting to get a little worried, as he’d yet to say a single word. 

     Sitting down beside him, you looked at him with concern. “Are you okay?”

     He turned to look at you, the glaze that had previously taken over his eyes dissipating. “I think so,” Rowoon breathed out softly, taking a sip of tea. “I wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen in my store.” 

     Laughing quietly, you patted his arm. “I don’t think most people expect a woman to go into labor in their place of work, unless you’re at a hospital that is.”

     Cracking a joke, it seems, was the right move. Rowoon was able to relax a bit more as your conversation went on. Stories were exchanged of the wildest things to happen in your stores, though you were pretty sure he won, what with what happened tonight. He expressed how amazed he was at your ability to keep calm in such a situation, praising how you’d even helped to calm the soon-to-be mother. That night, Rowoon stayed over- the two of you falling asleep on the couch with a worn-out blanket covering your legs, an old rerun playing in the background, his mug of tea sitting empty on the coffee table.

December 22nd, 20XX

     Snow gently floated to the ground, setting the perfect atmosphere for the holidays. Normally it didn’t snow in this area until January, so it was exciting to see it appear before the new year. However, the snow did nothing to calm your nerves as you built the courage to go to the holiday party currently taking place in Rowoon’s cafe. Through the window you could see the crowd of people smiling and laughing, even managing to hear snippets of the music playing inside each time a new person went inside. 

     Wringing your hands, you finally resolved to pull yourself together and walk across the street. It couldn’t be that hard to step into a building you’d been in numerous times before, could it? Rowoon had invited you, said he was looking forward to seeing you there- you couldn’t just not go. With a particularly deep breath as your fuel, you stepped out of your store and quickly crossed the street after checking the road was clear. You hadn’t been in front of the door to the cafe for more than a second before it was opened by Rowoon himself, a bright smile on his face as he pulled you inside.

     “I’m so glad you came!” His eyes crinkled at the edges. “Do you want some cider? Or hot chocolate? I also have eggnog, a few different wines and ales, or water, if you prefer.”

     “So many options,” At your words, a dusting of color rose to Rowoon’s cheeks. “But I’ll have to go with the first one, cider.”

     His hand remained wrapped around your wrist as he led you through the party, weaving around multiple groups of people, smiling and greeting them as he went. Rowoon only letting go of you to pour a cup of warm cider, which he handed to you with a grin. Shortly after, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, observing the party-goers together. That is until someone came up, pulling Rowoon away for some reason you couldn’t quite catch. Rowoon had seemed reluctant to go, glancing back at you as he was led somewhere else.

     As you didn’t really know any of the people at this party, you kept your place beside the refreshment table. Time passed by rather slowly as you watched everyone socialize, Rowoon having disappeared somewhere among them. Despite his tall stature you couldn’t manage to pick him out in the crowd. Heaving a sigh, you continued to sip at your drink, wondering how long you should stay. With the amount of people in the cafe, if no one stayed around to help Rowoon clean up, he’d probably be here hours afterward. Since he’d helped you on multiple occasions before, the desire was there to help him in return.

     Although maybe it wasn’t just that you wanted to help him. Rather, maybe you just wanted to be alone with him. Your mind flitted back to the week prior, when Rowoon had invited you to the party. 

     He’d walked into your store, head bent slightly, teeth denting his lower lip, and almost walked right into a display of primrose and snowdrops. If you hadn’t moved fast enough he would have bulldozed right into that display, one that had taken you a bit of time to get just right. You had run right over to him, grabbing his wrist and jerking him away at the last second. Rowoon had looked up then, shocked as he stumbled and had to keep himself from toppling over.

     “I’m sorry,” You’d apologized breathlessly. “I just spent so long on that display and you were about to walk right into it.”

     Rowoon glanced back at where he’d just been, eyes widening a fraction. “No, I’m sorry I should’ve been paying attention. I was too lost in my thoughts.” He offered a sheepish smile.

     Eyebrows raised, you cocked your head to the side. “What were you thinking about so deeply you forgot to pay attention to your surroundings?”

     “Oh, I was thinking…” He paused for a minute, eyes flickering to the ceiling. “Of the holiday party I’m having next week. Would you be able to come?”

     At first you’d been a bit hesitant, mainly because you were aware there’d most likely be a lot of people you didn’t know at the party. But Rowoon had managed to convince you to come. Besides, it was much too difficult to say no when he looked at you with hopeful eyes. 

     Hours passed by- hours you didn’t note because at one point you’d left the safety of the refreshment table to find Rowoon. Instead of finding him, though, you’d managed to find an old book of poetry half-hidden on a bookshelf. This book had kept you entranced as the party continued and as it eventually wound down. 

     “Enjoying yourself?” 

     You glanced up from the book to see Rowoon standing next to you, and the rest of the cafe empty. “Is the party over?” 

     He nodded, a tired smile overtaking his face as he sat next to you. “Yeah. Sorry I left you alone the whole time you were here. I kept trying to come and find you, but I kept getting pulled about by other people. Being a party host is exhausting.” Rowoon finished with a sigh, elbows coming up to rest on the table as he set his head in his hands.

     “It’s fine,” You murmured, setting the book down on the table. “I managed to keep myself occupied.” Silence permeated the air between you for a minute before you stood up. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

     “What? Oh no, you don’t need to help clean up.”

     “But nobody else stayed behind to help. You shouldn’t have to clean this all by yourself, look at the mess!” You gestured at his cafe, which had empty paper cups and plates strewn about and streamers hanging loosely on the walls. 

     He stood up, taking in the state of his cafe, lips pursed. “You’re right, it will be hard to clean on my own.”

     You waggled your eyebrows at him. “Of course I’m right! Now come on, let’s get to cleaning.”

     Before you could walk away to find a dustpan and broom Rowoon’s hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait, I… I need to tell you something first.”

     Turning back to face him, head tilted, eyes focused on him. “What is it?”

     He blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing a few times before he blurted out a sentence so jumbled you couldn’t properly understand him. You had to ask him to repeat himself, which he did, but he was so quiet you couldn’t hear him. 

     Finally, after you couldn’t take the anxiousness anymore, you propped your hand on your hip. “Rowoon, please, will you just say whatever it is? It can’t be that difficult to say.”

     “I’m so happy that I bought this place, and that I was able to meet you because of it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship if you don’t feel the same way as I do, but I need to tell you that I don’t want to be friends with you- I want to be more than that.”

     You watched as he bit his lip, his eyes flitted nervously around the room as he awaited your response. “You want to be more than friends?” He nodded swiftly. “Are you saying you have feelings for me?” He nodded once more. A smile broke out onto your face, one that he hadn’t caught yet because he was avoiding looking at you. “Hmm, well, I guess we can’t be friends anymore.”

     Rowoon’s eyes jerked to you, going wide, mouth parted slightly. “Huh?”

     You stared at him innocently. “Does this automatically mean we’re a couple, or do we need to go on a date first?”

     He sighed, relieved. “You really drew that out.”

     Most people tended to grate your nerves. Most people made you want to whack your head against a door repeatedly. Most people were capable of making you wish for a solitary life. Most people felt like weeds, popping up at the most inconvenient of times. However, Rowoon wasn’t like most people. If he were compared to a weed, he wouldn’t be the kind that covers any and everything like Kudzu, rather he’d be the kind that helps a garden thrive, like Clover. In this way, it’s safe to say that he grew on you unexpectedly.

