#you could send them FLYING into the air with a single blow

[pawfulofwaffles]

I have the strangest memory of sitting on my grandma's bed, playing this:

Whilst listening to this

[ctrlhope]

Chasing Tornados (m)

synopsis: Ever since you were young, you found solstice in the clouds. Found haven in their winding winds, their chilling storms. Monsters of the air meant to destroy became your love— your safety. You know everything about the skies, yet you only want to know more about him. Wish for him to love you just as much as you do him. Your best friend. Your scorpion. Your impossible. Your Yoongi. -> part of the rest, relax, reserve series

m.yoongi x f.reader

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : wc: 21.0k+

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : genre: hybrid au, storm chasers au, soulmate au, friends/coworkers to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : content: scorpion hybrid!yoongi x human!reader, storm chaser!yoongi+reader, angst, semi-public sex (bathroom), fingering, p in v, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, bratty!reader a lil, rough sex, thigh riding, sex under the influence (alcohol), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, one mention of a breeding kink, yoongi has a tail, mates, misunderstandings, fights, jealousy, non-linear storytelling, reader and yoongi are both kinda stupid idk, but also v cute, angst but a happy ending <33

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : notes: heyyyyy it’s ur girl, back with another mc let’s play video!! kidding lol, sorry this took so long to write, life has been really hectic. trust me on this fic lol. but i rlly fell in love with these two nd I hope you do too <33 and i hope u enjoy my attempts at comedy! remember!! my requests are always open nd you can always feel free to send asks to characters <33

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Wind wraps in your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in your ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

The world acts as something greater- something more than yourself. A collective that has not a care for you or the people in it. A system acting for its own desires. A storm that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left to give. 

You love it. Love every second of it. 

Even if you should be scared, even if you should be terrified– look for cover just like everyone else. To hide and cower away from the winding beast that destroys homes, takes down power lines. That kills. You can’t. Not when you feel this– this calling deep in your bones. This calling to know more. This calling to conquer a monster. 

To chase the impossible. 

You have always lived for that very thing. Have constructed your entire life around finding answers for beasts that are beyond reason, to construct something real from what can only be construed as fake. To look the storm in the eye, to live within it rather than to be consumed.

And that is exactly why you stand where you find yourself now. Tornado Alley. A storm brewing just in front of you. Warm air meeting cold, finding breath, coming to life. 

Maybe you should be scared. Maybe you should let panic set you alight and carry you far, far away from the death spirals. Maybe you should do a lot of things, yet you can't. You can only stare in wonder as rain hits your flesh. As the wind tries to take your clothes, battering them in the breeze. As electricity cracks above your head, light debris flying past your form to entertain the forming tornadoes fury.  

Bang, Bang, Bang. 

Now that sound isn't from the storm, it can’t be. Sounds too much like metal, like a fist hitting it. Oh right, the car. 

“(Y/n) get your ass in here, now!” His voice is loud, forced to so you could hear him above the storm. He would never yell otherwise. Never raise his voice a single decibel against you. 

Your body turns to face him, a smile breaking across your cheeks without a second thought. Eyes turning to crescents, rain dripping down your cheeks. 

Right, Yoongi. 

The impossible. 

You don’t know when it happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But you knew it did. Felt the shift in your soul whenever you looked at him, felt your blood pumping just a fraction faster whenever he was close. Felt yourself yearn to smell his signature Yoongi scent whenever you sat in his car, whenever he drove you around on one of your little escapades. 

Maybe it was a year ago. Maybe less. Maybe more. You could never be sure– emotions never were your strong suit. But he knew that, and he didn’t care. Never pressured or pried, always just let the two of you be. Act in co-existence in a way you doubt two people could. 

Your partner in crime, your solace among the disarray perpetuating every second of your job– your life. The only person you knew crazy enough to chase the storms with you. To risk their life driving you into the eye. Your right hand man. Your friend. 

None of it should have happened. But it did anyway. Isn’t that always the way life goes? The same way the storms control the skies, he found himself controlling your heart with no will of his own. No knowledge of the underlying flutter that found its way into your guts the second he looked at you, nor any knowledge of the way your eyes fell into adoration when they fell on him. 

Why did you have to fall in love with the storm? 

You weren’t sure– never cared to look deeper into the fact. Never cared to think about why you couldn’t fathom a future without him. Never dared to dip into why the scrawny kid from your college has suddenly become a man before you. Never even thought to challenge the pre-disposed ideologies that held your friendship by its core.

No. You would never do anything as stupid as that. 

Yes, you were a creature of impulse. Never the type to take into account the consequences your actions disclosed. But you like to chase the impossible. You would never think to actually attempt to change it. Especially when you could lose everything in the process. Lose him.

In more ways than one.

Plus, you know where he stands. Know he could never see you as anything more than a friend– a little sister. The hair ruffles, the slight glares he gives when men talk to you in the bars, the way he puts up with your ‘overly affectionate’ cuddles– as much as you wish the simple actions meant more, you knew they simply didn’t.

A big brother. Unfortunately for you, he knows that’s the role he plays in your life too well. 

But he’s not your big brother. He's a man, you’re a woman. It’s not like you ever asked to get caught up in the stringers that tangled you together. Not like you ever asked for this crush to form. 

“For fucks sake! (Y/n)!” His voice is louder now, a harsh yell pulling you from the thoughts that sunk you under the waves. His body forcing itself through the wind to get to you, arm raising to shield his face. “We have to fucking go!!” 

He would admonish you later for getting too caught up in your own thoughts again– something you knew all too well. But when the storm was raging around you, it was almost easier to think. To get lost in the recesses of your brain until you drew the conclusion you had been looking for all along. 

His hand grips your wrist now, dragging you back to the safety of your company truck all while scolding you harshly with words he never actually meant. Just his salt-coated concern peaking through the surface. And well, his concern about getting swallowed up by the storm. Yeah, most people worry about that kind of stuff. At least that’s what you suppose. 

“Are you that fucking stupid?” He shouts roughly at you, forcing you to get in the passenger seat. His touch is gentle even if his words are strong. He always has been strong. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” 

He slams the door closed before you can say anything back– frustrated but not mad. Never mad at you. And for that you can’t help the giddy feeling on your lips. Your eyes watching him as he quickly walks to his side of the car, tail curled close to his back almost as if to protect himself. 

Right, his tail. You forget about it a lot of the time– but at the same, you are so very fond of it. Smile whenever it moves in response to his emotions, giggle whenever he forgets about it himself, tripping over the thing. 

You often forget Yoongi isn’t a full human. But it’s never played much of a role in your life, in your friendship. So you don’t really see the point to care. Choose to ignore the scorpion blood that runs through his veins and view him as any other person walking the face of the earth. It’s never bothered you. 

Most people around you call you a fool anyway, it’s not much to add another reason to it. 

“Ah~ Don’t worry, King Yoongi. I don’t plan on getting myself killed anytime soon.” You let out a gentle giggle as he finds his way into the car, pressing on the gas almost immediately and driving as fast as he can away.

His body is so rigid, so stressed. Yet you can’t be further from it. Your legs propped haphazardly on the dashboard, your body sinking deeper into the seat. You trust him. He always gets you out. Something about his special senses, probably. Maybe. 

Actually, you don’t know. You should ask him about it later– how he can see in such horrid conditions. 

“You will if I just leave you there.” He rolls his eyes, glancing over to you for only a second before managing back to the road, “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“You won’t though.” He only scoffs, but you can see the smile at the corner of his mouth. It warms you almost as much as the sound of the rain– or maybe it's hail now, pelting the roof of the car.  

“I could and I will.” 

“But you won’t.” 

“Just put your fucking seat belt on.” He grumbles, his voice getting a fraction louder as he turns the wheel harshly, a last second manoeuvre. A stick flying through the air past your window. A narrow avoidance. 

The car bumps harshly as it drives, the roads narrow and in disarray. Swerving to avoid debris that litters the ground and jumping as it dips into potholes. It feels like a race. Makes you feel alive even as you click the belt into place– as he moves his tail across your frame to act as a second one. 

You should be scared. Should be terrified of getting caught in the storm. But you trust Yoongi. You know he’ll always protect you. 

“Did the other teams drop their equipment on time?” You ask, reaching below your seat and grabbing the computer. He sends you a pointed glance. 

“According to the sensors we were the last ones.” 

“Well we always are~” You mumble back, a little sing-song in your voice while your head tilts towards your chin. Eyes scanning the array of measurements that pop up on the screen– reading them, taking in their meaning. 

It is your job, anyway. 

“Who’s fault is that?” His words don’t perfectly cross your ears, never do when you're trying to focus. An input of too much information at once and a computer might explode! Aka your brain, aka he’s known for years you have selective hearing when trying to understand complicated things. 

“Mhmm…” You quietly mumble out, fingers moving quickly to type as he finally drags the car out of the storm. Slows down to a more human speed as you type out a few observations, input pieces of code to make your readings more sensible. 

You completely miss the small smile he sends your way, the tilt of his head trying to check. “Anything interesting?”

“Mmm… Nothing we haven’t seen before. Got a couple of cool 3D models of the storm your screen, though…” You tilt the laptop in his direction, showing him the model of the storm. Exactly how big it was, how fast it was moving. “Just an E2, but still pretty.” 

“Yeah, had to’ve been to almost let it eat you.” 

You roll your eyes, shutting the laptop as he pulls over to the side of the road, “Of course, I’d let anything as pretty as that take me out.” 

He scoffs, “Anything, really?”

“Yeah, you know that guy on Attack on Titan that's like ‘oh i’d let a pretty female titan eat’-- Wait a second it is not my fault!” You suddenly announce, his words before finally registering in your mind, “You’re always tinkering with the the the bits!! That’s why it takes so long!”

You grump, crossing your arms. A fond smile finding its way to his lips. 

“Yeah, cause the ‘bits’ are the real issue, aren’t they? Not you playing out music videos in your head while a tornado is hurrdaling at us?”

“Okay! That was one time! And totally not my fault!” You huff, not in any real annoyance, just simply banter. Yoongi always seemed to like your over-dramatic reactions anyway. “You said we could play Hurrcane!! By my girl Bridget Mendler! You know what that song does to me!” 

He can only laugh in response, the gums of his mouth showing as he tilts his head back. Long black hair falling lower against his shoulders. Tail falling lax for the first time in forever. Crests shown in his eyes. 

You like giving Yoongi your reactions if it means he can smile like this. 

When he looks in your direction for a breef second, you can’t help but puff out your cheeks and stick out your tounge in pestilence. The action only causing him to shake his head, eyes returning to the road a little brighter than before.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. How could I possibly forget.” A thousand words are said behind his tone that you could never pick up on. Never notice. “You get so excited, like a kid. It’s funny.”

Your head jerks to look at him, a pointed glare in your eye, “She makes me feel things you can’t even hope to understand, Min.”

He rolls his own, “Uh huh. I’m sure.” 

College. Senior Year. The perfect hell it bestows on all of its captors. 

The combined effort of senior thesis’s, grad school searches, advanced level course work, and the unyielding need for money after graduation, as it turns out, is the best possible combination for stress any one person can find! How wonderful. Especially for you, with a stupid gpa you need to upkeep to keep your stupid scholarships, so you can get your stupid degree and get your stupid job–

Well, okay. Now you’re just spiralling. 

Annoyed and tired has never been a good combination for everyday dreamers. Especially those that have been working their entire lives for a single goal. To chase their every last dying hope since they were a child. To become the very person they could only wish to be in their youth. 

But in all fairness, your ass has been handed to you on a silver platter after your last exam grade was horribly, terribly slid to you face down against the table. A quiet note of “see me after class” listed on the top without reverie. Your thoughts a sudden cyclone vortexing you inward and onward, wishing you could tell the sweet summer child of your adolescence that you had failed her. That you were never going to be able to live inside a tornado as she had wished. 

Oh. The monster that you were. 

That was, at least, until you did meet with your professor. And, apparently, he wasn’t going to drop you from the class and (somehow) get you removed from the college like you had thought! Even better, he saw how hard you worked– how much you truly care. Deciding to lend a hand rather than pull it back. Giving you a building and a time to meet with a tutor he specifically picked out. 

Someone he would apparently trust his life to. Your life– okay, academic career, to as well. 

That’s how you found yourself now. Walking through a library that had to be older than your great grandparents– the scent of mildew filling your nose as you moved farther and farther into the recesses of the building. 

Why, exactly, you had to meet in the deepest, darkest corner of the library at an absurd hour of the day confuses you even now. Annoys you a little, quite frankly. Leaving your dorm past 8pm feels like a nightmare.

But you trust your professor, you trust that he wouldn’t steer you wrong. Well, hope is probably a better term. One that more accurately portrays your inner conflicts as you make your way to the back conference table nestled deep within walls of encyclopaedias. Dust entrapping the air you sit in– age and memories baked in the walls. 

At worst, that’s all you shall make. Memories. Call the whole thing a bust and look online for some tutors or go to a used bookstore and buy a few more outdated textbooks. At best, you’ll pass the class and become one of the best meteorologists the world has seen. No pressure on Mr. Mystery Tutor or anything. Obviously. 

None at all. 

Your fingers find themselves tapping against the table as you think; seat already taken, items already spread out as you wait. Just your ring finger over and over in a repeated motion– the beat of wind speeds picking up on a desert plane. The bubbling of magma under the surface of the earth. The–

“(Y/n)?” A husk of a voice breaks your almost monotonous silence, your tapping suddenly ceased as a chill travels down your spine. A chill from the tone of someone's voice alone– can you believe that? 

Somewhere, once, when you were little, you heard that a chill runs down your spine whenever a serial killer passes by. But this isn't that. No, this is something entirely different. More familiar. More recognizant. 

Your eyes shoot pitifully fast up at him, almost tilting your head as you take in the features. Black hair– maybe brown, baggy hoodie, slouched shoulders. One hand supporting the shrap of his bag that hangs over his shoulder. 

No, you don’t know him. Maybe a future you does– one where a timeline passes over this exact spot. Where you’re friends already, maybe something more. Something safe. Though, that isn’t a very scientific explanation. One colleagues and professors may make fun of you for. You disregard the notion, only nodding your head to confirm. 

He only mirrors the motion in return, seemingly not one for conversation himself. Finding himself pulling out the chair across from yours, setting himself inside of it. Wasting no time in pulling out his own belongings. 

Laptop, textbook, notebook. 

“The professor said you were having trouble with qualitative analysis of…” His voice trails off, and you can’t help but wonder how someone's voice can almost sound like a well-loved record. A tune that can’t quite find its sink– almost too rigid to hope itself melodic. 

You listen to the same voice as it sings out the songs of your lessons. As he goes over the failed exam beat by beat. Explaining the first few questions in such simple terms anyone could understand them. Not in a way that felt condescending, no. Again, it just felt so warm that you couldn’t do anything but listen to him quietly. Absorbing everything without a single interruption. 

Well, until question 7 at least. That is when you feel two synapses connecting in your brain reminding you of an ultra-important task that absolutely cannot be forgotten. A handshake. Your small hand cutting him off, reaching across the table without a second thought.

He stares at the pervasive hand as if it is something he’s never seen before. Never been offered in the first place. Something offensive to hurt rather than anything else.

Interesting. 

“My dad always said you have to shake hands when you’re meeting someone. Or else it’s bad luck down the road. So…” You explain away simply, like it should be obvious to every person on the Earth. It should, honestly. But you’ve been told you have issues with thinking that way– that things obvious to you should be obvious to everyone else. That everyone else lives within the same bubble you’ve found yourself residing in your whole life. 

You know it isn't true– that the bubble you’ve created is something you simply live in alone. Periphery finding itself resident to everyone else. But that’s awfully lonely, isn't it? You choose to think the former. 

His shoulders slowly unfurl, defences slowly lowering as he meets your hand in the middle. Rough palm meeting yours, shaking slowly up and down before both sides pull away. A magnet short of attraction of two bodies as you pull away. 

“Good.” You nod, pulling your knees up to hover off of the ground. Resting them against the edge of the table instead. “I don’t like bad luck either.” 

There's a beat of silence, one that you don’t mind. 

“Do you not like black cats then either?” His tone has an edge of pessimism to it. His defences considering a raise. 

You, on the other hand, feel immediate offence. How dare he! “What?! Are you crazy! Or course I like them.” 

You miss the crook of his lip into a light smirk, defences gone once more, “Well, normally they’re seen as bad luck…” 

“That’s just a stereotype!” You instantly defend. Your body leaning over, moving your face closer to his. 

He holds his arms up in defence, pencil still wedged between his fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My bad completely.” He lets out a quiet chuckle at the end, you only puff out your cheeks.

“Entirely.” You huff quietly, almost sounding like a petulant child, “I would never judge something just off of how they’re born.” At that, he almost perks an ear. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyebrows slowly raising, “Not even hybrids?” 

Ah, hybrids. A common discussion other people find themselves having, one that you never really found the purpose of. Arguments on their rights, the ethics of keeping them as pets, on if they should even be classified as intelligent life. You hated all of them. Didn’t understand for a second why people kept themselves concerned with class divisions or keeping others subservient at all. 

As far as you care, they’re the same as humans. Think like humans, act like humans. Another creature just as deserving the right to live and exist as all others. You don’t concern yourself with the difference in their existence– seeing them, treating them the same as you would any other person. 