[mittensmorgul]

Welcome back to the TNT loop! Today’s journey takes us through an owie bit of s5 (wait, is there a not-owie bit of s5? is there really a not-owie bit of any of this whole entire show? I digress...)

5.03 Free to be You and Me (okay, does this now qualify as the most dramatically ironic title, or what?)

I mean, were they ever really free? Was there ever any choice?

Let's look at Sam's "choices" in this episode first. Because his half of the episode is entirely about his lack of choice.

He CHOOSES to stop hunting. He burns up his fake ID's, and yet... moves on with yet another fake ID-- Keith the guy who gets a job tending bar in some random town in Oklahoma. And he's having dreams of Jessica again.

JESS: Running away. Haven't we been down this road before? SAM: No. It's different now. JESS: Really? SAM: Last time I wanted to be normal. This time I know I'm a freak. JESS: Which is all a big ball of semantics. You know that. SAM: No. JESS: Even at Stanford you knew. You knew there was something dark inside of you. Deep down, maybe, but you knew. Maybe that's what got me killed. SAM: No. JESS: I was dead from the moment we said hello. SAM: No. JESS: Don't you get it? You can't run from yourself. Why are you running now? [...] JESS: People die. Baby, the people closest to you die. SAM: Don't worry because I won't make that mistake again. JESS: Same song, different verse. Things are never gonna change with you. Ever.

Cheering, right? And that's just the cold open. Sam struggles to stay out of it, to keep people from getting close to him. And he does his best to stay away from hunting, but unfortunately the hunts will always find him. When he suspects trouble, he calls Bobby, which brings some other hunters to town, and that's when things go completely sideways.

But even before the hunters come back to threaten him, he's already getting pushed by Lindsey the bar owner who hired him. She keeps pressing him to talk about his past, asking questions he's finding harder and harder to avoid answering-- about himself, his past, and what he's running from. But of course he can't really tell her that he's running because he (oopsie) started the apocalypse and let Lucifer free to walk the Earth because of his demon blood addiction, right?

But in a cosmic display of pressure applied to Sam under the guise of "destiny," he's backed into a corner so hard the only way out becomes through... first through the disgruntled hunters (disgrunters?) who learn some things about Sam from the demons that kill their friend on the hunt Sam refused to go on for "personal reasons." They come back and try to force demon blood down his throat, and in fighting back Lindsey sees far too much for Sam to be able to keep up the lies with her. But that's not the end of the manipulations. He can't even escape it when he's sleeping:

SAM: God knows how much I miss you, too. But you're wrong. People can change. There is reason for hope. JESS: No, Sam. There isn't. JESS puts a hand on SAM's shoulder and morphs into NICK from 5.01 Sympathy for the Devil; JESS has been LUCIFER all along. SAM: How can you be so sure? LUCIFER: Because you freed me. SAM turns, sees LUCIFER where he expected JESS, and stands up and backs away. LUCIFER: That's right. You know who I am. SAM: Lucifer. LUCIFER: You are a hard one to find, Sam. Harder than most humans. I don't suppose you'd tell me where you are? SAM: What do you want with me? LUCIFER: Thanks to you, I walk the earth. I want to give you a gift. I want to give you everything. SAM: I don't want anything from you. LUCIFER: I'm so sorry, Sam, I, I really am, but Nick here is just an improvisation. Plan B. He can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting. SAM: What are you talking about? LUCIFER: Why do you think you were in that chapel? You're the one, Sam. You're my vessel. My true vessel. SAM: No. LUCIFER: Yes. SAM: No. That'll never happen. LUCIFER: I'm sorry, but it will. I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it.

What a freaking cosmic kick in the pants, right? But at least now he's got an idea of what the angels and demons wanted all along. And knowledge is power.

But let's look at Dean and Cas, and the situation they find themselves in before we draw any conclusions yet. Cas comes to Dean-- who's back to hunting on his own, respecting Sam's wish to be left out of it-- asking for help in his search for God. We all know what they do-- searching for Raphael's vessel and summoning him for questioning. But Raphael ends up telling them the horrific Heaven Party Line:

RAPHAEL: God? Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel. Dead. [...] But there's no other explanation. He's gone for good. CASTIEL: You're lying. RAPHAEL: Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? Do you think God would have let any of that happen if He were alive? DEAN: Oh yeah? Well then who invented the Chinese basket trick? RAPHAEL: Careful. That's my Father you're talking about, boy. DEAN: Yeah, who would be so proud to know His sons started the frigging apocalypse. RAPHAEL: Who ran off and disappeared. Who left no instructions and a world to run. DEAN: Daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn't happen to work for the post office, did He? RAPHAEL: This is funny to you? You're living in a godless universe. DEAN: And? What, you and the other kids just decided to throw an apocalypse while He was gone? RAPHAEL: We're tired. We just want it to be over. We just want...paradise. DEAN: So, what, God dies and makes you the boss and you decide you can do whatever you want? RAPHAEL: Yes. And whatever we want, we get.

Well, Raphael, that's... well, let's just say that's not gonna happen. I mean, even if y'all did get exactly what you wanted, with Sam and Dean both saying yes and showing up to that final big showdown, you wouldn't get Paradise. We have proof of that now (thanks Apocalypse AU!). From this point forward, armed with this information from the REAL future, we the audience can see through the lies the angels have chosen to believe in. We can see the fatal flaw in their plans.

The angels (and the demons, but really this is a plan powered by Michael and Lucifer's absolute belief in playing their roles in God's ultimate plot) want nothing more than to fulfill their parts. They don't even have the entire script, but they unquestioningly fall in line believing 100% that they're doing the right thing, the thing they were destined to do. They practically fall all over themselves to do it, too. They BELIEVE they're right! They BELIEVE completely that they'll earn their reward! They BELIEVE God will come back and... and then... well, they hadn't actually got those pages in the script yet, so they don't know what God will give them, but without any evidence to the contrary, they're choosing to believe that following the prophecy will bring them "Paradise," whatever they think that means... And it's a powerful lure, even in its ineffability.

The angels have FAITH. Faith so powerful it blinds them to the truth. They BELIEVE in the manipulation they've really just convinced themselves of at this point. Believe it in so hard they're willing to sacrifice themselves in the name of the Big Cosmic Story. And what a joke, right? Because Chuck never even wrote an ending... there was no Paradise at the end of that journey, just more war, just the bleak realization that God was never on their side, no matter what they did...

Except... maybe... if they decide to pull up their big boy pants and stand up in the face of all that destiny and try to find another way. But that's the sort of thinking that comes from an exercise of Free Will, and the angels, for all their power and righteousness, can't even begin to understand... well, except for one...

[thalassomania]

so here’s my super-duper belated @danganronpasecretsanta​ gift for @ofdesperationis​. it’s not finished--i’ve been a complete mess for a while now and i’m becoming aware that i may never be able to get this done.

but i wanted to submit what i have because i wrote approx. 14 pages and 8600 words. there was supposed to be more here and maybe there will be at some point but here’s everything i had.

trigger warnings include a lot of unreality, violence, and way too much despair. also spoilers for dr1, sdr2, dr3, and probably ndrv3 but i can’t remember at this point. i’m sorry, agh... i hope this is suitable at best. i can send other plot details too if need be.

main characters: junko enoshima, mukuro ikusaba, izuru kamukura

Junko Enoshima was a queen.