You can’t stand that others find different opinions than yourself. Cutting them off entirely for treating another living, breathing creature with the capacity to think for itself as less. Reminding you desperately that you live on the periphery. 

“No, why should I care.”  You scrunch your nose up at the notion you’d think otherwise. He takes the action differently. “They’re the same as everyone else.” 

You surmise your ideologies simply, though you’re never sure if your words construe correctly. His results are inconclusive as well, letting out a quiet grunt. Dropping the subject. Keeping his words from revealing what is true. 

“What else is bad luck then?” 

You don’t notice the quick subject change, “Walking under ladders, whistling in the woods, doing your laundry on a sunday. …I can’t imagine saying Bloody Mary in a mirror 3 times is much help either.” 

He pauses for a second, his eyes just looking at you. They’re sharp things– knives against a grinder maybe. Could even be too sharp to be human, if you cared to look a little closer. Cared to notice the differences between you and him. 

But you don’t, nor will you probably ever. Just allow him to shake his head simply, let him return to your test questions without a single other thought leaking into that brain of yours. Only this time, you feel comfortable enough to ask a few more questions. Let him delve more deeply into the work without the threat of your mind wandering off to useless things. Allow the clock to tick later, later, later into the night– moving from your exam, to the most recent concept your class has been working on. Carefully treading the water, staying afloat as you finally begin to understand. 

You hate to admit it, you really do for the sake of your pride alone, but he really is a good teacher. He doesn’t seem upset when you ask questions– no matter how stupid you are. He stays calm whenever you start to get frustrated, carefully talking you through it instead of getting upset himself. He seems so peaceful you almost want to hate him for it. 

Almost, because between the gentle instructions and messy handwriting as the hours tick late into the night, jokes begin to crack freely between both of your tongues. Gentle jabs that mean nothing, topics construing into obscurity flowing into something more entertaining to discuss. 

Though– he did seem to have pause when you told him you don't trust fish. Something about them thinking they’re better than you– of which he agreed. Not that they’re better than you, of course not. But that yeah… they do seem to have that kind of look in their eyes. 

He feels the same way about birds, you learned. Interesting. 

It isn’t until midnight that he calls it, a time you didn’t even think was plausible. You thought it was 9:30, 10 at the latest! There’s no way midnight could have come so soon! Just the idea of it sounded fake. But then you checked the clock in the library, then your phone, and now you don’t know what to think. 

Time has never flown so simply with another person. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” He has that stupid smirk on his face, the one you’ve decided means he’s feeling cocky and amused. 

“You could… you could have changed all of them when I wasn’t looking! To trick me?”

“Yeah.. mhmm.. And what would that do.. For either of us..?”

“. . . I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Right.” He smiles, a real smile that shows off his gums. You can’t help but reflect a smaller one back at him. 

Once again he moves first, standing after he’s collected all his belongings. Tossing his bag over his shoulder while you hurry to catch up. Sliding your laptop inside before making sure your pens know their correct homes in the case–

What was that?

It was something so subtle anyone could have missed it. A mouse scurrying between cases, a piece of trash floating by. Something brown moving quickly in the corner of your eye. Something you neglected to notice. How could you not notice something so obvious?

When you look up at him– finally take the man you’ve spent the night with in his entirety, you see it. You missed it while he was sitting down, obviously trying to keep the thing from view, but now there was no hiding it. It was impossible to hide the thick brown tail that hung behind him in such a relaxed posture you wonder if he forgot about it, too. 

You couldn’t help the instant fascination as you took the form of it in. The pretty segments it appeared to be broken into– 5 if you counted them correctly, all stacked neatly upon one another. All leading to a stinger resting at the end, gently curled inward rather than held in defence. 

The gentleness of the man himself contrasted so nicely with the firmness of the tail. 

So pretty.

It was only then that he must’ve realised his mistake. Must’ve noticed your silence, followed your eye line to see exactly where it was laying. Realised that he let his guard down too quickly– understood too quickly that you didn’t already know about his… condition. His state of existence. 

The professor must’ve not told you. Probably thought it was a negligible factor even though it never is. Maybe when he came in you missed it, you didn’t actually look up at him until he sat down anyway. Until his tail was already tucked deep under the chair for protection. 

Without realising it, his tail raises. Curing behind his back, the tip looking even sharper than it normally does. Meanwhile his body tenses up entirely. Defence utterly encasing his form.

Fuck, and then your eyebrows are raising– and next you’re gonna start screaming and he’ll have to run so he doesn’t get taken in by hybrid services and–

“Can I touch it?” Your voice brings him back to reality, back from the ‘end-of times’ it found itself careening towards. Now he’s just, he’s just confused. Did you just ask him if you could touch it? Why aren’t you acting like he’s suddenly the scum of the earth? That’s how hybrids are treated anyway. 

Even if you said otherwise earlier, that doesn’t mean much to someone who's never experienced otherwise. 

“. . . oh… or maybe that’s rude. Forget it. Sorry.” You rush out instead, taking his appearance softly. Honestly, you don’t know much about what could be considered ‘rude’ to hybrids… you don’t have much experience with them at all, actually. 

“You’re not…” He fumbles with himself, his tail remaining raised like a predator. He forces himself taller, forces himself to appear more together. More ready to ‘strike’-- figuratively. He clears his throat, “What, you have something you want to say?”

You cock your head back sharply, rising to your feet, “No, why would I?” You feel just as confused as him. Maybe asking to touch a hybrid’s parts is more taboo than you thought… 

“Look I didn't mean any offence it was just pretty and–”

“Just fucking run off and report me if you’re going to–”

Both sentences are said at the same time from each party, the response mirroring exactly as well. Both faces twist into that of almost confusion and offence, upset that the other would dare say something like that for entirely different reasons. 

“What are you talking about?” Your question comes from annoyance, almost anger that he would think you would do something as nasty as reporting him when he was just trying to live his life. 

His comes from the simple word pretty. Why would you think his appendage was anything of the sort? The one thing his entire life that’s set him back– the very blood in his veins betraying him. The reason he can’t be accepted by normal people. The reason he has to take stupid night classes at this university with any professor that is actually willing to accept him. To accept his under the table payments. 

The very reason he’ll never get a real job– just hope to be adopted by someone who will let him do what he wants. Just hope that the authorities don’t find him, or that his own landlord won’t turn him in before he can do that. 

And you think it’s pretty? No fucking sane person would. 

“Why would you think I’d report you?” Your tone is hurt, the pang in his heart hurting just as much. He hates that he feels it, and he hates that he wants to comfort you more than anything else. Stupid fucking scorpion genes. 

“What else would you do?” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Literally nothing. I would do nothing.” You glare at him slightly, “I don’t care that you’re a hybrid, why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” His tone is accusatory, but he doesn’t quite know what else to make it. 

“Okay, let’s go down the list, yeah?” The spite in your tone lets the both of you know this night is taking a sour turn, “You can think, you can feel, oh right, you’re your own fucking person.”

You roll your eyes, “I know words don’t mean much, probably, but I view literally every creature as equal.” He still stands firm, your words and his life experiences battling in his mind. You sigh, this isn’t going anywhere. “Listen, I know it probably doesn’t mean much, and like, we both just met so I know it doesn’t hold much value. But I’m really sorry for whatever you’ve gone through in your life. It couldn’t have been easy. But I really, truly don’t care about whatever laws are in place. As far as I’m concerned, you’re equal to me.”

Your tone had gone soft, more gentle. Trying to dispel the hostility that hung fragrant in the air. But it looks like he can’t move. Doesn’t really know how after all of that. You probably wouldn’t either– though you’re not sure, you’ve never been good at putting yourself in other people's shoes. You just hope he believes you… that’s all you can do. 

“I’ll head out first. You have my number, text me if you want to meet again.” You start towards the door, the ball left in the other man’s court. You wish you could’ve at least got his name first but.. He never introduced himself. Hmm, maybe you did the handshake too late, that’s why the bad luck kicked in. 

“You think it’s pretty?” You almost don’t hear his words, too far away. 

You turn your body back to face him, a gentle smile crocheted onto your lips, “Of course I do. Exquisite.” 

The two of you stand in silence for a minute longer, trying to navigate the confusing energy moving between both of your forms. It’s only when you turn back around again to leave that he finally speaks. The simple word of his name. 

“Yoongi.” 

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Yoongi.” You say softly, tilting your head to look at him once again, “I really do hope we can be friends.”

But that was years ago. Friends came and went; now you want so much more. More than you could ever quite articulate. You know it now as you sit with him, an after-chase ritual in whatever cheap roadside bar you can find. Never finding yourselves regulars, always on the move– save for the presence of each other. 

“I don’t think luck is real, you know.” Yoongi drawls into your ear, the scent of alcohol heavy on his tongue. His body leaning against yours in the crowded bar, hair dancing against the side of your neck all while his tail finds itself curled around your back. A simple motion that could only be described as protective, possessive. 

“What?!” You dramatically slap your hand against your mouth, an action you picked up from him. Alcohol inhibiting both of your minds only slightly, letting words flow a little easier than they otherwise might. Letting touch feel a little more commonplace. 

An afterwork tradition, if you will. 

“You’re insane!” You announce, slapping his shoulder playfully, “You’re gonna make bad luck get us Yoongi!! Take it back!” 

Your voice is almost a whine, and he wants to fold because of it. 

“You say that like you aren’t a stem major!” He laughs, his eyes shining like crescent moons you want to live on. Wait, does that even make sense?

“That doesn’t matter! We're like– the least scienc-y!! Our whole job is practically based on luck! Oh my god!” Now you’re stopping your foot a little, and his tail finds itself pulling you closer.

“Yeah, but you have no idea how many ladder’s I’ve walked under and you still say I have the best luck.” He giggles– fucking giggles!! Can you believe the audacity of this man?! 

“Yoongi!! How dare you!! Do you know how many E5s’ you’ve cost us?! Probably like.. Like 20!” 

“Mm, maybe yours just keeps it up for the both of us. Huh?” You humph, you fucking humph, and maybe– just maybe, Yoongi feels himself going a little insane. Forgetting himself– what you are meant to be to him.

“That’s the only plausible explanation… obviously…” 

He hums, “Obviously.” 

There’s a brief moment, a flicker in the air of something indescribable. Something that makes your skin feel a quiet, humble flame strumming under the surface. That makes you feel as if there's electricity pulsing through the space left between your noses. That makes you feel almost invincible as your eyes meet his warm brown tones. 

You’ve come to love earthy hues since meeting Yoongi. He’s full of them, after all. 

But, the flame of the match is blown out far too quick for you to truly comprehend what that moment was. Why it felt the way it did. Instead, your left sputtering with the absence of Yoongi, the slow withdrawal of his form. 

“I’ll go get us more drinks.” His gravelly voice mutters just loud enough to hear over the music. You can only nod along, already missing the security of the tail curled around your back. 

At least he isn’t so shy about it’s presence anymore. At least not like he was back then– trying to hide it, trying to make the rest of the world forget about it. You never understood why, no, how could you when you love it so much? Find it just another integral part of Yoongi for you to love. 

You can even smile now, thinking back to how cute he got the first time he let you touch it. How he turned red to his ears, the chill that travelled down his spine. The flick of it as it chased after your hand when you retreated. It was too fucking cute back then… mm. Maybe that’s when you first started to grow a crush on the man. 

Or maybe it was always how struck he was when you complimented him. Pushed it aside like it meant nothing, yet he always seemed a little out of it for the rest of your time spent together. You suppose Yoongi has always been reticent to your gaze; but then again, he was always aloof when it came to his feelings as it was. Nothing to dwell on, honestly. 

You’ve never tried to hide your feelings– have never wanted to, really. You don’t think you even know how. But you’re not going to force them on him either. If he wants to act, the door has always been open. And it will remain open to him, probably forever. 

“How’d the chase go this time?” A voice carries you from your head, your feet returning to the solid ground. Jisung, a fellow chaser finds himself in the seat next to yours– the seat Yoongi used to fill. A friend in the industry, you could say. Though, you take to thinking he probably wants more. 

“Mmm… ‘bout as good as any other this late into the season…” You hum, taking a sip from your half-full glass, “Never as good around this time of year.” 

Your sigh makes a gentle smile grow onto his plush lips, “Really? I thought you fell in love with every storm.” He lets out a quiet snort, swirling his own cup. His eyes seem to remain focused on you, though. 

“Of course I do. Everyone is perfect and special!” You declare a smile stretching back, ���However, like every caring mother, I do have favourites.” 

“I don’t think– that’s not–” He laughs, “Aren’t parents not supposed to have favourites?”

“You really believe that Lie, Sung? Bold of you.”

“Well, do you have favourite pets?”

“Of course not!! How dare– okay, yeah. It’s the goldfish. His name is Guppie and he is my pride and joy. Named after my first love in elementary school~ imagine I let out a dreamy sigh here.”

His laugh makes your own come out as well, “Your first love was a… fish?”

“What, no?”

“They were named Guppie? … Like a fish…”

“Nickname, of course.” You giggle, girlish and cute. 

“Do you give nicknames to everyone then?” He moves his face closer in wonder, excitement, “What’s mine? You have to tell me.”

You hum, tapping your chin in contemplation, “I don’t know ‘Sung, nicknames are reserved for extra special people in my life…”

“Ah!” He clutches his chest, looking down before popping his head up. Puppy dog eyes, “I’m not extra special? You wound me (Y/n)! You really do! And I really thought we had something, I can’t believe this.” 

You laugh loudly at the dramatic act– emotions on the sleeve are so much more fun to display. You know he probably means none of it, but it’s still adorable. You can’t help but lean in closer, slapping his chest gently. 

“Shh! Shh! You’re too loud! Too loud! You’re extra special!” The conversation is easy, just as it always is with Jisung. Though it isn’t the same– you can’t help but notice that fact. It feels easy, smooth… though like there is a wall in the way of true connection. Like there is a way you are meant to act. Just like there always is. 

Always is with everyone but Yoongi. 

It’s strange. But something you’ve grown attached to. Fond of. 

He clears his throat behind you– think of the devil and he shall appear. Or however the saying goes. You’ve never been good with them, anyway. Your strengths and your faults, the simple facts have become all too aware of over time. Not that you mind them, of course. You just accept them as a fact of ‘you’. Just like your bubble, just like your impossible.

“Oh, hey!” Jisung is bright as always, giving a gentle wave to the man behind you. 

“Poongie!” You smile, your inebriated mind already attempting to wrap itself around his torso. It’s not your fault you already missed him!

Jisung erupts in a fit of giggles, “Poongie?! That’s his?!”

“Yep! Mixture of Pookie and Yoongi. He loves it.” He certainly does, but he would never admit it. Actually, he feels kind of odd right now. More… stiff than he was before he left. Like something… darker? Is radiating off of him. Though, it’s not actually dark. Just kind of… displeased. You can't seem to find the right word. 

“I can tell.” Jisung rolls his eyes, “He looks thrilled.” 

That only seems to further upset the man, his tail slowly curling around itself on instinct. Moving to find purchase on your waist. To pull you closer. To claim you. Sober thoughts slipping into a drunk mind, his actions freer than he normally allows them to be. 

Jealousy. That’s all he feels. Jealous that you just called someone who’s been openly hitting on you the entire season ‘extra special’. How fucking childish of him. He knows that even now, but he doesn’t want to stop. Everything that normally does feels as though they’ve gone into hibernation at this very moment.  

He just wants you. 

The next thing the Scorpion knows, he’s setting the drinks on the counter while you gaff away. Lifting you by your hips, sliding his form underneath yours with a grunt. Placing you on his lap and finally, making sure you’re secure to him with a hug of his tail around your midsection. 

He almost feels proud at your little squeal of surprise. At the blush on your cheeks. That’s right. He’s the only special one to you. This other man– other predator should know it. 

He knows he’ll regret this display in the morning. That he’ll feel utterly embarrassed by the whole thing. But right now Min Yoongi feels on top of the world. 

“Yoongi! What are you doing!” You hiccup out in surprise, trying to turn to face him. But he holds you still, holds you secure. Holds you safe just like he always makes sure you are. Gives you a response only by the shrug of his shoulders, his chin finding purchase in the crook of your neck. 

“W-well.. Fine then!” You huff, puffing out your cheeks just a little, “I’ll stay, but… just for a little! I’ll stay here for a little…” You grow a little quiet near the end, a little nervous. But you couldn’t feel more warm than in this moment. So heavenly. 

Jisung only laughs, what else is he meant to do anyway? A small, petulant part of Yoongi was hoping he’d run for the hills– he would with such aggressive scent marking. But then again, the other man is a human, probably doesn’t know anything about such a thing. 

The other part of Yoongi almost wants him to watch. Wants the other man to watch you drown in your own blush, watch as you learn more and more into the firm chest behind you. Feel the connection you two have that–

Oh, you’re laughing again too, what a pretty sound. The conversation picking up once again– Jisung is a conversationalist isn’t he. Yoongi almost wishes he was the same. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. It makes people do drastic things. It makes Yoongi want to do even more drastic things. 

If only he was human. 

If he was human he'd do so much more. Would have already done so much more. But now, in his current state of being, he couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection. He knows it. Knows it in the way mother’s comfort their children after one look at his tail, and knows it in the way you look at storms. 

Yoongi isn’t a tornado. You would never look at him the same way you look at them. With such love and light in your eyes. 