“Princess” was far too childish of a name for her, “empress” was nice but altogether too serious, and “Her Glorious Majesty of Despair” was apparently a mouthful. Being called a queen was precisely what she wanted, and she lived for it.

Any queen of her stature deserved a palace, and Junko was proud of her own. She placed a gloved hand over her forehead like a makeshift visor as she observed the castle's towers, stretching upwards into the sky. Her home was perfect, just as she was; unfortunately, though, her garden was still in need of work.

With a sigh gently carried by the breeze, Junko returned to her task. She turned toward her rose bushes and gingerly trimmed some wayward stems, wielding an oversized pair of rose-gold scissors and humming to herself. She paused occasionally to pluck a rose and place it in her cascade of pinkish-blonde hair, slowly becoming the closest possible approximation to a human bouquet.

As she reached out to pick another flower, her routine was interrupted with a sharp jab into her finger. “Ah!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand back. A thorn had made a minute hole in her pristine white glove, and a droplet of blood had begun to stain the area.

It was so charming that Junko couldn't help herself—she let out a stream of giggles as she held her pricked finger in front of her face. There was something uniquely endearing about it, especially when she considered what would happen if her blood didn't clot. Each time she raised her hand more ichor would fall from it, until anemia got the best of her and she collapsed, as if sleeping, into the garden that had caused her untimely demise.

The despair of the idea—killed by the flowers she loved so dearly—was intoxicating, as was the smell of the roses in her hair. She twirled, her magnificent skirt almost catching on the rose bushes that surrounded her. As her shoes pressed into the grass, she thought of the roots below stretching downward further and further, just as her tendrils of despair had ensnared those who dared stand in her way....

“Shh. Over here!”

Speak of the devil. Junko came to a quick stop and lifted her head in the direction of the noise. The rustling of the leaves couldn't have been more obvious. With her scissors piercing the earth like a sword, she lifted her skirt and began a silent patrol through the garden. There was at least one intruder in her midst—likely two, one speaking to the other—and she wasn't about to let such things slide. She couldn't deny loving the feeling of her personal spaces being soiled, but she loved spreading that despair to others even more.

There were two of them, as it turned out. Two small girls, too young to have wandered off on their own unless parents weren't an issue; good parenting was in short supply, Junko supposed. The taller of the two had countless clovers woven into her twin braids, so long that they reached her ankles and occasionally tangled with various twigs and other such trappings. The shorter ducked under an obscenely large hat, perhaps to shield her pale skin from the glow of the sun. They were smiling and giggling to each other as they wandered through the garden, and Junko smiled to force down an imminent surge of nausea.

“Hey. Hey,” the taller said, grasping the tiny hands of her companion. “This is nice, right? We can still find places to play.”

The other blinked dully, seemingly half-awake. “Uh...uh-huh.”

“There are still some good places.” The taller grinned. “Let's stay hopeful, alright?”

A slow nod. “'Kay.”

Junko could only watch their banter for so long before uncomfortable memories surged in her chest and she found it impossible to restrain herself. Sweeping her hair back behind her shoulders, she rose to her full height and looked down upon her unwanted visitors. “Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing here?”

The taller girl jumped in surprise, immediately looking up to face Junko. Her smaller companion followed suit. “S-So sorry, Miss! We...we were just—”

“Intruding where you don't belong is what you were doing,” Junko corrected, folding her arms across her chest. “You have no idea just how much time I spend in this garden each and every day! I'll have to make you pay for entering my private quarters....”

“Please don't, Miss!” The taller girl's hands curled into fists. “We didn't do anything wrong! We were just looking for a new place to play, ma'am...I mean, Miss...I mean—!”

“Hush, child.” Junko stepped closer, light as a spider's web on the wind, and cupped the girl's chin in her hand. Blood smeared across her skin as Junko's gaze darkened, possessed with an ability far beyond anyone's understanding. “Feel as I feel.”

The briefest of locked gazes was enough to change something in the little girl—the light in her stare faded as her shoulders relaxed, her face devoid of expression.

The other girl fidgeted, lifting the brim of her hat to get a better look at her friend. “Nnah...Tenko, what's wrong?”

A sharp turn caused Junko's fierce eyes to meet hers. What little strength rested in her face melted almost instantly, replaced with an uncanny flatness. “...Ah....”

“That's better, isn't it?” Junko chirped, rising to her feet once more. “Maybe you'll think twice next time you try sticking your noses where they don't belong.”

“...Himiko...” the one called Tenko mumbled, her voice soft, “...what are we doing here?”

“...playin'?” Himiko replied, as if she had forgotten the reason she had gone outside at all.

“This is...no fun.” Tenko reached out to take Himiko's hand, but seized her wrist instead—the motion was sudden and painful for both parties, and she immediately set her free. “Let's go.”

Himiko nodded silently, her hat bobbing as she did, and the two children stumbled back into the woods. Junko felt the heaviness settling over their hearts and sighed happily; after all, girls their age were a breeze to turn. She took a deep gulp of the despair permeating the garden air, letting it fill her lungs and settle inside her like a newfound friend.

“Junko?” A voice from somewhere inside, calling her name. “Junko? Where are you?”

Excitedly, Junko let her head tilt upward—she'd know that voice from anywhere. “Coming!” she trilled, spinning around to fetch her scissors.

As she danced out of her garden and into the castle, a few clouds of greenish mist settled around the woods. Beyond them, all anyone could see was the dilapidated remains of what had once been grand buildings, the sorry chunks of asphalt that had once been streets, and most importantly, an entirely decimated campus that had once been known as Hope's Peak Academy.

♡

The clink of a porcelain teacup against its saucer brought Junko back to awareness. Time ceased flowing in her personal chambers—she had no idea how long she'd tuned out her sister's incessant rambling. Regardless, she cocked her head and tried to pick up at least a few words so she wouldn't get chewed out.

“...and environmental conditions are steadily deteriorating, with at least two surviving species of flowers finally giving in over the past week. Though their loss is unconfirmed, they will be assumed extinct until they are rediscovered somewhere in town.”

“Mm.” Junko sipped her tea, which had gone unpleasantly lukewarm. Despair flooded her thoughts. “How sad.”

“Very.” Mukuro Ikusaba bowed lightly, her hands linked. “Is there anything you'd like me to say to the general public on your behalf?”

“Nah,” Junko replied, casually placing her saucer on the miniature table before her. “Honestly, I couldn't care less.”

Mukuro's cheeks turned a blistering red. “S-Sister...please, listen to me. I've been handling your affairs for months now—the least you could do is respect the effort I'm going through.”

“Respect?” Junko giggled into her palms. “What made you ever think I respected you, or even cared?” With a delighted cackle, she stuck out a leg at just the right angle to kick a teacup off the table.

“Ah, hold on,” Mukuro said, darting forward to pick up the discarded pottery as it landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. “Let me—”

“Oopsie!” Junko sprang to her feet and pressed her shoe onto the teacup. It shattered under the sudden weight, splintered shards littering the area around her ruby-red heels. “Seems as if I took a wrong step...upupu! Still feel like cleaning up after me?”

Mukuro lowered her head, her dark eyes glinting with recognition as she familiarized herself with Junko's latest method of pushing her. “With pleasure, dear sister,” she said as she cupped the pieces in her hands, the off-white color contrasting with the black leather of her gloves.