But god he wants you to, he wants you to more than anything. He wants to be an option. He wants to be the center of your universe just like those dumb fuck storms are. He wants to be the wind that plays with your hair, the rain that kisses your skin. He wants to be the very thing that envelopes your entire consciousness just like those storms do. 

And maybe, just maybe if he presses himself close enough to you he can. He can pretend with the poison in his blood that you like him. He can be yours, even if it's only for a night.

He would always be yours. You never his’. 

And as the night ticks on, venom bubbling up every second that ticks, he feels himself becoming looser. Feels you melting into his grip as pretty drinks and florals fill your mind. Feels your scent starting to overpower his nose as his mind blurs with thoughts of you. Almost feels the tangle of souls joining in the way he’s always wished them to.  

“Yoonie..” You hum, fingers coming up loosely to move through his hair in a way they only do when the two of you are alone, “He went to get a drink, can let me go now…seats open.” 

He almost feels annoyed at your words, and you can’t help but let the disappointment of them bubble, too. You don’t want him to let you go. In fact, you’d be happy staying like this forever. But you know Yoongi, you know he doesn’t like to be so… affectionate in public. He’s one to show his love quietly, something else you’ve come to find endearing over the years you’ve spent by his side. 

Only, you don’t feel relieved movements like you expected to, no. While his arms go lax, his tail almost pulls tighter. The two sides of him fighting, arguing over what to do next. And next, next you feel something so warm. So soft against your neck that you don’t know what to do. 

Lips. His lips are against your neck. A gentle press to the side of the column robbing you of your ability to breath, ability to think. Normal affectionate pecks are common, sure, when the two of you have spent too long reaserching and analysing the your brains are working a little slower than they normally do, they might even be seen as common. But this kiss, this kiss was slow. It was languid. It was so much more. Everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Have to?” His words are quiet, gruff. Lips moving against your neck as he talks. Spoken to you alone in the world, emboldened by the alluring mix of jealousy and alcohol. 

You shake your head, much emboldened by the same. He never has to let you go. 

“Good.” You feel your heart in your ears, ready to explode as he moves his arm back around you, back to your hip to hold you steady, “Mine.” 

Neither of you ever expected that single, life altering word to ever leave his lips.

“Y-Yours?” You can’t help yourself, you need to make sure you heard him right. Needed to make sure this whole thing wasn’t a dream. That his lips, slowly kissing along the ridge of your shoulder are real and not a figment of your imagination. 

Though he doesn’t say it again, doesn’t will himself to. Instead the sound you hear is something low, one you’ve never heard him use against you. A gentle growl lodged in the back of his throat, confirming it. Confirming everything for your head and your heart to hear. 

“Yours…” You try again, tilting your head to the side, giving him more room. He hums in assurance, in want. 

You think you could die happy. 

The impossible. The impossible is claiming you for himself. Is holding the heart of the love struck college student, the nervous new-hire, the assured scientist all in the palm of his hand. Is confirming your affections. Confirming the fire brewing deep in your belly. The coals that have been slowly and tenderly cared for over time. 

Yoongi and the storms– they’re both your impossible, your fate finding reality. 

“Y-Yoongi I—” He tilts your chin, cutting you off mid sentence. Passion alight beneath the subtle glow of amber that robs you of your words. Lets you know exactly what you need to. Makes the fire burst into flames as his fingers gently dig into your hip, makes your entire body heat as he rubs in gentle circles. 

“I don’t like him.” He grunts, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Keeps you from me.” 

“No one can keep me from you.” The reply is instant, your lips barely missing his. “You’re for me.”

God, and at that moment you know that the prettiest noise in the world is Yoongi’s quiet groan. The way his eyes close, the way he practically pulls you down into his lap sends you into overdrive. The way he slowly rolls his own up is enough to send you into a puddle of your former being. 

The rest of the world is gone, entirely melted away from reality. Now, now it’s just you and Yoongi. Cornered away from the rest of the bar, out of sight. Out of mind. Just his hands slowly moving your hips to be seated on just one of his thighs, his tail making sure you’re secure. Just your scent driving him crazy.

He can tell how wet you already are. He can tell how much you want him, just as he wants you. 

The contact is rough, a little maddening. His jeans pressing up against yours, the thin cotton of your panties not doing much to stop the harsh heat. But you don’t want it to stop. You want him to do whatever he wants. 

“You’re wet.” He isn't shy to admit it. Isn’t shy to admit the smell invading his nose. Isn’t shy to let you know exactly what it’s doing to him with the rock of your hips. Letting you feel something hard pressed right against your back. 

“Shut up…” You instantly complain, whining as you lean your back against his chest, further into his touch. He cracks a soft smile at your words, rocking you back and forth so slowly, so carefully. Letting you feel every flex of the muscle, every rough movement of the jean against your clit. Savouring every second now that the threat of the other man has dissipated. Taking his time in case all of this is a dream and he will have to give you up tomorrow. 

“Why? Not cute when I say it?” He chuckles, jumping his leg slightly off the ground, sending a wave through your body. A shock of pleasure to the system that has a gentle moan tumbling from your lips. That has your hips sending a gentle buck back. That has your brain feeling as though it might become mush.

Yoongi is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. 

“Hey guys I…” Yoongi’s eyes find Jisung before your own do. Before the flushed expression on your face can quell and certainly before you can find a coherent thought. And suddenly the lazy foreplay in the corner of the bar is gone. Suddenly Yoongi is no more than an animal once again. 

“O-Oh! Jisung! S-sorry let me just–” You try, but there isn’t any use. No, Yoongi is pissed you even said his name. Pissed you tried to move away from him. Why would you try to move away from him? A predator with his m– prey being stolen right out from under him. A predator that has everything to gain and everything to lose. 

Yoongi isn’t thinking anymore as he stands, just barely keeping you upright as he pulls you away. Grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom, locks the door once you’re both inside. 

Sanity is no longer present. Only the jealousy he feels inside. Only annoyance at the other man for trying to take you away from him. You said he was yours, that he was made for you. And the other predator dared try to take you? Take you from him when you were about to share something so sweet?

Yoongi knows he isn’t thinking right. Knows he might regret it in the morning– but he also knows if he doesn’t do something now he’ll regret it even more. For once, for once in his life he wants to be selfish. For once in his life he wants to forget he can’t ever have you because he’s a hybrid. For once he just wants you. 

You’d let him have you. Over and over again. For the rest of your lives. 

“Yoongi what are you–” He cuts you off with his lips against your own for he doesn’t know the answer. He’s letting himself just exist for once. Exist in the way he wants to without care. And all he wants right now is to kiss you. 

You couldn’t want anything more. Have been waiting your entire life to feel the press of his lips against your own. Kiss him back without a second thought– without reprieve. Let your mouth slip open easily for him, let everything get as messy as he wants. 

The time for gentle foreplay is over. No, now is the time to consume. 

Without a second thought he lifts you by your hips, your hands falling into place against his shoulder. Letting him lead, letting him take control as he fits his body against yours with such perfect harmony. Nobody would doubt you’re two pieces of the same puzzle, ready to fit together for the rest of eternity. 

He groans when he feels your hips press against his, as he feels your heat seep through layers of clothing. Cusses when he finally pulls back, sees the saliva collected at the corner of your lips. The hazy look in your eye that tells him you need him just as much as he needs you. That you want him so terribly you can’t help but fall against him for love, for safety. 

It’s just the alcohol.

Yoongi practically growls at his own thoughts, his tail rising in defence, in defiance against his own brain. Forcing the thoughts away, forcing everything away other than your body in the room. Other than your desire in the room. 

When his mind is no longer clouded he can come to terms with all of this, come to terms with his feelings and shove them so far back down they’ll never see the light of day– but now, right now he needs this. Needs it more than anything. 

“Want you.” He grunts, his knees falling onto the dirty bathroom floor. His hands splay against your thighs, feeling them. Worshipping the skin as if it is an altar. As if you’re his religion. “Can I?”

He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t need to. He would never have to ask you. Every single time you’d fall for the storm that is Min Yoongi. Over and over again. As if it’s as easy as breathing, as easy as thinking. 

The answer is even easier now– as your heart beats in your ears, as arousal pools in your gut. As his blunt fingernails dig themselves ever so slightly into your flesh, begging for entry. Begging for you to just give in. His cheeks a flush, his hair already a wreck. His chest rising and falling and thinking just for you. 

He looks like a god. 

“W-want you.” Your stutter makes you feel meak, but his groan of approval makes you feel strong. Makes you feel like your bubble has been popped, like the world finally has meaning past tornados and cataclysms. 

He takes your approval without any grace. Without a second to even think before he’s pulling your pants down with such hunger, such carnal need. His throat releases a groan of desire as your scent hits him at full force, as you give yourself to him. 

He can’t help himself as he presses his face against your panties, his nose right against your clit as he inhales. Takes in all of you for himself. Lets himself be greedy. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You squeak in surprise, the noise tapering into a whine. How could he do something so embarrassing! What is wrong with–

You can’t even finish the thought before his fingers pull your panties to the side, his eyes focused directly on your wet, needy cunt. “Smell good.” 

If you weren’t entirely red before, you certainly are now. There is no way you couldn’t be. Not with the hunger in his eyes. The fire in your belly. 

His tongue darts out, licking your pussy directly without a second thought. Parting your lips, collecting your arousal on his tongue. Tasting you, basking in everything you. Listening to the pretty little moan that comes from your parted lips. Falling apart without a second thought. 

And suddenly he’s hungry. Hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life. Hungry in a way that he’s sure can only be satiated by you. By making you his. 

“Fuck, (Y/n)...” He almost sounds more affected than you are, like he could cum from your taste alone. But he can’t, he won’t let himself. He wants, needs to be inside of you more than everything. Needs to fuck you, consume every part of you like he so selfishly craves. 

“Gotta get you ready…” He’s talking to himself more than to you as he stands again, trying to keep himself from succumbing to the scorpion screaming at him to just claim you as his. He can only be selfish for tonight. This night. “You gonna be quiet for me? Can’t get caught.”

“Please…” Your voice is practically a whimper, practically begging him to just do something, anything. And who is he to deny you of such simple pleasures? Especially when you whine just for him, moan just for him. Jut your hips out ever so slightly to present yourself just to him. 

His thumb finds your clit almost instantly as you call out to him. Rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves with quick, fast precision while another digit presses against your leaking hole. Preparing you, getting you ready for the intrusion. 

Your voice is a siren’s song, and Yoongi then knows why pirates used to get lost at sea. Used to become entrapped by the mermaids that sang for them. He feels himself going crazy now, as your head tilts back. As your cunt flutters around nothing, begging him to slide his finger inside just as you both desperately crave. 

A buck of your hips is all he needs to fuck the digit inside, trusting it in and out slowly. Making sure it goes as deep as it can before curling and slowly retracting. Increasing pace with the volume of your sounds, with the circle of your clit. Combining sensation, driving you further and further into the clouds with every movement. 

It is then you know that his hands are a deadly poison, one you know you will fall apart to. Especially with the gentle sounds of his grunts, with the push of a second finger into your hole. With his heated gaze focused on nothing but how well you’re taking him, how you’re stretching so prettily around his fingers. 

You place your hand over your mouth, try to keep your moans to a minimum. Try to suppress every little sound that threatens to spill past your lips. Yet you can’t help it, how could you when he knows exactly where to curl his fingers? When they press right against that little bundle of nerves inside. When they rub against you so perfectly. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You accidentally shout, your hips bucking in surprise. The band growing tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your eyes clouding with pleasure as your head feels lighter and lighter. 

He only smirks, gentle and sinful. “Found it.” 

He thrusts his fingers back in the exact same way, their pace hurried. Concise. Locating that exact same spot over and over again, curling his fingers up just right. Timing the strokes perfectly with a roll of your clit. You feel like you could scream, you’re going to scream.

“Y-You’re so mean!” You whimper, the hand on your clit moving to hold your thighs down. To resist your messy bucking. Resist your adorable begging for more. This other thumb moving to press against your clit instead. 

Then you see it, see the pretty brown thing that had you so enamoured to begin with. Remember just how sensitive it was when you touched it first, and just how mean he’s being to you now. 

With all the clarity you have left in your little brain you reach for his tail, hold it in your tiny hands. Whimper at how big it is, how strong it feels. How much it protects you. And without a second thought, you wrap your lips around the tip of it and moan. Using it as a gag, using it to stop your cries. 

Yoongi suddenly tenses below you, his entire frame shifting as your mouth sucks on the tip. Your eyes closed in concentration, little tears bubbling up in the corners as you whine around him. Fully focused on your pleasure, the feeling of his fingers inside of you– so close to falling apart. 

He thinks he could cum at that second. He’s sure of it. 

A choked groan leaves his own lips as his fingers resume their pace, his senses going into overdrive. No longer thinking, no longer able to do anything but act. But take and take and give and give until there's nothing left.

And god he wants to burn this picture into his brain. Wants to cement it into the rest of his thoughts, his very being. His movements are messier, faster as he fucks his fingers into your cunt. Doesn’t care about the noise as his tail moves on its own, slowly thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your g-spot battered, you clit burning with pleasure. 

Sounds that resemble words fall deaf on your tongue as the band finally breaks, as the world around you spins. As you find euphoria from Yoongi’s fingers. The eye of the storm befalling your very being as electricity moves down your spine as the winds subside. 

You’re left panting in front of him, your walls tightening as he slowly coaxes you through it. Helps you feel every ounce of pleasure that you deserve. Kisses your shoulder gently, softly, watching you come down from your high. 

You can only whine at the affection, the fog lifting for a brief second as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You feel so empty– too empty. You still want him. You still want so much more. 

You try to say his name, try to vocalise but it only sends vibrations down his tail. A groan leaving his lips, heat still heavy in his eyes. You realise his tail is still moving, still slowly moving in and out of your mouth. You know he isn’t finished.

You know you never want him to be. 

You raise your leg up, kicking, trying to push his pants down. Begging them to just drop a little lower. To get his cock out so he can fuck you properly. So he can make you feel so much more full of everything him. 

He lets out a chuckle of a scoff, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he shakes his head, “Needy.” He grunts, yet he feels the exact same way. Removing his tail from your mouth, finally letting you speak. Ignoring the way his heart hammers at the sight of your puffy, glossed lips. 

“Shut up.” Is the only reply you can muster, hands quickly moving to try and shove his pants down. To try and get him inside of you. He just smiles, the predatory glint never leaving his eyes. The dig of his nails never leaving your thigh. 

Finally, with your messy attempts you urge them down, force the annoying material down his thighs, his boxers moving right along with it. And fuck, you can’t help but gawk. Can’t help but whine because shit, you’ve never seen a cock so pretty! What the hell! That isn’t fair! None of this is fair and he hates you!

“You hate me.” You whimper, letting him take the lead once again. Following as he slowly leans you back, manoeuvres your hips in exactly the way he wants. Presents your puffy, fluttering cunt just for him. Messy and aching, desperate for more. 

“Maybe.” He smiles, teasing you. He’s teasing you! Can you believe that! You certainly can’t, a whine and a gentle smack to his chest telling him everything he needs to hear. Yet you’re forgetting about it all too quickly as you feel the head of something hard gently press against your lips.

In your hazed stupor, you completely missed the action. The way he gripped his cock in his hands, the languid strokes he’s made up and down the length. The way he flicked his thumb over the head just before he decided to so sinfully trace it along your slit. Teasing himself, tracing around your hole with the head. You think he might kill you. 

He thinks much of the same. 

“I’m on birth control.” You messily squeak out of the blue, eyes trained between your bodies where he’s so close. So very close to fucking himself inside. Into being exactly where you want him. Snapping that final line you two could never come back from. 

His eyes dart up to your face, something dark in the iris. Something neither of you address as he finally lets go of his last bit of reserve. As his lips slam into yours, consuming your very being. 

His hand finds your leg, pulling it up, resting it against his hip to draw you closer. In one single thrust drawing all the air out of your lungs, removing all thoughts from your head as he thrusts his entire length inside. Filling you, stretching you in the most perfect way. In a way you never imagined another person could do.

Your cries are drowned by his lips, his own curses lost in the same. The stretch, the burn is subtle, yet you could never want anything less. Anything more than the euphoric feeling of Yoongi feeling your ever being. 

“Shit…” He finally lets himself breathe, let himself have a moment to feel you. Feel your plush walls wrapped around his length, feel you fluttering around him so perfectly. You’re going to make him insane. 

He pants softly, trying to wait– trying to hold himself back from fucking you so hard you can’t walk. So hard he’ll have to carry you out of this shitty bar. So that everyone will know what the two of you did. Just who you belong to. 

You give an experimental wiggle of your hips, a signal to move. A signal to stop holding back. The only signal that he needs. 

“Yoongi!” The cry is loud, but he can’t seem to care anymore. The pace he takes is anything but slow. It's fast, hard. Rushed. Like he can’t wait a single second longer. Can’t waist a fucking millisecond doing anything else other than laying claim to your soul. 

His hips snap against your own, his cock practically hitting your cervix with every thrust. His cock pressed against that same bundle inside every time he draws back, every time he fills you again and again. It’s messy– messy and so wet. So perfect. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He mutters to himself, damp hair falling into his eyes, “Have to be quick, gonna fuck you hard, okay?” 

He drawls, scratchy. Rough. Pressing his hips fully against yours, fully feeling your slick heat. The lewd noises bouncing against the walls, filling the space. Sending a symphony into your strumming ears. Into your already worn out frame. 