“That's more like it, mm?” Junko leaned back in her chair, coated in enough overly ornate decorations and fabrics to be called a throne, and grinned. “Finally, a task befitting of someone as lowly as you....”

For a brief moment, Junko could taste her sister's despair on her tongue. In the next moment, Mukuro charged at her and threw the teacup's remains straight into her face like a grenade. “Aieee!” she shrieked, flailing ineffectively. “You got me!”

Mukuro instinctively backed away from the thrashing mass of lace, velvet, and porcelain fragments. “It seems as if I have. Feeling the despair yet?”

“Only in the way you know best,” Junko replied as her body relaxed. “Sadly, you're still a bit too predictable...I daresay I'm feeling a whole new form of despair just watching you struggle.”

Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “Tsk. Fine.”

“I'm growing bored....” Junko stood up, brushing the last of the teacup from her skirt. “I think it's playtime!” With a gleeful twirl, she picked up a large plush rabbit from the foot of her throne and wrapped her arms around it. “Isn't that right, little one?”

“Playtime...?” Mukuro paused, uncertain, before the reality of the situation came to her. “Oh, right. Enjoy yourself, then. I'll be cleaning the kitchen in the meantime.”

“Just because you tell me to do it doesn't mean I will! Hm...maybe you should be the Super High School Level Maid,” Junko called as she left the room, stroking her plush's floppy ears. “All you need is a short dress and some revealing panty-shots.”

Mukuro had an indignant reply prepared, but bit her tongue to stop from embarrassing herself further; after all, Junko had already slammed the tearoom door behind her.

♡

The Despair Castle—a tentative name, but a fitting one at the very least—had more than its fair share of rooms, and Junko had reason to love each and every one. Her bedroom always smelled of incense and allowed her to sleep on the finest of mattresses the world over. Her bathroom gave her a place to bathe in water saturated with rose petals, and she couldn't stop herself from chuckling at her warped reflection in the marble tiling. Even her dining room, which didn't need to be anything more than drab as drab could be, was decorated with flags in garish colors, paintings several feet tall, and custom dinnerware emblazoned with bear-shaped symbols.

Junko's playroom was by far her favorite, though, since it was the one room she didn't have to share with anyone; more accurately, the only room no one else was allowed to enter without her explicit permission. Even Mukuro grew boring after a while, and her toys were always waiting for her when she needed a change of pace. Sitting in the center of the circular room and surrounded by massive pillows and plush dolls, Junko hummed a surreal little tune and ran a brush through her seemingly endless locks of hair.

“Hm...oh, I'm sorry! Do you want a turn?” Junko asked the doll sitting in her lap. She used her free hand to tilt its resin head up and down in a gesture reminiscent of a nod and, with a cheerful smile, began to brush its hair instead of her own. The brush lightly tugged at the doll's pink hair, which ended in graceful little curls at its shoulders—the treatment wasn't doing it any good, but Junko didn't seem to mind. She found a strange sense of comfort in the rhythm of the brush and the way the curls sprang back into place each and every time.

“Feels nice, huh?” Junko asked the doll, moving its ball-joined arms up and down. “Bet you feel pretty silly for having failed me, Ryota.” She turned it around so it faced her, and she found herself earnestly smiling at its lifelike features—the “Ryota” this doll was modeled after had been captured perfectly. She admired the thin lines around the mouth and the faint dark rings underneath the eyes, chuckling even now at the anxiety visible in its features.

“Mhm! Pretty silly,” she repeated to herself as she placed the Ryota doll down beside her. “A panicked mess, too scared to do anything but cry like a baby...I'd be feeling the despair already if I were you. At least you're not alone, right?”

Giggling to herself, she lifted a smaller china doll with a nurse's uniform onto her lap. “That's right!” she said, in a purposely high-pitched voice to imitate this new arrival. “At least you're not alone! We'll never be apart anymore...we can cry together...!”

“You heard the girl!” Junko said to the Ryota doll, placing the nurse next to it. “You and Mikan can be together, okay? It was what you really wanted...or, at least, what she really wanted. I guess you can't really move without some divine intervention, but beggars can't be choosers. Now then...who else wants some special playtime with their queen?”

“Ooh!” Mikan chimed in. “I think Nagito does!” Junko rested on her stomach, now at the doll's “eye” level, and angled her arm so she was pointing to a wall-mounted shelf.

“Oh, really?” Hopping to her feet while trying not to dislodge anything in her pillow fort, Junko grabbed a white-haired porcelain doll and cradled it in her arms. It was well-worn from hours of its owner's brand of play, its hair brittle and paint chipped in places; despite the damages, though, its tired smile remained intact.

“Is she telling the truth?” she asked the doll, stroking its chest through its shirt. “I'd hate for anyone to be lying to me....”

“No liars here!” Junko piped up, in her Mikan voice. “Nagito told me he wants to be with you all day long, and go with you everywhere in the castle! Maybe even...in your bedroom?”

“Is this true, Nagito?” she asked, her pitch lowering at the drop of a hat.

“It's true, milady,” she replied in Nagito's voice—a bit deeper than her own, and just husky enough to sound sick. “I want to be by your side...forever.”

“Forever?” Junko spun around, pressing the doll against her ribcage. “That's a tall order, sir...Just what would we do together for all that time?”

“Well, if we really had an eternity together, I'd let you brush my hair and dress me in any way you like.” She made the Nagito doll's eyelids flutter cutely. “We could take baths together, and eat at the same table...that is, if you'd be willing to put up with garbage like me for that long. If not, I could always eat off the floor with your sister....”

“Even she's better than you,” Junko retorted, poking Nagito's cheek. “I can't put up with your self-hatred and hope bull for that long. Besides, I'm already spoken for! That reminds me....” She dropped the doll, causing it to land on the enlarged stomach of one of her plush bears. “I think I have someone I need to check up on.”

“Please, oh please, don't leave us!” Junko's Ryota voice was wobbly in a comedic sense. “We need you here, miss Junko! It's not the same without you! I'd rather die than spend another moment alone....” The Mikan doll, humorously, fell onto its side.

“Then suffer,” Junko replied to herself, smirking. Her eyes flashed as she pressed her foot into the carpet, just inches away from where the Ryota doll sat. “And who said you were on first-name privileges? I certainly don't remember saying it....”

“Not me, ma'am,” Mikan cut in, still toppled over. “Maybe he's a glutton for punishment.”

“Is that so?” Junko asked, tapping one finger against her chin. “I have a dungeon I need to visit...I simply don't have time to punish you appropriately! All I can say for now is that you certainly didn't deserve to touch the same hairbrush as your one and only Queen of Despair, Junko Enoshima!” A light kick sent the Ryota doll flying across the room, landing in a corner to be neglected for at least a week. When she didn't have time to enact one of her favorite ironic executions, abandonment was always a good second choice: it would leave her victims wondering when she'd return until the hope left them completely and boredom consumed their very souls.

Desiring a punishment was an entirely different can of worms, though...She pondered the idea of someone sitting in the dark for months on end, waiting for her to come back with an execution she'd spent many a night poring over. At first, the thought seemed too easy, but then she reconsidered: what if she came in, prepared to enact a punishment the likes of which had never been seen before...and then ever-so-casually went for a stab in the heart?

As she left the room, Junko clapped her hands and felt her cheeks flush at the thought of sending someone into such pure, unfiltered despair—it was almost too much for her to handle. Behind her, the lights flickered off and the toys were left alone. At some point, she'd have to order Mukuro to come in and clean up after her, but she had more important topics on her mind than her sister wiping dust from Ryota Mitarai's face.

♡

As a child, Junko had never taken time to appreciate the joy and fervor that came with running down spiral staircases; now, as an adult, she was ecstatic to be given the opportunity to set foot on one. The steps leading to her dungeon went downward in a fast and volatile circle, and she often found herself running up and down those steps until her breaths shortened and her heart raced.

Reaching the bottom gave her heart a whole other reason to race. Keeping one arm draped across the banister to steady herself, Junko peered into the darkness of the room before her. The only source of light was the evening sun filtering in from upstairs, its rays teasing against the stone floor. The so-called “dungeon” itself was always chilly—a coat rack near the entrance held two of Junko's favorite winter robes, in case her impromptu exercise routines weren't enough to keep her warm. All she could make out beyond the rack was a hospital bed and a squarish machine hooked up next to it.

Junko took a series of gentle steps into the dark. “I'm back, darling,” she called, cupping a hand around her mouth while using the other to slip a robe over her shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

There was no response from the bed's occupant, though they shifted slightly. Grinning, Junko strutted closer to the person in question—what had once been a well-meaning, if talentless, teenage boy had been transformed into an emaciated, pale-skinned figure unable to leave their resting place. A small cluster of tubes stuck in their arms kept them from moving much at all, seemingly attached to the nearby machine. Junko closed her eyes for a moment to listen to its slow, soft beeping, which quickened as she approached.

“Kamukura,” she breathed, alighting herself on the edge of the bed. “I'm here.”

The figure tilted their head in the direction of her voice, but didn't speak. Their eyes—formerly hazel, now slowly turning red—fluttered open and fixed their gaze on her.

“It's me,” Junko said, taking on a romantic edge. “Don't you remember?”

The figure winced as they struggled to move, eventually lifting a twitching hand to brush their bangs away from their forehead. Though the tips were brown, most of their hair had become a velvet black that made Junko's body pulse with adoration. She was, however, less than impressed with their response, which came out in little more than a dry whisper. “...who?”

“You forgot again?” Junko asked, stretching her legs across the bed and flaunting the shape of her thighs. “I'm Junko Enoshima. I rule the world, in case you weren't aware. You must be one lucky stud, since I'm madly in love with you and all that.” She held a hand out expectantly, her red nail polish glittering in the faint light. “And you are...?”

Their lips parted, emitting a faint wheeze. “...Jun...ko?”

“I'm Junko,” she said as her hand sank. “I'm the only one worthy of such a name.” She laughed sharply, moving some of the tubes to give herself more space to lay down—she stayed cautious, however, so as to cause them as little pain as possible. “And you are Izuru Kamukura...or, you will be, once your brain works again. Don't worry, I'm waiting patiently for that day; well, I am for now.”

Kamukura's eyes sparked with brief recognition, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. “...I...am...?”

“Izuru,” Junko purred, snuggling next to them. She pulled at the collar of their flimsy hospital gown and rested her hand on their exposed shoulder. Their skin was clammy, but she'd grown used to it with time. She was more concerned about the state of the bed—it had gone unwashed for weeks, and even with medical adjustments and catheters, the smell of excrement lingered. In truth, her prisoner-turned-lover looked pathetic, but she was willing to ignore it; or, at least, until she remembered to ask Mukuro to clean the dungeon again.

“I...zuru,” Kamukura breathed, their voice hitching on a syllable.

Junko nodded, cupping Kamukura's face with her free hand. “Good job,” she said as she planted a kiss on their forehead. They flinched, but didn't react otherwise.

A moment of silence passed as Junko cuddled her mildly unresponsive partner. The lack of noise was welcoming, and Junko felt a happy sigh pass through her body—spending time with Kamukura refreshed her more than anything. When they could move on their own again, she'd decided she would take them for a walk in the garden and show them the world she'd taken over. She imagined their hair, which she assumed would be waist-length at that point if not longer, idly tickling the rose petals. A sliver of drool fell from her lips.

“Oops! Upupu,” she said to herself, wiping her face on her sleeve to avoid touching the bedsheets. “Hey, hey.” She reached behind Kamukura and lifted their head, fingers brushing across the nape of their neck. “Izuru. Look at that.”

Kamukura blinked slowly, trying to clear their blurred vision. “Where...?”

“Up there,” Junko said, pointing toward the staircase. “You see that? The light?”

Without waiting for a response, she continued. “That's the outside world. You can see some sunlight now, but it'll fade before too long and you'll be alone in the dark.

“That's what despair is like—every night, you hold onto your hope up there...and it fades away. You keep waiting for something different, but it'll never come. And that's what the world is like too. That light is the last of the old world. B.E.—Before Enoshima, as I like to say,” she said, having never said it before. “Get it?”

“Nn—” Kamukura whined as Junko tugged on errant strands of their hair to keep their attention. She curled them between her fingers, ignorant of Kamukura's obvious pain. Even as they cringed and tried to pull away from her, a light press of her other hand on their chest kept them firmly in place—the wires in their arms, too, prevented them from escaping. Junko's face flushed as she felt their heartbeat under her palm.

“The world you knew is gone; that is, if you can even remember what it was like. What lies beyond this room is my world...and when you're better, it can be ours. We won't have to share it with anyone. Not even my sister has to know—we can lock her up here and have the rest of the world to ourselves. No one will be able to tear the two of us apart.”

“Ah...” Kamukura murmured as Junko let go of them, causing their upper body to thump against the headboard. Their gaze drifted, becoming unfocused. “...that hurt.”

“Did it, darling?” Junko asked dreamily, poking Kamukura's cheek as she snuggled against them. “Maybe you're starting to feel again. That's a step forward, isn't it?”

Kamukura slumped back into bed, already exhausted. With a soft giggle, Junko ran her fingers across their forehead—mildly feverish, might have to get that checked out—and kissed their nose. She figured she would work toward kissing their lips, perhaps when they remembered how to kiss back. She could hear someone moving about upstairs, presumably Mukuro, but left her to her own devices; after all, this was her special alone time with Kamukura and she wouldn't let anyone take that from her.

Kamukura stared at the ceiling as the last of the evening light withered and died, their consciousness melting away with it. Junko, meanwhile, felt a smile form on her face as she rested beside her beloved. The machine beeped faintly as the duo's breaths synchronized—then, with little fanfare, the sun set completely and the darkness took them both.

♡

Not all queens necessarily had to look down upon their subjects, but Junko wasn't willing to skip that aspect of her daily life. She had more thrones throughout the castle than just the one in her tearoom, and her dining room throne was particularly elegant—a hand-carved wooden model that rose several feet above the other chairs around the table. Though it took some effort to climb onto the throne in the first place, Junko appreciated the perfect view it gave her of her rather sour mealtime company.

“Aren't you going to eat, sister?” she called from above. “There are starving children in...well, everywhere! In fact, there's one in the room with us as we speak, so why don't you eat before she sneaks another nibble?”

Mukuro's gaze snapped to the silver-haired child sitting across from her. She was thin and all too pale, her once-pristine outfit smeared with dirt and dried blood. Though she had been addressed, she hadn't raised her head or even made a noise of acknowledgment, seemingly preferring to blend into the metaphorical background. Mukuro knew her sister wouldn't have any of it.