You nod in agreement quickly, almost dumbly as you try to fall into a rhythm. Try to meet his movements the best you can. It feels pointless, all of it does. Trying to do anything feels so pointless when he’s fucking you so relentlessly. Like he’s waited his entire life for this moment and he’d rather die than waste another second.

Fucking you like it means something. Like you mean everything.

“Shit, (Y/n). So fucking wet.” He groans, his head rolling back, no longer able to look at the mess between your legs, “So needy.” 

You whine, shaking your head. Trying to gain a semblance of reality when it feels like it has been shattered in the most beautiful way.

“Sh-Shut up!” You whine, your walls clenching around his cock, “A-Am! Am not!” 

Your denial sends a wave of something through Yoongi. Something that makes him growl, that makes his sight darken just a bit more. 

“You’re not?” He scoffs, his eyes finding your own, reading you like an open book, “Little fucking liar.” 

His pace changes, taking shape into a different beast entirely. Something new. His thrusts turn from messy, hurried to sharp and precise– the pace never changing. Every single thrust knocking the wind from your lungs, changing the very shape of your DNA to scream for him and only him.

“Y-Yoongi what the fuck?!” You whine, your head knocking back, hitting the glass behind you. Even more of your brain cells scrambling, trying to stay in reality. Trying not to float off in the great beyond where Yoongi wants you to stay. 

“Hmm?” He grunts, his eyes focused back downwards. Right to where your slick coats him, to where a pretty white ring has formed around the base. He won’t last long. Even if he wants to keep fucking you forever, he knows he’s done for. “Thought you weren’t needy.”

You whine, unable to stop the band from pulling tight in your gut once again. Unable to stop the pleasure from coursing through your veins. Already a wreck– your body warm with sweat and your hole fluttering uselessly around him. Trying to draw him back in over and over.

Never get him to leave. 

His voice is suddenly in your ear, far closer than you remember him being. Far closer than you can manage him being. Fuck, and now his thumb is pressing against your clit again. You don’t know what you can do, what to do. 

“You can cum if you just admit it, human.” You’re going insane. “Tell me how fucking needy you are for me. C’mon, do it. I know you can.” 

It’s over for you. You had no clue Yoongi could ever be like this, no clue just how much you’d want it. How much you’d love it. Even as tears bubble in the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, even as your hips buck up weakly to meet his thrusts. As his cock makes you feel like you’re about to enter the pearly gates. 

You know you love it. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders with so much strength you think they might bruise. Hell, you’re sure he’s bruised your hips. There isn’t much difference. “I-I!” 

“Mhmm..” He hums, sounding entirely unaffected on the surface, yet it’s clear he’s falling apart just as much as you. Clear in the way his hips stutter so slightly, losing their pace. Clear in the way he holds you tighter and tighter. The way his tail curls possessively around your leg. “You can do it. Say it, human.”

“I-I’m needy!” You whine, forgetting your volume, “I-I need you, Yoongi!” 

Just like that, he’s tumbling off the edge. Your words acting as an anchor, as the very thing he’s wanted to hear for years. His hips stuttering inside of you, filling your cunt with his cum without a second thought. 

“Cum, pretty thing.” His voice is guttural. A command as your legs lock around him. His thumb never giving your clit reprise.  while he doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb. Your own release finding you the second you feel his cock twitch inside of you, the moment you feel his cum leak inside. 

Winds swirl at your very being. Lifting you higher and higher into the clouds as your walls clench around him. Milking him for everything, for all he’s worth. Making sure every drop lands inside, making sure you stay nice and full of him while your head wanders into the clouds. While every bit of your being feels fireworks. 

Your legs don’t even let go as the two of you slowly begin to calm down. As your heart rates try to return to normal and air returns to your lungs. As Yoongi’s length slowly begins to soften inside of your cute, worn little cunt. 

You don’t want to let go. You never want to let go. 

His grip slowly softens on your hip. Thumb working to rub slow, gentle circles in their place. His lips finding the column of your throat once more– gentle, nipping kisses find home over the marks he left while sitting at the bar. Not any real bonding  marks like his scorpion may have wanted, but pretty red things that claim your skin in a human way. 

Your fingers find his strands, knotting themselves in them. Keeping his head where it belongs. You’ve never felt more loved, more wanted in this moment. 

You never want it to end. 

“Needy…” He smiles to himself, shaking his head softly. His hair tickles your ear. “Can’t believe you actually said it.” 

“Y-you!” You try, realising how severely you’re still out of breath. You hate how quickly he’s bounced back. “You made me! You ass!” 

He only smiles, shaking his head. Still in complete and utter disbelief that this is real, “I wanted to hear it. You were cute.” 

Your legs finally relax when you whine. They easily fall on either side of him, kicking slightly in petulance as he pulls away from your cunt. Removing himself from you, smiling as his cum starts to collect at your opening. 

This still all has to be a dream for him, it has to be. 

“You hate me!” You repeat again, warmth coming to your cheeks once more as his hands find your cunt. One thump pulling your lip open, letting him see just how much of a mess he’s made you. Letting him watch as his cum drips from your core. 

“Maybe.” He can’t help the fond glow in his eyes as he kisses your cheek. A thought coming to the forefront of his brain that he forces back. Another thought he could never let surface, not even now as you’re stuffed with his cum. 

His scorpion still preens all the same, though. Filled with thoughts of kids. Thoughts Yoongi, the human, not the scorpion, would never say aloud. Drunk, tipsy, or sober. 

He reaches for the dispenser, grabbing a few paper towels before turning on the sink and running them under. Not the best tool, but it will do. 

“Well, I don’t hate you…” You’re blushing as you say the words, almost embarrassed without real reason to be. What you just did, it was so much more than ‘I don’t hate you.’ At least, it wasn’t to you. You hope it wasn’t for him either. 

You help him with his pants, reaching your hands down and pulling them up slowly for him, “I don’t hate you either.” He rolls his eyes, gently cleaning the space between your legs. 

“Awkward if you did.” You huff, lifting your hips as he moves your underwear back in place. Stay hovering as he slides your jeans back up as well. 

He leaves a gentle press against your temple, offering you a hand as you hop off the counter. Hips and legs already entirely too sore, a whine shedding your throat as you let him know the pain. All while he only laughs, patting your butt as he helps you walk.

The picture of domesticity. 

Neither of you address the elephant in the room, both for entirely different reasons. For radically different realities. The morning would be better anyway, you surmise. With fluid thoughts and no liquor in your system. 

You assume Yoongi feels the same way as you both walk home. Gentle shoulders and banter thrown around as casually as ever. The only solid thing the both of you know: you can never go back to that bar again.

God, your fucking head hurts. Maybe?? Maybe everything hurts? When the hell did the sun get so loud?! Since when did light feel like fucking screaming, man?! This isn’t fair! Nothing is fair and the world hates you! Exclusively you, and no one but you!

No, that’s not true. That’s completely illogical, actually. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when your head is buzzing and your stomach is already growling for some kind of food. 

Oh god, food would be so good right now. Warm steamy pancakes, eggs, some kind of potato with a dash of Yoongi to eat it with like you do every morning. 

Suddenly, the other side of the bed feels entirely too cold. Freezing. A void empty where the warmth you felt last night should reside.

He fell asleep there, you're sure of it. You remember the feeling of his arms around you, the soft snores that left his lips after you both stumbled into bed. Barely getting undressed before falling into your bed. You remember everything about last night. So much so that you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at the memory. The thought of everything done in that dingy bathroom, all the words spoken, the care professed. 

Even if you were tipsy, you would never forget it. You would never regret it. Were waiting to wake up in his arms to make everything official– a long overdue conversation that would finally set in motion your lives together. 

So where the hell is he?

A pout forms on your lips as you stretch, your body too tight for the morning and even more so for your search. The soreness in your hips, the bruises he left from his grip a brutal reminder of his absence as you sit up, your eyes squinting as you scope the scene.

You don’t think you like what you see– it’s a weird feeling, honestly. His bag is gone, his shoes are gone, his clothes are gone. For the first time in all the years you’ve known him, he feels utterly gone. Not a speck of him in your room, not a single sign he was even on this trip with you. 

Does he regret…

The frown pulls deeper as you reach for your phone. You definitely don’t like this feeling. Like he wasn’t even there to begin with after everything that just happened. 

“Ah, stop it.” You say to yourself, one of your hands coming up to gently pat your cheek. You hate where your brain is going so quickly. Maybe you’re just a sop that needed more aftercare than he knew about– yeah, that's probably it. He probably just wanted to go back to his own room and shower before you had to work today. See, that makes much more sense, doesn’t it? You nod your head, almost in agreement with your thoughts. Set on your decision, on the most-likely-possible solution. 

[9:27am] To: Poongie

> Goodmorning :> I hope you slept well 

> Did you wanna go get breakfast at the diner? I think I’m dying and only hashbrowns can fix me unfortunately 

You wish you could say you weren’t affected– wish you could say you weren’t sitting there, waiting for a response. Heart beating out of your chest like a schoolgirl in love. It’s silly, isn’t it? What emotions can make you feel inside and out. How they can seem to affect every part of your being without even trying. 

You suppose storms are the same way. Suppose all natural forces are– the sun, the moon, the stars. They all have their own cosmic power that distils someone at their very core. Leaving them waiting, abating in agony over a simple text back from the man you like. 

You toss your phone to the side, choosing to get ready instead of imagining anymore fantasies. You live in reality, a woman of science. There’s no sense in trying to explain everything you feel, only accepting that you feel it. 

Mmm. As you get dressed, you wonder how long you’ll be able to go on like that for. 

[10:02] From: Poongie

> gm

> i already ate

Oh. You don’t like that. In fact, you hate it so much you want to start making a powerpoint presentation on how to text just for him. But, you give him the benefit of the doubt once more. Yoongi has never been a good texter, anyway. You’re lucky if you can get more than a two word reply from him. He prefers phone calls. 

[10:03] To: Poongie

> So u hate me okay

> Come sit with me tho, I don’t want to look like a loser

> Meet me down there in 5 ;P

You give a soft smile as he reacts to your final text with a thumbs up. It doesn’t leave you feeling the best, but he’s not avoiding you entirely. And he never has been a morning person. Plus, he’s probably hungover too and doesn’t wanna look at his phone screen. You two are fine and last night was amazing. And soon you could make everything official. 

Your smile grows. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes perfect sense. 

You know what doesn’t? A lot of things, actually. Too many to count, but you try anyway. 

One. 

Yoongi walking in 10 minutes late acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t happen. Just sliding into the seat across from yours, the thick plastic of the booth squeaking while he does so. His hands stuffed in his pants, nothing but a nod in your direction to acknowledge your existence. His face utterly blank, entirely neutral. 

Never once has Yoongi greeted you with less than a gummy smile. A ruffle of your hair. A jab at your tired appearance. But you ignore it– ignore the sense of unease, of dread already building inside. He must really have a bad hangover, poor guy. 

“Goodmorning!” You chirp brightly, a smile of a thousand suns cast in only his direction. Your usual greeting, of course. Maybe just a little extra chipper to balance him out. To try and prepare yourself, maybe to get a little excited for the conversation to come. Pull him out of any awkward tension he may be feeling. 

“Goodmorning.” He simply replies back, his eyes following the waitress as she places a cup of coffee, extra sweet, in front of him. His usual order. Something you’d never forget. Something he knows you’d never forget, but the way he stares into the warm liquid says otherwise. 

His eyes never stray from the cup, like he's thinking. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how. Like he isn’t sure whether to ignore it or bring it to light. 

You know that look well, and you don’t want to ignore it. 

Two. 

He calls the waitress back and orders another coffee. Black. 

He hates his coffee black. You know this. Everyone does. He hasn’t had the stuff since before he met you. You opened him to the world of how delicious sweet drinks can be. So why the hell is he planning on pretending to like something he doesn’t? It makes no sense to you– your expression shows it all. Eyebrows quirking together, lips pushing outwards slightly. 

“Wow, the great Min Yoongi is changing up his order?” A creature of habit never does, you would know yourself, “Hangover that bad?” 

You try to lighten the mood, raise the cloud that hangs above the booth. Or maybe it’s a cloud only you feel, you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? 

“Mmm, you could say that.” He grunts, his chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail curling closer. Almost defensive. Almost.

“God yeah,” The conversation feels stunted, and you hate that even more. “My head has been throbbing since I woke up. I don’t know if I drank too much or not enough.” The banter isn’t flowing as easily, and he curls in on himself even more. Almost like the mere mention of last night rings alarm bells in his mind. 

Oh! Okay, yeah. Maybe he’s just nervous about everything that happened, you know? Maybe he’s worried that you don’t remember, or that you’re having different feelings about it. Maybe his brain is playing the same tricks on him that trickled into your consciousness that morning! 

Yeah, okay. That makes so much more sense now that you think about it. You have to stop beating around the bush, just come out and say everything you think. Everything you feel and you can talk about it. You’ll just bring it up– he obviously isn’t going to, but then you’ll be in a relationship by the time your pancakes come out! Perfect! 

Yet as you look up at him, find his face utterly void of anything, your confidence wanes. 

Three.

He’s refusing to look at you. Another thing he never does. You’re always the one to avoid eye contact, never him. You’re always the one to stare out the window, not him. He normally looks at you. Normally basks in you. 

You feel your mouth drying, all words becoming lost on your tongue the longer you stare at his disposition. You don’t break it as the silence becomes awkward, as he doesn’t try to do anything to fix it. Simply sips at his coffee. His disgusting coffee. 

Drinks it until it empties. Until the pancakes now in front of you remain nearly untouched and cold. Until the world stops spinning and time freezes. As the comet hits and the world ends. As society descends into chaos yet you can’t do anything but look at him. 

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. But that’s exactly how it feels for some strange reason. How it feels to be unable to reach him. 

It isn’t until he grabs his coat, sliding $30 across the table that you finally gain the courage to speak. Finally blurt out the words sitting on the tip of your tongue for the last 20 minutes. 

“We should talk about last night.” You didn’t expect to say anything honestly, shocked at the air leaving your lungs. 

And finally, finally he looks at you. The diner is still frozen, yes, but now he’s looking at you and for some reason that’s all that matters.

A deep drag of air fills his lungs as he sags his shoulders, rigid disposition weakening in attempt to show signs of aloof. His tail gives everything away. Sharp and pointed. Unnerved. 

“What is there to talk about?” 

Oh. 

“What?” You feel blood leave your face, “Everything. There’s everything to talk about.” 

He sighs, his eyes almost rolling at your words. Everything he does is ten times louder. Ten times greater than any storm, any power in the entire universe. 

Four. 

“Listen, (Y/n). Last night was a mistake, okay?”

Oh.

Is it possible for the Earth to stop rotating around the sun? For the moon to find home in another planet? Is it possible for the rings of Saturn to disband, to crack and shatter, leaving the planet feeling hollow? No more than a gaseous ball floating around an unyielding core forcing it to stay together?

It has to be. Because if it’s possible for Yoongi to say those very words, say the very words that are able to rip your soul from your body, you think anything is. 

You feel something in you crack. Something so fragile and innocent that you want to protect it with your everything. Run far and hide. Nurse it alone until it stops kicking and screaming for its unending pain to yield. For it to have rest in a world that only seems to take and take and take. 

“What?” You don’t even care that your voice cracks. 

He sighs again, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just don’t think there’s anything to talk about, okay?”

“There’s a lot to talk about.” Your eyebrows crinkle, your mouth moving into a frustrated frown. Red isn’t a colour you feel often, but your walls are up. Your bubble now a sphere frozen in time– a place with room for no one but you. Your body curled around that innocent glow. Protecting it. Keeping it warm. “For one, calling it a mistake.” 

He’s rigid again too, maybe red glowing around his form as well. But you can’t seem to care. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Not able to sense the danger. The tail pointed in your direction. Venom dripping from his lips.

“Wasn’t it? We’re friends (Y/n). One stupid night shouldn’t change that shit.” It changes fucking everything. Especially with your pining. Especially with your heart on your sleeve. With your affections for him always oh-so-fucking obvious. 

“Like hell it–” He cuts you off. 

“We’re done with this conversation. Just forget last night ever happened.” He stands, not planning on waiting around anymore. Not waiting for you anymore. “Just act like it never did. Nothing has to change. We’re not talking about this anymore.” 

With that he leaves without letting you speak. Without letting you talk. Shutting you down entirely in a way he never has before. In a way he promised he would never do to you. And for the first time since you discovered your crush on him, you feel something negative simmering for Min Yoongi. 

Q/Hybrids_Humans 

U/YGS_Min  •  posted 5y ago

Can Hybrids and Humans actually fall in love? -> Advice

> Hi. I’m new to this page so I might get things wrong with this post. Sorry in advance if I do. 

> I am a Hybrid and I recently met a girl who I think is my mate. I get all the classic mate feelings someone does when I’m around her. When we first met, a few days ago in the library, I automatically felt a pull towards her. Like I needed to be close to her. Everything in my body, my hybrid side especially, was begging for me to make her my mate right away. She even complimented my tail. Does she even know what that means? What it did to me?

> After that, she gave me her number (I’m helping her with a few things) (we're both ‘in’ college) and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Whenever I open my phone my brain automatically fries and moves to open her contact so I can text or call her. It actually feels a little crazy. 

> She said she wants to be friends and I don’t know what my brain is going to do if we actually get closer. 

>The issue is that she's human, though. So I already know she doesn’t feel the same way about me. She doesn’t feel the bond or the pull to get closer. And she already knows I’m a hybrid so there’s no way to avoid it. 

> I’m also not the most friendly Hybrid, I guess. People don’t like my species. My mom doesn’t even like the way I was born. And I’m lucky enough to get away from where I was before and am living my own life now. Trying to do good things with it. Maybe be human with it, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

> Point is, I’ve looked online and while I know legally it is possible to be mates with a human, I haven’t found anything about Human’s with more odd species. And I really just want to know if this could be possible, or if I should give up before things even start. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Her mannerisms kill me– I love them. She’s so cute. And she acted like I was just like everyone else. 

> I don’t know. I want her to be my mate. But I just want to know other peoples experiences. I know she’d never be able to love me in the way I automatically do her, but if I told her she was my mate would she feel forced into it? Would she feel like I actually care? Could she ever actually care? Should I do anything about it or just pretend that it was never there in the first place? 

> I never thought my mate might be human. I never thought I'd find my mate. Any advice would be appreciated. Thanks. 

6 am. 

Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s slept. He’s not sure he’s ever slept with the exhaustion weighing on his bones. His consciousness. His very being. In fact, all he’s had is his thoughts as the hours have ticked by, unrelenting. Unwavering. As the sun starts to shine through the curtains and the reality of everything that transpired rushes to the surface. Past the alcohol. Past your adorable soft snores. 

He had you. He fucked you. For one night, you belonged to him. 

The first thing he felt after he held you in bed was peace. Complete and utter satisfaction with life, with you. Everything itching at him, pulling him towards you was, for once, content. He no longer felt the burning in his heart or the pulling at his skin to get you closer. The fuzziness in his brain whenever you smiled. All of it was gone. There was nothing but happiness in his being. 

Nothing but the ideas of his dream being true. Of getting to hold you like this every night. Getting you to smile for him, only him. Getting to belong to you in ways humans could never understand. 

In ways you could never understand. 

Something else starts creeping into his consciousness, then. Something starting in the pit of his stomach, rising until it feels like he's choking. Until not even the scent of your shampoo can calm the race of his heart. Not even the pull of his tail drawing you closer to his body– his hybrid side trying to calm him down in ways it only knows how. 

How could Yoongi let himself live in such a sick dream? 

You’re a human. He’s a hybrid. You would never actually love him. 

Your words were drunk– of course they were. Influenced by the alcohol and the idea of a warm body next to your own. Maybe you didn’t even realise it was him, maybe it could have been anyone and you would have been satisfied. 

It’s such an ugly thing, the words he thinks. The ideas that form behind his skull, twisting and turning. Forming an amalgamation of tangles and death defying drops to nothingness. Of the reality of things, his reality that is. One where he’s worthless. One where you are the sun and he is nothing but an asteroid following the orbit of someone else. 

Hybrids are never meant to be with humans. 

He knows that for a fact. Has read all the history books, looked at all the articles, scoured for any sign that the two of you could be together in a society that hates him only to be left with mockery. Left with anonymous strangers telling him that scorpions are meant to kill. Meant to destroy. How could a human ever care about him when his entire life he’s been told it’s the worst parts of himself? How could you care about him?

Well, he knows that isn’t all true. He knows you care in some ways. But they aren’t mate ways and–

Fuck. Fuck Yoongi, he knows he’s not supposed to think of those things. He’s never allowed to think of you and that word together. He forbade himself of it. Promised himself it couldn’t be true. That he would never admit it to you or anyone else. 

You are not his mate. 

But you are. 

But–

He wishes he could get his head to shut the fuck up for a fucking second so he could think. Think about anything other than those two words together, even if he knew them to be true from the moment he met you in the library. When he agreed to be your tutor. When he fell in love the moment you looked his way. 

And even then he thought that maybe, just maybe if you didn’t know he was a hybrid he would have a chance. That if he could keep it hidden for long enough, if you saw him as a human and not a terrifying creature bred only to kill, that you could fall for him. That he could be your mate– boyfriend. That he could be your boyfriend. 

But then you saw it. Saw the fucking thing he wishes he never had, wishes he could live without. The very thing he has been hated for his entire life. His genetic abnormality, originally bred to be used for attack, used by the government to kill. The very piece of his being he rejects time and time again to try and just feel a little more normal, a little more human. And you… you said you liked it. 

And no, you didn’t have any clue what those words meant at the time. Of course you didn’t. Didn’t know what they implied– didn’t know the true meaning they held. The acceptance of courtship behind their very tone. 

A nice tail to a human? Nothing. A nice tail to a scorpion? The very thing used by the hybrid to attract mates? To show their viability and strength as a partner? Everything. 

In that moment, you were everything. 

But you didn’t know the meaning behind those words. You didn’t love him the way he so implicitly did you. And while you accepted him as a friend, you would never accept him as more. He would never let you. 

That night was the night he promised himself you weren’t his mate. Promised himself he had no mate. 

Last night was the first time he ever broke it. 

Last night he could have killed you. 

You had his tail in your mouth. His tail. The tail that carries his venom. The venom bred into his cells meant to kill others. If he let any of it out by accident… if he…

Fuck. 

The heaviness that realisation brings is what finally makes him get out of bed. Finally set in motion reality. Stop himself from living in whatever dream he was playing with. Stop playing house with a girl that would never be his. That would probably think the entirety of last night was a mistake. 

Who gives a shit what you thought. He could’ve killed you. He could’ve killed his fucking mate.

Societally, he could’ve never had you. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if you had to face the same things he did on the daily. What others thought of you. What they would say about you if they saw you two together. What would happen with your kids. How much hate and fear you would receive by being with him. 

He could sacrifice his own life for you a thousand times, but he would never let you do the same for him.

And last night. Last night his venom could’ve been your end. 

He doesn’t need to think anymore. He knows what he’s going to do. Even if it hurts him. Even if the grenade is set to go off and destroy his very being, it’s worth it to keep you safe. To keep you content. To keep you away from him.

Best case, you don’t remember last night or don’t bring it up. Worst…

Yoongi knows the ship he’s boarding is bound to sink– that he’s destined to drown. But if it means your happiness, he’d do anything.

The car feels cold. The heat is blasting, but it still feels frozen. Decrepit. All fireplace memories hazing into ice as you ride next to him. 

Him.

Fucking him.

Fucking Min Yoongi. The fucking asshole that tore your heart out and stomped on it. The fucking asshole that didn’t even have the decency to talk to you. To explain why the fuck he was being so cold. The fucking asshole that made you feel loved. Like you weren’t alone in the entire universe, only to make you realise you were trapped in a metal box– steaming. Bubbling.

Maybe you aren’t cold. No, you definitely aren’t. You’re steaming. Burning up– ready to explode at the slightest thing. Still a burning blaze because he didn’t fucking let you talk. Just shut you down without a second thought. Without fucking anything.

Not that he owes you anything– he doesn’t owe you a relationship. He doesn’t owe you love, of course not. You’re not dumb enough to think that. But you do know he owes you an explanation. A chance to speak. Years of friendship tell you that much. 

Promises tell you that much. 

And you can’t fucking stand broken promises. Can’t stand acting like strangers after years of friendship. After all the time spent together. After all of the memories formed, all the bonds created. You don’t deserve to be treated like nothing. 

Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even come with you today if you hadn’t texted him. Probably assumed you’d rather go alone or with one of the other people on the crew. Probably– shut up, you decide in that moment to stop making excuses for him. To stop giving him the benefit of the doubt when he treated you as no less than a one-night-stand. A fuck that meant nothing. 

Were fucking years of friendship just for that? Just so he could fuck you? This fucking–

You scoff to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. Shaking your head. An outloud reaction to the continued spiral that started this morning, that will continue to brew until it inevitably boils over. Until the pot filled with too much water gets too hot and just boils over. 

You never have been able to keep your opinions in. Open book pages laid out for the world to see. Another reason you’ve always been alone– should have stayed alone in your bubble. 

“What?” Oh, he wants to talk to you now? 

Your eyes shoot over to his figure from the corner of your eye. You can’t believe that yesterday you were smiling at him. You hate that today a piece of you still frets at the trapping of his fingers against the wheel. At his apparent aloof demeanour is automatically disillusioned by the simple movement indicating his nerves. 

He always does that when he knows a big storm is coming– when he’s worried about safety, your safety. When he's concerned about whatever events are going to follow. A tick tick tick, fingers tapping delicately one after the other. Not a harsh grab against the wheel, not an unease of temperament. Yoongi, even when nervous or agitated, has always been gentle. 

Well, every time except for this morning. 

You roll your eyes. 

As much as you hate how self destructive you become in times like these, you hate the bubbling feeling even more. Hate the strong emotion that floods your veins, the same one that makes you feel oh-so weak. The same one that makes you need to be strong. Need to be more.

Maybe you wish you could be more like Yoongi– be entirely unaffected by the strong feelings that permeate your being. Maybe you wish you could act as ‘chill’ as him. To separate how you feel from who you are. To be calm even if you want to be brash. 

But you can’t. Not when it's about him. Never when it’s about him. Almost like a piece of you continues and will always pull you towards Min Yoongi. 

You turn away from him, back to the laptop resting in your lap. “The PAR says a tornado is forming north-east. Head North so we can drop the doppler in the right position.”

“Mm.” He grunts. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything. 

You don’t know what you expect him to do anyway. You didn’t give him anything to work with. Yet it doesn’t seem thinking logically is on the table, and you can’t help but get more mad, more frustrated by the second.

“Are we really not going to talk about this?” You’re quiet, almost vulnerable when you ask the question. So quiet he might not even hear. Hanging on the precipice, two winds twisting against each other in equal strength. 

Never have you felt this way about another person before. Dejection and anger weigh equally on the soul. You don’t quite know how to handle it. Don’t know how to combat what you’re feeling inside, just knowing the kettle is set to boil. 

He doesn’t answer your question. 

It was probably a bad idea to text him. Probably equally bad for him to answer and take you. An even worse idea to let the words slip out of your mouth without holding them back.

“Asshole.” The wind starts to pick up speed around the car, sucking you in. Pulling you deeping into the void. It’ll be no time at all before the tornado hits. 

“What?” His head jerks backwards, chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail coiled firmly behind him, acting like it isn’t even there. Trying to pretend he isn't there, maybe. 

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” You can’t help the rumble that forms in your heart, the twisted words that spew from your mouth. The subtle ache from every insult you fling. 

Almost like you’re attached to him. Like you’re attempting to sever a chain never meant to come undone. 

“What the fuck?” Why he’s acting so scandalised, flinching at every word, leaves you almost confused. Almost. Because he has no reason to be confused, at least not in your eyes. Not in the storm's eyes either. 

The rumble of thunder hammers outside, deeper into the freeze. Deeper into ash. 

“I thought we were going to move past this, (Y/n). We need to be adults here.” He sighs that stupid fucking sigh that you hate. The same one he used in the diner. The same one he used to brush off your feelings. Your chance to speak. 

Maybe later you would reflect on how selfish you’re being. Maybe later you would realise how childish you actually are acting. But right now all you can see is red. Right now all you can feel is a part of yourself trying to rip away. 

Maybe later you would find out Yoongi is feeling the exact same thing. 

But right now, right now all you see is red. All you hear is the beating of hail against the car roof, the image that it is your own heartbeat set in your own mind. Right now all you know is the soul crushing weight of the only man you ever loved pulling away.

Your soulmate– if such things were real, breaking the bond. 

“Are you serious? I’m the one that needs to be the adult here? Me?” You scoff, indignant. “You’re the one playing pretend, acting like nothing happened!” 

“I told you that we shouldn’t talk about it.” 

“You said it was a mistake.” Your eyes are set firm in a glare pointed at him and no one but him. Petty and Spite are your new best friends. Congratulations! “Just tell me if you fucking regret it Yoongi, just tell me.”

“(Y/n).” 

“Was it a drunk accident? Did you think I was someone else? Please! I rather you say fucking something than nothing at all! Please just let me be selfish for once! I’m begging for something! Anything!”

…

“We have a job to do. Focus on it rather than us.” You hate that he paused before he spoke, that it gave you some sort of hope. You hate even more that his tone has not once changed– settling from incredulous to neutral. Almost like he exists as nothing but a robot reciting lines. You hate it. You hate it. You hate it. 

He makes you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. He makes it feel like your feelings mean nothing. Like everything you trusted him with was all for naught. Are you not expressing yourself well enough? Are you a complete idiot? What the fuck are you doing wrong?! What's wrong?!

“You’re serious?” The logical side of you says he’s right, your job is more important than anything else. But the piece of you falling apart, pulling away and leaving an empty hole inside feels otherwise. You’re convinced you’ve never felt any emotion other than frustration and annoyance. 

The car rolls to a stop as a clearing hits– hail ceasing, wind slowing even if it's just a fraction.  A calm before the storm. Where you’re meant to ‘dO yOuR jOb’-- fucking asshole. Does he really think you don’t know that? Does he really think that little of you?

“Fucking joke.” You can’t help the dry laugh that exits your lungs as you step out of the car. Your peace, the time you love to spend most in the world set askew, your feelings anything but. You love your time in the storms, but the tornado brewing inside casts a much larger shadow than the one overhead. 

Your hands fumble as they move the DOW out of the trunk– an action you’ve done time and time again feeling entirely foreign. Your body clumsy as it carries it to the front, your mouth spewing annoyed half thoughts all the way. 

“What?” Yoongi’s window is rolled down, his head leaning out of the front as he asks. 

Your eyes circle your skull again, “Fucking joke!” You call, trying to set up the radar. Your body only half in the moment. Half in the clouds. 

“This whole thing is one big joke!” You shout, foot kicking the dirt beneath your feet. The storm beginning to dissipate, a swell of rain forming behind your eyelids instead. 

“(Y/n) are you serious?!” You hate that his own frustration feels like a punch to the gut. 

“I have been this whole time!” You shout, brain finally working to kick the last pieces of the radar in place. In good time too, the wind is picking up again. The tornado will be coming soon. 

“Are you?! Are we seriously not going to talk about this?!” Your voice doesn’t feel like your own. It feels foreign, like something deeper inside is speaking for you– like it’s taking control. “Am I seriously just a cheap fuck to you?! Was I really a mistake, Yoongi?! Please, please just tell me.” 

“(Y/n), don’t do this to me…” Don’t do this to him? Don’t do this to him?! Does he realise what he’s doing to you? Does he even fucking care? You told him you want him! That nothing could keep you from him– and he doesn’t even have the decency to reject you properly. 

Maybe you're the bad guy– the villain for forcing this. For the path of destruction it might cause. But you truly can’t stand this. And maybe, just for once, the consequences mean as little to you as getting swallowed by the storms you’ve always cared for.

Yoongi is your impossible, remember? “But it’s always been about you! Don’t you get that, Yoongi?! It’s always! Always been about you from the second I met you!” You yell, not holding back your shouts. Letting them echo with the thunder coursing through the skies, coursing through your veins. “I’m not asking you to love me! I’m not asking for any of that shit! I just want a rejection!” 

What? What the hell are you saying? Why are you asking him to do that? Why are you asking him to do the one thing he can’t do?

He loves you. He loves you so much it keeps him up at night. That it infests his days like a parasite. You’re not asking him to love you? Are you crazy? Do you not see how he looks at you? Do you not see that you’re the person that’s hung all the stars in the night sky?

He can’t reject you. He can’t. His brain won’t let him form the words– his lips never to curl in the right shape to let them out. He can’t reject you because he doesn’t want to– because it would practically kill him to. 

He loves you. You’re his mate.

Why couldn’t you just make this easy? Why couldn’t you reject him? Why did you have to look so broken this morning? Why did you like him back? What does it mean? What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to keep fighting when he knows he could have you for himself, for real? 

How is he supposed to protect you from him when it feels like he’s ripping a part of himself out when he tries to? He doesn’t want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt you. He just wants to keep you safe. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t he just have you?

‘No one can keep me from you. You’re for me.’

Your words from last night ring in his ears. Existing as the only thing he can hear, the only thing that matters. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe– 

A sharp beeping suddenly penetrates his ears, a sound resonating from your laptop. A map laid out of the tornado's path.

It's formed– its body barrelling straight for you. 

Yoongi looks scared, nervous. His tail uncurling from behind him. Reaching out the window, reaching out to you. “(Y/n)! Get in the car!” 

“Shut up!” You’re not listening to him, not listening to a word he says, “I’m not even worth a rejection?! Our friendship means nothing, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” His breathing is accelerating, his heart rate going crazy. He needs to get to you. He needs to protect you. To get in the car and drive as fast and as far as he can so nothing bad happens. “Get in the car!”

“Why does it even matter if I do or not?!” You yell over the sounds of rushed winds, ignoring debris that begin to fly past. Ignoring everything but the man in front of you, just like you’ve done time and time again. “If I get in, you’re just going to pretend nothing happened! You’re going to– you’re going to–” 

Tears begin to clog your vision, your words welling up in your throat. Scratching the inside, making you feel like you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Where you want to be strong, you are weak. And where you want to be weak, you feel strong. It’s a strange sort of feeling. 

“I can’t just fucking pretend like nothing happened last night, Yoongi!” A sense of peace washes over you, a complete contrast to the storm surrounding, enveloping the world. Acting as a monster, not caring about your feelings, swallowing everything whole. You finally feel at peace, oddly enough.