“Come on now, little one,” Junko said, idly swinging her legs back and forth. “Why don't you try to snatch a pea or two? Children should eat their vegetables, right?”

“They are healthy, yes,” Mukuro mumbled, patting her cheek with a napkin. “So why aren't you eating any of them?”

Slowly and almost comically, Junko looked down at her plate of chocolate-strawberry cake. “...Well, I'm already grown up! I don't need to worry so much about eating right anymore.”

“You should worry,” Mukuro commented, delicately cutting her ham into pieces. “You want your reign to last as long as you do, right? You won't be around to rule the world for very long if all you eat is dessert.”

“Hmph!” Junko crossed her arms and huffed. “We'll see about that. You!” She pointed at her guest, who flinched but didn't react otherwise. “What do you think your queen should eat?”

The little girl cautiously raised her head just enough to meet Junko's blue eyes. “Ah...um...I think you should....”

“Go on. Spit it out.” Junko flicked a few cake crumbs in her direction. “Maybe I'll give you something nice if you answer correctly.”

“M-Miss Enoshima should...maybe...consider eating some vegetables when she can.” The girl fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “I-I could provide some for her...I know a few good recipes, a-and if you have the right ingredients, we can—”

Mukuro shot out of her seat to catch the fork Junko had thrown toward the stuttering child. “Junko! Would you really want...would you....” Her features softened as she struggled to find a way to get her sister to stop, while their guest whimpered in fear.

“Would I want what?” Junko asked, pointing a knife in Mukuro's direction. “I certainly wouldn't want to eat any of this runt's horrible cooking!” She laughed harshly, digging the knife straight through the center of her cake. “You're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

The child's face paled further. “...no, but....”

With a flourish, Junko leaped down from her throne—trying not to flinch when her boots hit the carpeted floor—and leaned in close. “But what, little one?”

The girl's muscles tightened as she managed a small, disdainful frown. “Kirumi.”

Junko's face twisted into a grin. “Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it.” Across the table, Mukuro sat perfectly still and ready to launch into battle should the situation go awry.

The girl swallowed and stared straight at Junko, defiance shining through her chalky features and muddied cheeks. “My name is Kirumi.”

“Kirumi...” Junko said, drawing back like a snake. “Hm. I can't say I've heard that name before...and now that you're in my clutches, nobody will hear it again.”

Kirumi's confidence faltered. “Wh-What?”

“Take a look at this.” Junko turned Kirumi's head so it faced Mukuro and began rummaging through her dress. This particular ensemble was outfitted with seven different pockets in various places on the skirt, just in case she needed a secret weapon. “My darling sister and I are going to play a game.”

Mukuro pushed her chair out and got to her feet. “I'm not interested, Junko. Actually, there's something I've needed to talk to you about—”

“Ah-ah-ah! Too late!” Junko exclaimed as she withdrew a small, but needle-sharp dart and threw it straight at Mukuro's neck. With almost inhuman reflexes, she stepped out of its way, only for it to embed itself in the wall. “You have to play...or else, little Kirumi might meet an untimely end.”

Mukuro's pupils shrank. “What are you saying?”

“You win the game, and I might let her live,” Junko explained, twirling another dart between her fingers. “You lose, and...well, the prognosis is grim for our friend.”

“Wh-What is she talking about?” Kirumi asked, her bravado fading as she watched Mukuro dodge two more darts at a speed only Junko could match.

“You know damn well what I'm talking about,” Junko said between heavy breaths. Her body temperature rose as she sprinted across the room, tossing darts to and fro in a makeshift dance. Mukuro had to vault across the table at one point to avoid a particularly expert throw. “I saw her give you food under the table.”

“What?!” Mukuro cried, twirling in midair to save herself yet again. “You said it yourself—she was starving! Do you expect me to let her suffer?!”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Junko said, with a haughty laugh. “Clearly, Kirumi has absolutely no fortitude or strength, since even I could refuse such temptations better than she did.” With no more darts to throw, Junko picked up a plate and lobbed it at her sister. “She had to survive to earn my respect, and you had to maintain your reputation as my despair-inducing sibling. Seems as if you both messed up big-time, hm?”

“Enough!” Mukuro roared as Junko hurled another plate. The sounds of shattering ceramics made Kirumi clap her hands over her ears, though she felt slight relief knowing none of Junko's ammunition had connected.

“I said you had to play,” Junko reminded her, sticking her tongue out in mild irritation. “I guess it doesn't matter, since we're out of time anyway.” She spun on her heel to face Kirumi and threw a steak knife straight toward her. “At least we can have a grand finale!”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat as she made a flying leap in Kirumi's direction, catching the knife in midair and tumbling to the ground. A glass tipped over, red wine staining the tablecloth. Kirumi watched in horror and amazement as Mukuro got to her feet, a bit shaky but alive.

“Ooh, good job!” Junko said, applauding loudly. “Bravo! Bravo, I say!” She reached out to pat Mukuro's shoulder, but she shrank away from her. “Hm. Fair enough.”

“I've been trying to talk to you,” Mukuro said, taking a series of labored breaths. “Something...isn't right around here. It smells like roses everywhere, even when we're inside...haven't you noticed? A-And...and those clouds...aren't they getting thicker?”

Junko paused, as if in thought, but then sighed and folded her hands behind her head. “Nah. To be honest, I don't really care. If something's going wrong, that's your problem, not mine. And speaking of things that are mine....” She lunged forward and grabbed Kirumi, who squealed and flailed in her grasp.

“What are you doing?” Mukuro said, too worn out to put a stop to Junko's misdeeds.

“Finishing this brat off,” Junko replied, as casually as one would talk about the weather. “Why?”

“I...I won the game!” Mukuro spat, reaching for Kirumi. “You said you'd let her live if I won!”

“I said I might,” Junko clarified, squeezing Kirumi's face and pulling it closer to hers. “Besides, you should know by now that I don't play fair.”

“Junko!” Mukuro tried to grab her and knock her to the ground, but the game had left her weakened and exhausted. She slumped to the floor, her knees aching, as Junko's eyes met Kirumi's.

“Do as I do.”

In a matter of seconds, Kirumi's face had gone slack. Her gaze seemed colder, her breaths slower, her body limp in Junko's arms. When she put her down, she immediately stood next to her in a protective manner, looking down upon Mukuro's prone form.

“Now, you...” Junko began, putting her hands on her hips, “...you have no name. You had one at one point, though—and an identity, too. So on the basis of your old life, I'll ask you one more time: you're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

Kirumi sneered at Mukuro. “No, ma'am.”

“No!” Abruptly, Junko brought her foot down on Kirumi's, causing the girl to wail in surprise. “You will address me by name, servant!”

“N-No, miss Junko, ma'am,” Kirumi said, trying to keep her voice stable even with the despair coursing through her veins.

“Much better. Maybe you could take care of this pile of garbage while you're here...that is, if you really want to earn my love.” As Junko strutted out of the room, Kirumi tried to yank Mukuro up from the floor; however, she paused when she smelled something familiar in the air.

“...Roses,” she mumbled to herself, squeezing Mukuro's hand with both of her own. “I may have...enjoyed those, once upon a time.”

Outside, Junko's garden continued to grow, twisting around the castle walls and black iron fences. The world beyond her home seemed more distant than before, as the clouds misting the sky grew ever darker.