“I can’t– I can’t just act like everything’s fine! I’ve always been so fucking shit at that, you know that!” You throw your arms up in defeat, standing right in the path of the storm. Almost ready to watch the tornado come into view, to become the storm yourself. “But it feels like– it feels like you’re killing a part of me! Like you’re, you’re pulling out a piece of my very being and I don’t know why! It doesn’t feel real! And I don’t know if I can live without it!” 

What? It feels like– it feels like that for you? 

Yoongi steps out of the car, his tail curling almost too pleased at his human side’s actions. If it was anyone else, they would think you’re crazy. They would think you’re just being manipulative without a care in the world– but to Yoongi, to hybrids, he knows exactly what you're talking about. He knows the exact same thing. Has felt it every day of his life since he decided he couldn’t have you. 

The mate bond. The soulmate tie that will always lead two halves of a conjoined soul together over and over again. 

You feel it. Humans aren’t meant to feel it but you do. You feel the same pull, the same bone crushing heartbreak upon rejection from your mate. The same– the same everything Yoongi feels. 

He’s the one that's been hurting you like this, the one hurting himself by acting the same. In his bid for protection, he did the opposite. What kind of fucking mate is he? Why didn’t he just listen to the bond? Why didn’t he just let himself follow his heart?

Everything he’s dealt with in his past no longer carries any point. The comments under his stupid post to that stupid forum mean nothing. The words of his “family” are jack shit. The societal implications of him being less than human mean even less– you never saw him as less. His mate cares. His mate sees him.

This is what having a mate feels like? Yoongi thought he would never know. Never understand. But the warmth that feels him now, the subtle yearning he’s suppressed rises to the surface. His feet carrying him automatically, urging him to find you. To take care of you. To keep his mate safe. 

“We have to go!” He rushes, his legs moving quickly to try and meet your form. To try and find you. 

“No! No!” You shout, your foot stomping into the Earth. In any other scenario, he’d be shaking his head. Laugh at your antics. But right now, all he cares about is getting you to safety, and working on both of your communication skills. “I need you to tell me I’m a mistake! I need you to say I meant nothing!”

There you stand, arms open. Wind rushing past you, eyes closed yet looking straight ahead. You could never mean nothing, you mean everything. It’s his own stupid fault he ever let you think otherwise. 

“I just said what I needed to say!” He shouts, his body finally meeting yours in the open field. His hands land on your shoulders, trying to ground you. Hair  blowing around him, sticks flying past but never hitting the two of you. Almost like this needed to happen, like fate was set in stone for this very moment. 

Your eyes slowly open, and Yoongi thinks the world freezes around him. Misty watersheds sit in your tearline, your eyebrows forming together in confusion with his words. Your lungs raising and falling quickly, chest panting with effort held back. Emotions yet to be unraveled. 

If you feel the bond now, how long have you felt it? How confused you must’ve been. Yoongi feels awful. 

“Wh-what?” Your voice cracks, cheeks warm and irises searching for an answer. What is he doing? Why is he saying this now? Why does some part of you feel whole again? 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite know how to articulate his words. But his body does. His body does what it’s been begging to do since he met you in that library. That he’s been holding back from every day of his stupid, (Y/n)-lacking life. 

He leans in, his lips pressing against yours roughly. Trying to tell you all the words he never said, trying to put everything, all of him into one measly kiss. One that means something. One that tells the story of the two of you. 

You, you can’t do anything but listen. Your eyes closing, your body returned whole. The piece of you pulling away settling back into your heart like stone. Warmth flooding your veins, home filling your very being. Making you feel safe, making you feel cared for. 

And when he finally pulls away, you hear the words you’ve always longed to know, “I love you and I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi feels free upon their utterance. A ball chain holding him back breaking– reality setting the world into motion once again. The earth that needs to keep spinning, that needs to keep the two of you afloat. 

You should feel mad, but you can’t feel anything but peace. But feel like your soulmate has returned home from a voyage you would never understand.

Before anything else can be said, Yoongi snaps his head to the left. His eyes going wide as the winds begins to form in front of him. Looking as if they’re not moving. As if nothing is moving. “Fuck, fuck.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you back to the car as it starts to take focus in front of your mind, too. Fuzzy feeling fading, eyes going wide as you scramble from his door into your seat. He follows in quickly after you, not even thinking to buckle before taking off. Driving as if his life depends on it– your life depends on it, too. 

Sticks flying past the windshield, hitting against the body. Thunderous roars of the world being consumed outside. A tail pressing against your frame, holding you steady. Keeping you in place.

It’s only when you come to safety that all the words needing to be said finally spill out from both of your mouths. When everything is set ‘right’ again instead of feeling oh-so-wrong. It’s only then that he explains everything. That he explains his logic, that he explains how hybrids have soulmates. Don’t forget the scolding he gave– the promises made to each other that the other would never do something so stupid again.

He knows you meant them.

He’ll never forget the way you smiled at him then. When the heaviness left the air and the freedom surrounding the car became almost overbearing. He wishes he could tattoo the places you playfully slapped into his arm. Where you scolded him for keeping this from you. When you told him you would never have a second thought about rejecting him.

When you told him you could never think of a life where he isn’t your mate. 

“...Or boyfriend. Or partner. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You’ll never forget his gummy smile in that moment, when he has a possessive hand on your thigh. 

“I don’t care. I just want to be yours.” 

Wind wraps at your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself a messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in his ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

And Yoongi? He can’t help but think you look like an angel enthralled in the storm. One that came to earth. One that was meant to find him. One that was created just for him. 

He can’t help but bask in you– bask in his mate as you live in your freedom, your happiness. Gets to be one of the lucky few finding sanctuary in your world. In your bubble made just for you. 

He smiles to himself as he watches. Shakes his head like a stupid boy in stupid love that couldn’t be happier. He’s so happy. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening a familiar app that he once looked to for advice all those years ago. Going to the same post he read the replies to over and over again– convincing himself that his impossible couldn’t be reality. He shakes his head as he reads them now, almost feeling foolish for believing him in the first place. Why should he have asked on a human forum anyway? It’s like he was asking to be let down. 

As he scrolls, his thumb comes to a stop above a comment he’s never seen before— a recent one. Posted just a few months ago. 

RMB_Joon

> Hey! This post is being talked about a lot on another forum specifically for hybrids! :-) I left the link for you as I think it would be a lot more helpful getting perspectives over there! :-) PM me if you ever want to talk.

Yoongi feels a curl of interest grow in his gut. Other hybrids? Interest in his post? He almost wants to know more. Almost wants to follow the inkling leading him to delve deeper into the world of others. 

“Yoongi!!” You shout, waving his attention over to where you stand. And suddenly, he doesn’t care about anything else anymore. How could he when he has the whole world in front of him? 

He chuckles to himself, marking his post as ‘resolved’ before tucking the device into his pocket. His legs catching into a jog, joining you at your side. Exactly where he should be. Where he’s meant to be.

⋆𐙚 WAHH THERE IT IS!!! I hope you all enjoyed <\\33 pls let me know any of your thoughts!! this is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I put a lot of myself into this piece so I hope u all love it and it isn’t too skdhsksks yk?? MWAH ily © all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate. 

[dearsnow]

Thinking about neighbor & childhood friend Bob :)

Bobby, who plays pretend with you whenever you want— who likes to imagine himself as a pilot in a really fast jet, and you as his air traffic controller. Who always lets you take the lead until you want him to, who laughs and giggles when you play with his glasses. Whose mom makes you lunch, and invites you in with open arms because she knows how much her son adores you. Bobby, who broke his foot tripping on a river stone, who you comfort when he realizes he can’t get his cast wet. Who blows on dandelions and wishes that you’ll be around forever. Who is loyal and steadfast and trustworthy, who you whisper all your secrets to with the assurance that he will never tell. Bobby, who even though he doesn’t know what it is, loves you like his heart loves beating.

Robert, who hates it when anyone but you calls him “Bobby”. Who listens to rock and combs his hair back and pretends to roll his eyes when his mom coos over how cute the two of you are. Who still looks out for you, protecting you. Who secretly reads comics under his sheets late at night, when everyone else is asleep. Who still does well in school, and cares about the people around him, and is kind, despite everyone around him growing into unruly teens. Robert, who started wearing contacts. Who you go to the mall with, and who buys the things you say you like without you knowing. He’ll gift them to you later, whenever an event calls for it. Who eats like a man starved, especially if it’s a new recipe you tried out. Who stands up for you when you’re teased or picked on and helps his mom with chores without being asked. Who lets you play with his fingers and mess up his hair. Robert, who blushes when you’re near, and who is starting to realize that he’s never felt that way about anyone else before.

Rob, who is more grown up now. Who has straightened out his life and has a clear vision for the future. Who never left behind his love for animals and comics and flying. Who takes you out to eat with money from his new job. Who kisses his mom goodbye without a hint of his former semi-shame. Who doesn’t mind when people call him “Bobby”, because they always have and probably always will. Who comes to terms with his emotions and finally settles every grudge he held. Rob, who treats everyone with a patient sort of care and never gets into spats. Who appreciates everything anyone has ever done for him. Who signs up for the Naval Academy and works hard to get into shape. Who knows he’ll have a lot of teary goodbyes, yet knows that it’s something he has to do. Rob, who asks you out formally and finally puts to action every single loving thought he’s ever had about you.

And, finally, the Bob that people know and love. Who didn’t quite meet the vision requirements to be a pilot, but accepted the next best thing with grace. Who sends you letters periodically, packed full of everything he ever thought while he was away. Who lays in bed and dreams of coming home to you. Who treats everyone with respect and keeps a careful eye on those less experienced than him. Who is goofy and nerdy but self-assured enough to know that himself is all he could ever hope to be. Who makes friends, despite his quiet, observant nature, and keeps them close to his heart. Bob, who never forgets the people back in the place he grew up. Who loves openly and unashamedly. Who gets scared, sometimes, that he won’t ever be able to go home. Who puts aside those thoughts because he is needed in the air and on ground, and he cannot let them cloud his judgment. Who finally comes home and hugs his parents, laughing with his siblings. Who walks up to your house and kisses you with a passion. Bob, who gets down on one knee and promises to you that as long as you wear his ring on your finger, you will never have to wait to feel his love.

(This is brainstorming and vibes for my upcoming Bob fic, “A Waiting Game” <3 I hope I get around to finishing it, as I’m 3k words in and still dealing with little Bobby lol)

[ephie-om]

Mephistopheles strides through the halls of the castle with purpose, his cane clacking against the floor. He only stops momentarily to smooth his waistcoat and hair before rapping on the door of Diavolo's office, entering when he hears a muffled 'come in'. He clears his throat as the door swings open, "Lord Diavolo, I've come to discuss the budget for this year's-"

"Not business again," the Prince groans.

"I'm sorry, my Lord?"

Diavolo appears deep in thought before changing the subject at light speed. "You know, nothing much surprises you any more, my friend."

Mephistopheles puffs out his chest a bit at that. "No, my Lord. I do my best to take everything into account. I should not be surprised."

A devilish grin spreads across Diavolo's face. "Let's change that."

“What?”

A shing sounds from behind the massive wooden desk and Mephisto’s reflexes are the only thing that saves him. He switches the cane to his left hand as the Prince sends something flying towards his face. He manages to catch it and barely has time to process that his Prince has just thrown a fucking sword at him before Diavolo starts to attack.

His massive frame hurtles over top of the desk with ease and his own sword comes into view: a bastard sword, by the looks of it, the hilt encrusted with three small red gems and inlaid artfully with gold. The sword that Mephisto finds in his hand is a deft rapier, sharpened to a wicked point. A bronze-colored alloy wraps around the handguard and blends seamless into the blade. It's a simple weapon, beautiful in appearance, but deadly in precision.

Diavolo wastes no time in slicing towards his midsection and Mephisto is forced to pivot on one foot. Diavolo raises his sword after the miss, nearly nicking Mephisto's chin in the process, and readies himself to slam down on the demon’s head with the flat of the blade.

Whatever the Prince throws at him, Mephisto does pride himself on being adaptive, and he can already tell that Diavolo won't be satisfied unless he sees some real effort. He watches his opponent's body language closely, and sees that even with his sheer amount of muscle, Diavolo's sword is heavy. It takes time to move it around after a miss, so all he has to do is bide his time.

The chop from above nearly cracks him in the skull, but he uses the cane in his left hand to brace himself and push his body out of the way just in time. Diavolo's sword nearly buries itself in the floor from the force of the swing, and Mephisto has a millisecond of gut-wrenching fear as he realizes that sword was aimed for him.

Diavolo starts to wrest the sword back up, but Mephisto quickly takes the opening to thrust at his midsection and pull his cane back under him. Diavolo is forced to dodge backwards, reversing his momentum and putting his sword in front of him. That miniscule step gives Mephisto the half second he needs.

He lunges, throwing all his weight into his good leg as the rapier speeds forward. Diavolo, distracted by readying his weapon, sees it just a moment too late and the point stabs into his sword arm. Diavolo curses, and his blade falters. Mephisto brings his back leg up, invading the Prince's range. Even if he could get his sword up now, it was nearly too long to do anything. Mephisto sights his opening, twists, and his blade swishes across the space between them. His hand raises into the air, blade pointed up and away from his opponent, and he delivers a single, devastatingly precise blow with the sword’s pommel to the junction between Diavolo's neck and shoulder.

He stumbles back, raising his hands in the air. “I concede, I concede.” Mephisto takes a half step back, the realization finally setting in. He has just hit, and drawn blood from, the future ruler of the Devildom. He can feel the blood drain from his face as he raises his eyes to meet Diavolo's shining golden ones.

The Prince laughs, that loud, hearty laugh he only does when something unexpected happens. “That was an incredible show, my friend! Well done!”

Mephisto tries to form a sentence that doesn't involve the words 'was that treason' and fails. Diavolo claps him on the back with such force he nearly falls and graciously takes the sword back. “Oh, we're alright,” he says over Mephisto's head, and he turns to see Barbatos’ concerned face in the doorway. “Just had to blow off a little steam.”

He sits back down in his chair, pulling a small container of ointment from his desk drawer and works it into the wound on his arm. Mephisto remains frozen in place until he hears a noise from the door. The butler is gone by the time he turns his head, but he swears it was laughter.

The Prince sits innocently, not a hair out of place, the only evidence that anything from the past five minutes even occurred being the soreness in his right shoulder. “Now, I believe you had some sort of budget to discuss with me?”

[dr-spectre]

Splatoon Fighting Game Ideas.

Y'all, hear me out on this.... I've had this idea for a while now...

A Splatoon fighting game based on the gameplay style of Marvel vs Capcom and other team based fighting games.... You swap between three characters and the roster includes the Idols, Agents, some of the villains and other characters. And there's a special meter with 3 levels and cinematic hyper combos inspired by Final Smashes from Smash Bros. Ultimate.

Like if Nintendo wants to expand the Splatoon franchise, they need to make spin offs dude and a fighting game would be incredible, that's all I'm saying. And you know what? I'm gonna go over the roster and talk what i would do if i was in charge in making a Splatoon fighting game and you can't stop me!!!!!!! If you don't get the fighting game terms that will be in this post then look them up. I also won't go into SUPER DUPER detail and just go over general things i would do.

Also also, i haven't played every single fighting game in existence and I'm just basing it off of the games I've played (Street Fighter, Capcom vs series, Smash Bros for reference.) Without further ado, let's get into it.

Callie

I can imagine Callie's playstyle to be a powerhouse, someone who gets up close and just deals a ton of damage. but she has exploitable weaknesses like slow moves that have a lot of recovery time. She uses a themed Dynamo Roller based on her and can do air combos mixed in with Splat Bombs. Some of her moves also take inspiration from her dance moves found in her Amiibo performances and Bomb Rush Blush remix in Splatoon 2. Callie is a chaotic fighter who is unpredictable and moves pretty damn fast. Her max hyper combo could be her spamming every bomb from every game in the series at the opponent as Bomb Rush Blush plays. She then rushes to the opponent and swings her roller around at insane speeds, it then ends with her slamming the roller into the opponent like a baseball bat, sending them flying into the horizon and she does her "Stay Fresh!" pose to finish it off. Her main taunt is her facing the camera, doing her iconic pose and then giggling while her covering her mouth.

Marie

Marie could be a zoner that uses her Hero Charger and her parasol when doing close courters attack. Heck it could be her shield too. I would imagine her combos to be very hard to pull off as her shots are slow and you need to time the attacks just right so that you can keep your opponent in the air and deal as much damage as you can. Her max hyper combo could be running you over with the Sheldon truck that appears in Splatoon 2 to start the combo, then she gets onto the truck and snipes you with a barrage of shots until finally jumping off the truck with Sheldon. And then the truck collides with you and explodes in a giant green explosion. Her main taunt is her facing the screen, giving a thumbs down while blowing a raspberry. She then chuckles while doing her classic grin.

Pearl

Pearl could be a rushdown like character where she is incredibly fast with her themed dualies and is just a general pain to deal with. She can also turn into her drone form when in the air to slow down her descent and trick opponents up. Imagine how fun it would be to play as her and just dash around and be an annoying little shit. Her max hyper combo would be of course her Princess Cannon, she slams it down on the ground and if you get hit, you'll be trapped in the combo and Pearl will scream her lungs off like she did in Octo Expansion and Side Order. Her main taunt is her pulling out a megaphone and screaming at the screen.

Marina

Marina is a character who's all about machinery and hacking and i think she would fit the trapper archetype pretty well. While she wields a Splat Brella to deal close range damage, she mainly uses traps like ink mines, sprinklers, and machinery to get enemies and string together combos. She is a very hard character to master, but those who love the trapper archetype will LOVE playing her and find her incredibly fun. Maybe you can trap an opponent with Marina and then bring in Pearl to deal some quick damage. Her max hyper combo could be transforming into her Order outfit and floating in the air while holding her keytar. She locks onto you and then fires off a barrage of ink blobs, Super Chumps and her Hyperbombs while jamming out. The combo ends in a giant teal explosion and Marina returning to her normal self, awkwardly laughing off the chaos she just caused. Her main taunt is her giving an embarrassed smile and wave at the screen.

Shiver

Shiver would be a footsies/brawler type character and be good on the ground and moving around, however she doesn't have a good air game and crumbles in the air. She uses a modified version of her sensu fan that she uses in Splatfests to poke at enemies and slash at them like a blade. She also uses a Tri-Stringer to do anti air attacks to stop opponents from attempting an air attack on her. Shiver is all about reading opponents and punishing them for messing up. Her max hyper combo would be her doing a small performance like what she does in Splatfests which causes Fizzbangs to spawn around the opponent and do damage. Shiver then quickly becomes more wild eyed and summons Master Mega. She rides on him and collides with the enemy which causes a massive explosion. Shiver jumps away at the last possible second and stumbles into a backflip because she's both a girlboss and girlfailure. Her main taunt is her arching her back and laughing like a maniac before quickly snapping back and gaining back her composure.

Frye

Frye would 100% be a glass cannon, someone who's amazing at damage but crumbles when getting hit. She uses a themed Splatana Stamper to whack enemies and it has pretty decent range for a sword. However it has a mechanic where it deals less damage if you hit opponents with the base of the Splatana, so you must be precise and hit opponents with the tip to deal the most amount of damage. Her max hyper combo is her calling her eels with her flute. Frye starts spinning around which creates a huge tornado of eels. The tornado flies at the opponent and sucks them into a barrage of eels, the tornado subsides and Frye looks down at the fallen opponent and laughs while striking a pose. Her main taunt is her sitting on the ground cross legged and looking very annoyed. This taunt lasts forever until Frye gets hit or you press a button.

Big Man

Big Man would be the grappler archetype where he must get up close to his opponent and use command grabs and other moves to deal damage. He can also throw out Splat Bombs and bellyflop in the air. His max hyper combo is him covering himself in ink and spawning copies of himself, the copies surround the opponent in a circle and all charge towards them. It ends with Big Man jumping onto the clones until he reaches the top, and then he does a giant bellyflop onto the opponent which causes a huge wave of ink. His main taunt is him facing the screen and jumping up and down to get your attention.

DJ Octavio

DJ Octavio would be a heavyweight and have incredible damage and decent speed, but his hitbox would be massive and he's easy to combo. However his mech is shrunken down from it's Splatoon 1 size for balancing reasons of course. Octavio would use a mix of his retractable fists, Octorpedos and send out Octotroopers of different variety that run on the ground. If you have played Marvel vs Capcom and played as the characters Sentinel and Tron Bonne then he's pretty similar to them. His max hyper combo is him sucking up the Great Zapfish into his mech which engulfs it in a huge electric glow. Several more retractable arms made out of electricity appear from the back of his mech and charge up. They attack the opponent in the melody of the Onward! jingle, with the last punch creating a giant electric blast, causing Octavio to laugh manically. The opponent flies into the air and the fists all gather in front of the mech to charge up a giant killer wail, blasting the opponent away. His main taunt would be him dancing to his theme song. He does some DJ hand poses with his mech arms alongside this.

Mr. Grizz

Mr. Grizz is both a heavyweight and zoner, using his claws to send out waves of purple ink. He can also summon Fuzzy Octohoppers and Octocopters to throw out bombs and splashes of ink. His regular close courter attacks are slow but they deal a fair amount of damage too. He can even teleport away by sinking into the floor and reappearing on the other side of the enemy. His max hyper combo would be him standing above the opponent and laughing as he carries the rocket seen at the end of Splatoon 3 ROTM. He throws it down at the opponent and it explodes, causing a giant fluffy explosion that's seen from outer space. His main taunt is him playing around with some glass vials containing the fuzzy ooze.

Overlorder

Overlorder would be a glass cannon character but they would need to be obviously shrunken down because well... they are fucking massive. They would play sort of like Venom in the Marvel vs Capcom games where they use black ink and tentacles to send enemies into the air and do devastating damage. It can even send out Reefsliders as powerful air launchers. Their max hyper combo would be them Grayscaling and glitching out everything, Overlorder then grabs the enemy and drags them across on the floor. They are then trapped in a Jelleton portal and spiraled upwards. The portal then explodes with glitchy effects, Overlorder then says "grayscaling completed..." Their main taunt is them facing the screen and glitching it out for a brief period to scare players.

Captain 3

Captain 3 would be an all arounder and perfect for beginners, they don't have any real obvious strengths and weaknesses but they can get the job done in a lot of areas fairly decently. They would obviously wield their Hero Shot and pack some Autobombs for range. They also use a Hero Slosher, Roller and Blaster for specific moves and combos. Their max hyper combo would them standing on the UFO that appears in the Inner Agent 3 battle and they stare down at you. They dive down and do a Splashdown, launching the opponent into the air, they use the Bubble Blower special and causally chuck a Splat Bomb when the opponent lands on the ground. The opponent is sent crashing into a wall from the huge blast and is completely stunned, then Captain 3 stares them down and picks up the treasure they used in Splatoon 3 ROTM and cracks a small smile. They tear up the opponent and it cuts to white. Their main taunt is them facing the camera and doing the hand movements they do when posing with the Squid Sisters. A little booyah appears at the top of their head too.

Agent 4

Agent 4 is a clone of Captain 3, but focuses more on being aggressive and their moves have a Splatoon 2 theme to them. So instead of Splatoon 1 Hero Mode weapons, it's Splatoon 2's. Agent 4 is like Ken and Captain 3 is Ryu if you understand what I'm trying to say. Their max hyper combo would be them grabbing a Rainmaker and charging towards the opponent, they fire off 4 Rainmaker shots that send the opponent flying into the air. Agent 4 leaps up high and then SLAMS the rainmaker onto the enemy, smashing them to the ground which causes a huge explosion. Their main taunt is them pulling out a mini zapfish plush and snuggling it for a second and then putting it back.

Agent 8

Agent 8 is vastly different compared to Captain 3 and Agent 4 and focuses more on defense and mobility. They have a lot of tricks up their sleeve when it comes to weaponry and main the Octo Brush for most of their moves. They also wield an Octo Shot and E-Liter 4K for range. Agent 8 is a nimble fighter and highly technical which gives them a noticeable skill gap compared to the other agents. Their max hyper combo is them clasping their hands together and closing their eyes. Color chips circle them and Agent 8 floats into the air. The chips go inside them Super Sonic style and Agent 8 is engulfed in a rainbow aura. Agent 8 pulls out their Octo Shot, dash down to the opponent and uppercut them. They swarm the airborne opponent and do rapid fire shots with the Octo Shot. Just before the opponent reaches the ground, Agent 8 spins around and SMACKS them with the Octo Brush, sending them flying into the sky. A giant 8 firework appears in the sky and Agent 8 takes a selfie. Their main taunt is them taking a picture at the screen and giving a thumbs up.

Neo Agent 3

Neo Agent 3 would be the most interesting out of the agents as they would be the puppet archetype with Smallfry being the puppet. During certain combos or inputting a certain command, Smallfry will be sent out and will copy some of your moves. If Neo Agent 3 does a series of punches and kicks for example, Smallfry will move their body in the air like they are a flying blade. (Think of Rosalina and Luma in Smash Bros.) Heck in some moves Neo Agent 3 will chuck Smallfry at enemies and it'll latch onto them and deal damage over time for a little while. Their max hyper combo would them being in space and holding out Smallfry in their hands. They crack a smile and Smallfry floats into the air, they glow a bright blue and transform into Hugefry. It then shoots itself towards the opponent while dragging a tsunami, the opponent is sent flying into space from the force of the wave from Hugefry. Their main taunt is them pulling out an ink bag and drinking it. They wipe their face and pat their belly after they guzzle down the ink.

Harmony

Harmony is a trapper character just like Marina where she has different gadgets to trick up opponents, she's also sort of a joke character as her moves are more comedic and is a character to use if you wanna mess around and have some fun. She can use her Ultra Hand to grab enemies from afar and reel them in for a command grab. She uses a Wii Remote and Nunchuk for air attacks, a GameCube console as a weapon because it has a handle on it, an N64 controller as a boomerang attack and she even chucks Game Boys at opponents that go in an arc. Her max hyper combo is her getting the band Chirpy Chips, going on stage and jamming out to a random song made by them. Sound waves and notes collide with the opponent, dealing damage. The sound waves and energy form into a giant Game Boy and the giant console collapses onto the opponent (think of that one Donkey Kong Land commercial. You know the one.) Her main taunt would be her sitting on the floor and playing with an Ultra Hand like how she does in Hotlantis. There's even a rare chance for her to play with a Game Boy instead.

Acht

Figuring out a moveset for Acht was surprisingly difficult but i have thought of some ideas for them. Acht would be a martial artist and be the most standard character out of the roster. They don't wield any weapons but can do lots of different punches and rapid fire kicks that have ink effects to them to spice it up. They can also throw out vinyl records at opponents which act as air launchers. Their max hyper combo is them getting on stage and playing around with some turntables. They increase the volume and Acht gets covered in a blue and red aura. Acht leaps over the turntables and strikes through the opponent multiple times like a ricocheting bullet. Acht flies into the air and their right hand is covered in a blood red aura. They slam into the ground and punch the opponent with a ton of force. Their main taunt is them listening to music on their headphones and moving along with the music. Depending on the stage music, their head movements will match the speed of the song.

Stage Ideas

Inkopolis Plaza (day and night variants, if Callie or Marie aren't selected, they'll perform behind you on their trucks)

Inkopolis Square (day and nights variants, same thing with Pearl Marina)

Splatsville (day and night variants, Deep Cut will perform if they aren't picked)

Urchin Underpass

Moray Towers

Starfish Mainstage

Goby Arena

Marlin Airport

Undertow Spillway

Octo Valley

Enter the Octobot King!

Octo Canyon

The Crater

Alterna - Future Utopia Island

Ruins of Ark Polaris

Lost Outpost

Bonerattle Arena

Shifty Station (general Shifty Station area that combines different aspects of all of them)

MC. Princess Diaries (NILS Statue is in the background along with Commander Tartar as a cameo)

Floor 30 (Overlorder will be in the background watching the fight if not selected)

I also wanna quickly add that each fighter would have plenty of alt outfits too and some have different animations and effects.

Some examples are, Callie in her Octo outfit, Marie in her Alterna outfit, Pearl in her big ol' space jacket she has in Side Order, Marina in her Octo Expansion clothes, Shiver in her Splatoween attire, Frye wearing a school uniform, Big Man wearing his Ian BGM disguise, DJ Octavio in his Octobot King L3.Gs mech, Mr. Grizz with a wooden texture, Overlorder but a white color pallet that references Smollusk, Agent 4 with their Parallel Canon design, etc. Maybe some of the characters could also get looks from their concept art too.

So that is it for my Splatoon fighting game ideas! If you have any ideas of your own like a moveset for Commander Tartar because jesus christ how the HELL do you make a moveset for a literal telephone, then let me know!

I'm curious to see what you guys think and what some of your own ideas are!

[dantefreakdaaaa]

I loved your new Johnny Cage fic. Can I request a “hey I know we are fighting to save earth realm and I know we may all die, but I’m pregnant oops” fic? I love a family man Johnny Cage. Take all the liberties you want!

Johnny Cage x Pregnant! Reader

Fluff

Romantic

Reader is pregnant but no pronouns other than you/they are used

A/n: FOR THE PERSON THAT REQUEST ANXIOUS PREGNANT READER X WESKER IT IS BEING DONE. Angst has been kinda hard for me to write as of late but it'll probably be posted within the next few days. The next two days I will not be posting anything but after that I will get back to posting again. this also takes place around the shinnok fight in mkx.

---

The doors busted open and you, kenshi, and johnny all stepped through. Shinnok turned around with an angry scowl on his face, staring all three of you down.

"Oh, sorry ma'am. Didn't see ya there."

"miserable wretch! Insignificant spec of fecular scum! How dare you!" He stood on his feet, shooting a beam of energy at Kenshi and knocked him to the floor.

You fired rounds at him but he merely deflected them, acting as if it was nothing.

"You ready?" You looked up at johnny, smiling as you prepared to fight.

"As always." Rushing towards Shinnok you threw blow after blow at him, but he simply dodged them all. He kicked johnny in the stomach first before narrowly missing yours before kicking you again in the face. Sending you flying to the back wall, you laid there panicking as you watched the fight progress.

Shinnok didn't even have to look at johnny, dodging every single attack with one hand. Johnny only managed to get a single hit in before being lifted into the air, red energy surrounding him. Launched through the air, Johnny's back slammed into the hard walls of the chamber, groaning in pain.

Raiden and Fujin made a mad dash for the amulet, but a burst of energy knocked them away. Shinnok turned to you, staring down at your injured form. Energy shot straight at you, it felt like your life was being sucked out of you.

"They will be the first to join me."

Johnny dived in front of you, blocking you from Shinnoks powers. He was willing to sacrifice his life for you. He waited for the beam to hit him, his death would be inevitable after that. But instead of feeling overwhelming pain he felt little to nothing. A green glow surrounded him, giving him some kind of armor. Getting up off of the ground he looked down at himself before looking back up at Shinnok.

"I'm not sure what the hell that was, but I am sure of one thing. You don't even think of hurting them."

+++

After a long and grueling fight johnny wavered, unsure if he was going to be able to keep this up.

"Johnny cage! The amulet!" Raiden shouted from behind him. Looking down at the floor before looking at Shinnok, he kicked the amulet over to Raiden. Immediately, Raiden began to suck up the elder god, pulling him into the amulet. As soon as Johnny was sure that Shinnok was gone he rushed over to your side, holding you gently.

"Johnny...did you...?"

"We got him..." He smiled down at you, petting your hair with his head as he held you close to him

"good... I have something to tell you..."

"What's up?" Worry crossed his face, assuming the worst immediately. You sighed and smiled, staring up into his eyes.

"I'm pregnant..."

His jaw dropped, he stared down at you, confused and so excited. He hugged you so tight, burying his head into your shoulder as he rubbed your back.

"How long have you know?! And-"

"i've only known for a few days, i was planning on telling you sooner but I didn't want to freak you out like this before a mission. And I know we're in the middle of a war and everything but I don't think I could wait months to tell you." You chuckled and held him tight too, hugging him as close as you could.

"Wait but... if you knew, then why did you go on this mission?!" He started panicking, asking about why you would ever do something so reckless.

"I didn't want to jeopardize the mission. If I had risked us failing to capture Shinnok because I didn't come I'd hate myself for it."

"From now on, you're definitely not coming on missions. Don't wanna risk losing you or the kiddo." He gently rubbed your stomach, smiling as he thought of being a father

---

(HOPE YOU ENJOYED!2!2!#!)

[trancylovecraft]

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER FOUR)

Previous Chapter ☆♡☆ Masterlist ☆♡☆ Next Chapter

AO3 link

CHAPTER FOUR: "Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?"

NOTE: THE SONG OF THE DAY IS "Two Birds on a Wire" BY REGINA SOMETHING. LISTEN WHILE READING IF YOU WANNA HAVE FUN IDK YOU DON'T NEED TO. oh right btw pls send me aesthetic pics for my moodboards, im running out and almost resorted to quotes 😭✋ (which i did but shhh)

oh right, shit also gets real this chapter LETS GOOO.

Suicide notes only accompany in 25-20% percent of cases, Sometimes reaching 50% in some cultures and areas.

Reasons for writing a suicide note can include easing the pain of those known to the victim, To express thoughts and feelings that the person felt unable to express in life or to set out their reasons for committing such an act.

Murders of crows escaped in flocks, Flying high into the air in a wild panic as they hollered that one single phrase over and over again like a broken record player.

"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! ATTACK! ATTACK! THE KAKUSHI BASE IS UNDER ATTACK! CALLING FOR ALL NEARBY SLAYERS!"

The sheer number of them was carrying the sound so far, Their call could be heard for miles even all the way to the village. The song of their screams frantic as they all flapped in different directions, Disappearing into the dark horizon.

Tanjiro couldn't see anything, He couldn't smell anything either. The sheer amount of dust made from the debris had blocked up all of his senses making him uncontrollably cough within the smoke.

He stumbled around, The shock hadn't even hit him yet. One moment he was walking around the base and the next he had been flung to the tile roof, All due to that gust of wind.

The tall stone walls surrounding the shrine had suddenly been destroyed all within a single moment, Throwing chunks of rock and wood hurtling into the main body of the shrine and its people.

The screams and shouts of panicked crowds rung in his ear like a church bell reverberated to the nines. It felt so loud, So bloody loud that he thought his head might explode from the raw volume of the wails.

Tanjiro was dazed, It was all a blur moving in slow motion as he tried to catch his footing on the flat of the roof.