♡

“Hm.”

“What? What is it?”

“Hmmm.”

Mukuro stood as still as she could while Junko flitted around her, peering at her silky black dress from all angles. The frilled sleeves itched, and the skirt only reached to her knees—Mukuro's bare legs stuck out beneath, planted firmly in the plush carpeting. She would've changed clothes in a heartbeat if her sister hadn't been so insistent about her participation in today's activity.

Junko tugged on the skirt from behind, and Mukuro cringed. “Hm...I think this one shapes you nicely! If only you had bigger breasts to show off...maybe you could actually take your place beside me on the throne!”

“You wouldn't let me even if I did have them,” Mukuro said through clenched teeth.

“Fair enough,” Junko replied, with a chuckle. “You're not the type I'd share the world with anyway—way too selfish, and no sense of humor.”

“Right,” Mukuro grunted. “Sure.”

Junko stood in front of her sister, hands on her hips. “...You don't really like this dress, do you?”

“N-No,” Mukuro said, trying to maintain her composure.

“That's fair,” Junko replied, with a shrug. “Doesn't really match your complexion anyway.” She turned away, wading through a pile of squishy pillows and dolls she had yet to return to their shelves. “Go on and change. I won't look, just this once.”

With a sigh, Mukuro removed the ensemble. Even taking it off was uncomfortable, the lace making her itch even more as she pulled it over her head. Quietly hanging it up on a rack Junko had wheeled in earlier, she let herself relax for a moment. As she stretched her back, she spoke up again: “Junko? I'm done.”

“Mm?”

Mukuro's eyes narrowed. “I said I'm done.”

“Mm, sure.” Junko faced away from her, fiddling with one of her dolls. “Have you met my little friend, dear sister?”

Mukuro tried to keep her temper down—Junko had already grown bored of her and was looking for a new toy. “My dress, Junko. You said you wanted me to try another dress.”

“Huh? Oh!” Junko whirled around, a pale cloth doll hanging limply from one hand. “Of course! You'll like this one, for sure. It's leather!”

Mukuro's gaze drifted as Junko fiddled with the rack, pulling out a black dress that looked ready to squish Mukuro's spine into an entirely new shape. She watched Junko carry the doll alongside her, unable to tear her eyes away from its sad, unsettling stare. Most of its design was simple, complete with blue yarn hair and mitten-like hands, but its eyes were all too real and uncomfortably glassy.

“Do you like her?” Junko asked, shoving the dress into Mukuro's waiting arms. “This is Miaya. They don't make wheelchairs in her size, so she can't move without her queen helping her get around.” She raised and lowered Miaya's hands, making the red scarf covering most of her face bounce lazily. “Isn't she cute?”

Mukuro sucked in a breath as she tried to pull the dress on. “She seems...sad.”

“You think so?” As Mukuro changed, Junko sifted through the clothes on the rack and pressed a polka-dot ensemble against her body. “Check this out. I look like a cartoon character!”

“Mmph!” Mukuro exclaimed as she struggled to fit herself into the dress. “Y-You do....”

“Aw, is that too tight?” Junko was at her sister's side in an instant, messing with the zipper at the back of the dress. “Maybe we should try another one.”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat. “Another...one?”

“Well, sure!” Junko tossed Miaya at Mukuro with a flourish before ripping the dress off, with extravagant gestures and sudden movements that made Mukuro wail in pain. “Don't you like playing dress-up with me?”

Now clad in nothing but black undergarments, Mukuro felt naked and embarrassed. She couldn't reply honestly—when she considered it, an image of the broken and damaged Kirumi flickered through her mind. “S-Sure,” she forced out, pressing the Miaya doll against her chest.

“You're lying, but that's fine.” Junko threw off her own dress, chuckling at she and her sister's matching lingerie. “You can't really get out of this anyway.”

“Right,” Mukuro mumbled, now burying her face in Miaya's hair. It smelled familiar to her, perhaps like a childhood home...but she only had a few moments to think of it before the doll was yanked from her, and her vision was obscured with another dress thrown over her head.

“My playthings are playing?” Junko chirped, wiggling into a dress of her own. “How cute! Miaya isn't playing dress-up right now, though. She can't move on her own, so I'd have to help her try things on...and this is our fun time! She'll just have to watch.”

Mukuro glanced at the Miaya doll, which was now splayed on top of one of the pillows. She could feel its gaze on her back as she changed, and the more she thought about it the more awkward she felt. She was a child in a fairytale castle, playing dress-up with her sister, but the game had gone on too long and she just wanted to go home.

After what felt like an eternity of trying on clothing, Mukuro finally stood before Junko in a silky black dress with a short skirt. It still had some of Junko's all-too-elegant touches, like white frills and puffy sleeves, but it was generally sleek and comfortable. Mukuro couldn't help herself—she twirled lightly, letting her skirt spin.

“Oh, you like it?” Junko tilted her head back in a fashion model's pose, clad in a similar dress but with pale pink silk and white and black frills. “Glad we finally found something that works.”

“Why didn't we just try these on first?” Mukuro asked, admiring the way her outfit wrapped around her body. “They do match nicely....”

“I guess I just wanted to keep you around,” Junko replied, rummaging through piles of discarded clothing. “Sibling bonding is always fun, don't you think?”

“Sure,” Mukuro said, half-heartedly. Her gaze drifted back to the Miaya doll, sitting in the same place it had before. “Maybe you should invite Kamukura next time.”

“Kamukura?” Junko got to her feet, holding both hands behind her back in a surprisingly graceful fashion. “You'd rather Kamukura take your place here with me?”

“N-Not like that,” Mukuro said quickly. “I just...I have other duties, and....”

“Don't worry! I understand.” Junko giggled. “I'm just glad you reminded me of the finishing touch for today's dress-up game!”

“What are you talking abou—” Mukuro was interrupted with a violent shriek as Junko whipped her hands out, brandishing twin pairs of shears. Laughing loudly, Junko tore into Mukuro's dress and ripped it to shreds in a matter of seconds, leaving a pile of silk and fluff on the carpet.

“Junko!” Mukuro exclaimed,  assuming a defensive position to shield her body. “What are you doing?!”

Junko spun around gleefully and tore into her own dress, creating another pile of fabric to join the first. “There's nothing quite like finding that everything I put you through meant nothing, right? It fills me with an all-new form of despair! Upupu!”

Mukuro cringed and shook her head, stepping away from her sister. Her right wrist was starting to itch, and as she looked down at it she realized Junko had nicked her. She pressed her thumb against the tiny wound and gently licked the blood off. Watching her sister's pathetic motions, Junko continued to laugh. “Well?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Feeling the despair yet?”

With no energy to fight, exhaustion settled in quickly. “Y...Yes.”

“Alright!” Junko cheered, jumping in place with excitement. “My test is complete! I can't wait to try this out on our next visitors...maybe they'll like becoming mannequins!”

Mukuro bit her lip and turned away, one hand pressed against her wrist. The Miaya doll sat and stared at her, a piece of a silky black dress covering part of her forehead.

Long after the sisters' foray into trying on clothing together, Mukuro went to sweep the upstairs floors while Junko wandered into her dungeon. The staircase was littered with rose petals, and the bed itself had a few roses scattered across its sheets. Even the machine Kamukura was hooked up to seemed to have roses growing around it, which Junko considered a rather romantic gesture—perhaps Mukuro had prepared it as a surprise for the both of them?

She nestled into bed beside Kamukura, twirling strands of their brown-black hair between her fingers while they reacted with little more than a half-lidded stare. They breathed through their mouth, each exhale sounding more like a dissatisfied sigh.

“You should've seen the look on her face, Izuru,” Junko said, twisting their hair into a small, makeshift braid. “It was simply...dazzling.”

“I...zur...u,” Kamukura mumbled, trying their hardest to lock eyes with Junko. “Yes.”

“Dazzled with despair,” Junko said in a singsong voice, letting go of the braid to press her finger to Kamukura's nose. “She wasn't expecting the scissors at all. I'm so glad I kept that Genocider girl around long enough to master her techniques.”

“Yes.”

“You could probably learn them too, if you wanted.” Junko leaned in close, her lover's bad smell tuned out slightly by the aroma of the roses. “You're capable of anything, after all.”

A slight head tilt. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Junko propped herself up on her elbows, unable to find a comfortable position. “Do you...remember who you are today?”

“I...zuru?” Kamukura asked, softly.

“I-zu-ru Ka-mu-ku-ra,” Junko replied, sounding out the syllables. “Repeat after me, okay?”

“Ka...mu....” They lost track quickly, pain dulling their senses. “...zu-ru.”

“Good enough,” Junko said, plopping down beside them. “You know you're mine, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mine, mine, mine.” Junko pressed her body against theirs, sleep creeping in with the lightest and gentlest of footsteps. “Forever mine.”

As she fell asleep beside them, Kamukura let their gaze turn to the ceiling. The room was pitch-dark and even colder than usual, and something about the roses was off-putting to them. They couldn't think about it for too long before their head began to hurt.

All they could think of doing was vocalizing—or trying to, anyway. So while Junko dreamed her life away beside them, Kamukura continued to mumble to themself. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes....”

♡

“Junko?”

Her Glorious Majesty of Despair stirred in her bed, but didn't wake up.

“Junko. Wake up.”

She kept on sleeping, tangled in her favorite red sheets.

“Junko!”

Finally, her eyes snapped open and she sat up. “What? What is it?” she exclaimed. “Your queen is trying t—ow!” With a wince, she rubbed her back and felt a noticeable ache. “Ouchies...that really smarts....”

“I assumed something was up.” Mukuro stood before her, looking less agitated and more concerned. “You were making weird noises in your sleep.”

“That's what she said,” Junko mumbled in reply, trying to straighten her spine. “Ahh...How did this happen? Nothing feels right...and I just had the strangest dream. I think. I'm already forgetting it...such despair....”

“Junko.” Mukuro spoke sharply, taking her sister's hand in her own. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Ew, what's this about?” Junko yanked her hand away and stuck her tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't touch me, commoner!”

Mukuro sighed in defeat and reconstructed her emotional mask, trying to be as straightforward as possible. “Junko, answer my question.”

Junko stretched her arms, slowly raising them over her head and lowering them back down with practiced motions. “...Hm? What?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Mukuro repeated.

“...I think so?” Genuine confusion rose in Junko's voice as she tilted her head, her hair bouncing with it. “Aside from whatever that dream was, and the ache in my back....”

“You were shrieking,” Mukuro said, her tone grave. “In your sleep, I mean. You'd stopped by the time I got here, but I could hear you from across the hall.”

“Sheesh,” Junko said, flicking stray hairs behind her shoulder. “I'm such a drama queen. Probably just feeling some unfiltered, pulp-free despair!”

“Please take this seriously,” Mukuro said. “I think something is wrong here. You see, when looking outside....”

“I think you're the one who's wrong. Think fast!” Junko shot up in bed and sprang to her feet, preparing to deliver a mighty kick and startle her sister. As she moved, though, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she found her reflexes slightly inhibited. Having just woken up would dull her combat sensibilities under ordinary circumstances, but this was far more obstructive.

Mukuro quickly swept her leg out to stop her, completely on instinct. It connected with Junko's ankle and she tumbled to the carpeted floor, her hair spilling out around her. “Aieee!” she cried, frantically brushing her bangs away from her face. “Ouchies! Ow!”

“S-Sister?” Mukuro rested one knee on the carpet, though she kept her distance in case this was a prank. “What's wrong?”

“This is wrong!” Junko pointed to her ankle, which was already turning slightly purple with the onset of a bruise. “I should have got you that time!”

“Perhaps we're evenly matched,” Mukuro replied, letting herself smirk for the briefest moments. “You can't win them all, you know.”

“Sure, whatever,” Junko mumbled, surprisingly upset over a bruised ankle. “I get it.” She stumbled to her feet, putting all her weight on her non-injured leg. “Sometimes the underdog has to win for the audience's benefit.”

“I'm...not an underdog,” Mukuro said, averting her gaze.

“Whatever,” Junko said with a wave of her hand. “I don't even remember what we were talking about. You're too boring to focus on, anyway.”

“That's a lie.”

“Which part?” Junko spun around, grabbed a pale pink bathrobe resting on top of her closet, and threw it over herself with a flourish. “'Cause you're definitely a bore.”

“You remember what we were talking about,” Mukuro said, standing her ground. “You're clearly just as troubled by it as I am.”

Junko blinked slowly and swallowed. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “I'm not 'troubled' at all.”

“We're sisters, you know.” Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “You can tell me if something's wrong.”

“Forget it,” Junko sang, though she gritted her teeth in secrecy; in truth, she was bothered by her lackluster attempt at a kick. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been a problem—after all, her back was sore and she'd just woken up—but it felt as if time itself had slowed to incapacitate her. She wasn't sure how to tell Mukuro this, or if she even cared enough to tell her, so she kept it to herself.

“...Forget it?”

“Forget it,” Junko echoed, digging through the bathrobe's pockets in search of a leftover snack. “I want something to eat.”

“Wait, what?” Mukuro raised an eyebrow. “You're...sure about that? I need to talk to you first. Please, look at this....” She approached the window at Junko's bedside and threw back the curtains—the world outside was obscured by soupy, greenish mist. Junko could see her garden if she squinted, but most of the Enoshima Estate was covered.

“...Bad weather,” Junko commented, nonchalantly.

“It's more than that,” Mukuro insisted. “Those clouds...they've never been this thick. Your garden's growing much faster, to the point that it's hard to even leave the castle to go hunting. Something isn't right here, and I need you to know that.”

“I need you to know that I don't care.” Junko swung her injured leg back and forth, trying to balance on one foot as she stood before her sister. “I want something to eat.”

“...Are you sure?” Mukuro asked, her gaze discolored.

“Absolutely-tutely,” Junko replied. “I need breakfast. Come on! Chop chop!” She limped away, trying to look as graceful as possible even when restrained by a sprained ankle.

Mukuro followed along behind her, her tone growing desperate. “But—but, Junko, please—”

“I don't care,” Junko said with a sudden firmness. “I can't think on an empty stomach, anyhow. Hurry up! Breakfast time!”

Mukuro lowered her head, absentmindedly running her fingers across the bandages now covering her itching wrist. “...You just had breakfast before your nap,” she murmured.

Junko turned slightly. “Sorry? I didn't know the underdog was speaking.”

Mukuro sighed, wondering if she'd fabricated the memory. “It's nothing,” she lied. “Just...just forget it, right?”

A light, forced chuckle echoed down the hall. “Yup! Forget it.”