It was only then once his foot was steadied that he could finally sense an overbearing presence. Somewhere in the mist.

"Someone is here.."

A voice like faraway thunder jolted Tanjiro out of his stupor, A voice that shook Tanjiro deep down to his very bones. It was nothing like any kind of voice he had heard before, It didn't sound human and certainly didn't smell like it either.

A putrid stench had hit Tanjiro, A sudden smell had came to him and it almost made him drop his sword. This was no ordinary demon, The scent was overwhelming his senses of nothing but pure and utter power.

The gale's sole blessing had manifested in the clearing of the smoke. The after breeze lifting up the thickest points of dust and blowing them away, Yet some still remained as a dark figure was now made clearer.

But it was the figure's six medallion eyes, One's that shone like headlights through the fog that really caught Tanjiro by surprise.

His eyes widened as his arm went to the hilt of his sword on response, Yet when his hand went to grab it he felt absolutely nothing there.

He snapped his head to his empty belt. His heart seemed to stop in his chest.

He still hadn't gotten his new sword sent to him yet, It was still being sharpened. He was absolutely defenceless.

By the time he had looked back up at the figure the fog had cleared completely, The dust long cleared as his eyes settled upon the demon in front of him.

Tall. He was towering in height, Well over six foot at least. His hair tied into a dark spiked ponytail with red whisking at the tips as it flowed in the wind, His hexagonal kimono oversized in the arms as it moved with his hair.

But it was the kanji in his eyes that made him freeze.

"You.. Boy."

His voice rang out again as he turned to Tanjiro. He stumbled back, Despite the demon being a few metres away on the other side of the roof he was still too close, Way too close.

His eyes glared down to the younger slayer, Stabbing into every point of him. Scrutinizing him from afar before finally landing on the piece he feasted his gaze on. Two hanafuda earrings dangling from each ear.

Tanjiro watched as his expression went blank, Only for a couple of seconds before flinching when he saw the demon's mouth contort into a snarl. An angry visage that showed off his lion-like canines protruding from under his lips.

"I.. You.." Tanjiro stuttered. He tried backing away once more but the heel of his foot hit the tile railing. He watched as small bits of debris fell off the roof down to the floor below, It was a long drop. If he fell there was little to no chance of survival.

"Those earrings.." The demon drawled. It sounded like something was stuck within his throat, Something he was holding back. "How did you acquire them.."

Tanjiro tried to steady his heavy breathing as he stared him down. "I.. T-They're a family heirloom.." Was all that he was able to muster up, His voice shaking as much as he was.

Kokushibo felt himself tense up, All six eyes scrutinizing the earrings as he tried his best to calm down the building sense of rage starting to burn inside him. A family heirloom? His brother's earrings, A family heirloom. The idea of it sounded so stupid to him, Not to mention the mere reminder of his twin brother made his fingers twitch and grasp onto the hilt of his sword from instinct.

"A family heirloom.. Disgusting.." Kokushibo jeered. Feeling the words on his tongue he felt the previous anger inside come to a peak, This wasn't acceptable. Yorichii, Do I really need to be reminded of you even five hundred years later?

The sword from his hilt slid out of the sheathe with ease. The eyes embedded into the flesh of the sword darted around wildly, All examining its surroundings as the muscle pulsated.

He drew it to his side. Tanjiro's heartrate started to pick up, Feeling as if it would burst out of his chest as he watched Kokushibo get into a fighting stance. What would he do? He had no sword and there was no exit. What can he do? What can he do?!

Kokushibo pushed his foot forward, Lunging himself forward with his sword ready to slice. He was so fast, Tanjiro could barely raise his arms to his face. A weak attempt to defend himself as the blade drew nearer and nearer towards his neck

CLASH!

It was over in an instant.

Dust from the broken walls and ceiling tiles blew out out into the high night air, A whirlwind of smoke covering anything and everything in sight as pieces of stone and splinter flew off.

Tanjiro coughed once more, The dust blowing hard into his face. He moved his hands up towards his neck to check for any damage. Feeling it over and patting it a few times it felt.. All intact.

"What the.." Tanjiro muttered. His eyes widened as he watched the demon from before jump back into his original position, Landing a few metres away from Tanjiro in a crouched stance.

Tanjiro looked up and gasped.

"Fujimori-sama-!"

[F/N] stood only a few inches away from the younger boy. His position was low and his sword was drawn like a shield, Both it and his body creating a block between him and the demon.

[F/N] looked back towards him from the side, That old fox mask's mouth quirked up into the most reassuring smile it could. The eyes of the mask looking down at him in kind.

"Tanjiro Kamado… That was a close one, Eh?" A light chuckle came from him, Tone dancing in the air like the weight of the whole situation was lost to him entirely.

Tanjiro didn't even think to ask him why he knew his name, Something unimportant in that moment.

"Fujimori-sama.. The demon-"

"Don't worry about the demon. You don't exactly look like you have the proper weaponry to fight back so I suggest you start evacuating the shrine with everyone else, Alright?" [F/N] advised.

Tanjiro shook his head.

"What about you?! This.. This is Uppermoon one! He's strong, I can smell it! You can't take him on by yourself!" Tanjiro cried.

It didn't affect [F/N] in the slightest, Only making him raise a single brow.

"..Really?" He hummed, A playful tune lilting in the air to contrast the dire implications of his words. He seemed to stay there in thought, Only for a moment as Tanjiro watched the mask stare off into the night sky.

"He was able to sense me coming.. Not to mention block my attack.." He muttered, The mask contorting back into a thoughtful visage. An incomprehensible babble to the boy behind him as his eyes finally lit up, An unrecognisable emotion sparking inside his eyes.

The dust cleared once more, Kokushibo stood up to examine the sight.

His eyes landed on the Hashira a few metre's away, Crouched in a defensive position. In a split second that man was able to get himself in between him and the boy, Able to attack in that single moment.

It would of been impressive, Something he would of respected if not for the mans garments.

He wore his usual slayer uniform, Tight fitting and finished with a belt with open arms to show off tattoo's. But the haori draped loosely around his shoulders, That accursed haori drooping from his shoulders was one that shocked his heart like a amateur defibrillator.

The dragon pattern.. That cerulean blue.

"Michi-Nii!"

The grip on his sword hilt got tighter, Almost crushingly so.

How fucking dare he..?!

Kokushibo felt his nose twitch, Eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as they trailed across the rest of him, Prying at every little detail of him. The kitsune mask resting upon his face, The medieval sword propped up in front of him like a shield.

"And does it work?" Michikatsu asked, Studying the mask.

"Haven't tried. It's a sacred artefact of the shrine. It would be a disrespect to Inari if I did." She stated.

A disrespect to her.

Two reminders of his late siblings, One beloved one despised. Both side by side with each other in such a short time frame. It made him absolutely furious, Outraged both by the resurfaced memories and the sheer dishonour towards his sister.

Both the renewment of the shrine and the man parading around with her haori..

It made him absolutely livid.

"You.. What is your name. Tell me it.. Now" Kokushibo pronounced through gritted teeth. It took every inch of his willpower not to pounce and tear him apart limb by limb, Bite into his jugular and rip his voice box out with his molars.

[F/N] finally seemed to snap out of his realisation as his mask's eyes landed on Kokushibo, That burning glint shining bright as he looked at him. The first time getting a proper look.

"Wow.. Uppermoon one, What a pleasure to meet you." [F/N] drawled, Yet it wasn't condescending. Standing up to his full height he matched Kokushibo perfectly, Both men locked in a stare down as [F/N] ignored his question.

Kokushibo didn't answer him, So [F/N] took the opportunity to speak once more.

"I see what Kamado here means about powerful.. Your soul certainly gives off that aura alright." He chuckled again, Taking a few drawn steps to the side.

"Kamado.." Kokushibo pondered. It only took a second to click in his head. The Kamado girl, The one his master had talked about during the meeting. If this boy was here then that would mean the demon girl was here, The one who conquered the sun.

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed.

"Ringing a bell?" He questioned, Cocking his head lazily to the side. Kokushibo didn't answer once again.

[F/N] examined him head to toe. His fingers, His ears and his sword. From his eyes to the soles of his sandals he simply radiated power. A feeling that permeated in the air making molecules shift in his presence.

A wild grin appeared not on his mask but on her face, A wide toothy grin that felt so foreign, So alien to her. It was a smile she hadn't made in years, One she couldn't supress even if she tried.

[F/N] peered back around to Tanjiro, Who was still behind him.

"Tanjiro. I need you to do me a favour, Alright?" He asked. His tone still containing that playful tint yet it held something different now, Something more serious.

Tanjiro nodded

"Y-Yeah, What do you need?" He asked.

[F/N] reached a single hand into the inside of his haori and slipped out a single pristine envelope, Perfectly packaged with a blue fox seal. He presented it to the younger boy, Who hesitantly took it into his hands.

"I need you to deliver this to Mitsuri Kanroji, Alright? Promise me that you will deliver this to her and place it in her hands personally yourself." [F/N] asked. That tone of importance growing ever stronger in both his voice and his mask's eyes.

Tanjiro's eyes widened as he looked down at the envelope, He nodded his head, Ignoring the scent that was coming off his elder. [F/N] turned back towards Kokushibo.

"Go now, Tanjiro. Find a handmaiden named Seijun, She'll help you and the rest down the mountain." He said, Not looking back at him for a second. Tanjiro nodded as he took off, Carefully scaling down the tiled roof's of the shrine.

Kokushibo looked back at the two, Readying his sword once more.

"No.. You're not getting away from me." He hissed, Raising the blade high in the air as he pointed at the two slayers.

[F/N] returned the gesture, His own heavy-weight sword lifted with ease as he pointed it straight back at him.

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" [F/N] exclaimed. The excitement returning to the tune of his voice, A wild primal excitement as he stared the demon on from behind his mask.

Kokushibo prepared his own stance, [F/N] did as well in turn.

As they finally charged at each other, [F/N] yelled out

"Soul Breathing, First form: Psyche Cutter!"

☆♡☆

Heavy footsteps hit the snow with a crunch, The large stature of the Stone Hashira leaving deep footsteps behind him as he traversed throughout the woodland mountainside.

Zenitsu, Inosuke and Shizuko. The younger slayers behind him trailed along with Gyomei's stride in search of the lost shrine-maiden.

Luckily the snow had stopped a little while ago, Making it easier to see throughout the vastness of the tall winding tree's.

It had been only half an hour since they started searching, Yet in that time they had made their way a few miles out from their starting point.

"M-Man.. Is it cold out here, Now I wish I just stayed at the base.." Zenitsu said through a chattering jaw, Keeping his arms folded to try and conserve heat as he warily looked for the maiden.

"Not for me! The mountains I ruled over got real snowy, So of course I evolved to be cold-blooded!" Inosuke announced in his march. It was true, Despite him being eternally shirtless in the blistering cold he didn't shake once despite all odds.

"T-That's impossible! You can't just evolve to be cold-blooded!" Zenitsu cried out, Annoyed from both the cold and his comrades announcement.

"Can too!" Inosuke argued.

"N-No you can't!" Zenitsu yelled back, His words eventually snowballing into a larger quarrel between the two boys. Both seeming to believe whoever yelled louder was correct.

"Ngh.. Can you two shut up? You're giving me a headache.." Shizuko groaned, Cupping his ears with his hands in annoyance.

The two boys ignored him and continued their argument as they trailed behind Himejima. Zenitsu and Inosuke not backing down for a single second while Shizuko gritted his teeth. Gyomei didn't seem to particularly mind, If he did he didn't show it, His stoic expression painted on him like a portrait.

They hadn't found the shrine-maiden, Even though they had been searching for a fair amount of time there no trace of her prescence.

There wasn't any footsteps or any blood, Absolutely nothing.

The rattling of Gyomei's beads slowed as his whitened eyes narrowed in thought. Gyomei had assumed that the most likely scenario was that the maiden had trouble either getting down or getting back up the mountain, Though now that seemed a dwindling possibility.

He sighed, Letting cold mist escape from his mouth.

"Seems like the maiden isn't here.. It's probably for the better that we move down towards the village and check in with the locals." Gyomei announced as he turned around to face the younger slayers, To whom were still fighting.

Shizuko groaned once more before raising his flat hand and bringing it down hard onto both their heads.

"Ne, Stop arguing and start listening to Himejima-sensei! You're giving me a migraine and we're no closer to finding the maiden.. No thanks to you.." He scolded. A rare angry expression appearing on his face with those same perpetually wide eyes glaring daggers into the boys.

"Ack-! W-What the hell man! We are looking!" Zenitsu yelped out, Hands rushing to the quickly forming sore spot on his head.

"I am! I can see a lot of things. Snow, Tree's, Shrubs!" Inosuke butted in. Shizuko groaned once more, Even though they had stopped their spat never quelled.

"Birds, Twigs, Red Fabric, Flakes of snow!" He continued.

Both Gyomei and Shizuko's heads snapped round to face Inosuke, A sudden movement that made his rant pause in its tracks.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?!" Inosuke questioned, His vision rapidly darting to both Shizuko and Gyomei in seconds like a cornered animal.

"Red fabric..? Where do you see that?" Gyomei asked.

"By that tree over there, To the left!" Inosuke said. Arm pointing up straight to a tree just off to the side of the trail they were going down. And sure enough swaying in the wind was an untethered piece of crimson cloth, Blowing in the breeze.

Zenitsu was the first to get over to the fabric, Catching up with it and snatching it away from the wind.

"You're right.. B-But this could be any random piece of fabric.. It doesn't really mean much." He muttered. The piece was too small to make out any defining shape, So small that it was only as big as his thumb.

"Shizuko.." Gyomei ordered an unspoken action, Nodding his head forward towards the boy.

Shizuko nodded back as he quickly moved over to Zenitsu without a second thought and put out his hand.

"Ne, Give it here.." Shizuko commanded, Impatiently shaking his hand as he beckoned Zenitsu forward.

"O-Okay.." Zenitsu muttered as he placed the cloth into the palm of Shizuko, To which the latter shuddered as soon as the fabric brushed at his skin.

Shizuko took the sanguine felt into both of his hands with an obvious reluctance as it looked like he was holding back his own puke. He ran his nimble fingers along the surface of it, Nose scrunching up in disgust as he spoke.

"Ngh.. It's mostly Linen however I can feel a minority of cotton as well.. Ne.. Fairly thick, 0.73 inches.. But judging by the weavement of the fabric it's most likely worn by someone of shorter stature.." Shizuko explained.

"Ngh.. So in other words, It fits the description of the lost maiden.." He concluded, Instantly dropping it back into Zenitsu's hold as he finished his last syllable.

"I see.. And is it fresh?" Gyomei asked.

"Felt like it.." Shizuko replied.

They stayed silent after that. Gyomei seemed to furrow his brows as his mind worked away at the next possibility. Both Shizuko and Inosuke seemed lost in their own world as well, The former following his master in thought while Inosuke seemed to trail along as well.

"She must be somewhere around here.. We must circle back around, She may already be-" Gyomei stopped out of the blue, His words cut off as his senses picked up a change in one of the slayers.

Zenitsu had frozen up, And it wasn't from the cold atmosphere.

"Child.. What is the matter?" Gyomei asked as his tone grew only a little more serious as he stopped the rattling of his beads.

Zenitsu seemed to be sweating bullets as he seemed intently focused on some unknown force. His eyes were shot open and he started to shake, Teeth barren and fingers twitching as he raised his hands up to his ears.

"I.. I-I hear it.." Zenitsu mumbled out an uneasy lilt, Jaw shaking.

"Hear what?" Gyomei prodded.

"T-The Kasugai crows.. The Kakushi base.. I-It's being attacked!" Zenitsu yelped out, Stumbling back a few feet.

A unanimous shock washed over the group like a tidal wave to a sandy shore, The news startling everyone on edge.

"What?!" Shizuko yelled in disbelief as he moved over to Zenitsu. Lowering his head to meet eye to eye as he searched for any sign of doubt, An unsure gaze, Anything he could find to try disprove his declaration.

But he came up empty, Only staring back into shaking saffron irises. The hands over Zenitsu's ears tightened as he howled out in pain. He fell to his knees, The sheer volume of the crows combined with his hearing was too much as he felt ichor start to trickle at his fingertips.

"Zoritso!" Inosuke called out as he instantly rushed over to his friend's side.

Gyomei at this point had unsheathed the axe and chain from within his overbearing haori, Already given enough confirmation from his Tsuguko's reaction as he tightened the grip on the wooden handle and chain.

He ignored the suffering of the younger slayers, His expression firming up.

"We must go at once then, No time to spa-"

"Blood Demon Art: Electrokinesis, Third form: Thunder Swarm!" A voice suddenly yelled out from within the storm and as soon as it finished, The attack commenced.

Black bolts of lightning shot out of nowhere, Bursting out from the blade of Kaigaku, Leaping down from the tree branches.

☆♡☆

"I'll see you soon, 'Tsuri"

Those words. Those five simple words echoed in every little corner of her mind. On paper they seemed so little, So obscure. Small talk to the normal ear, In a normal conversation it would be such a normal farewell and by all means it was.

But it just didn't sit right, Not with Mitsuri.

She ran fast through the snow, Her legs were burning as she tried to focus her total concentration breathing. She maneuvered around rocks and over fallen logs, Carefully but quickly ascending the tough terrain with ease.

Her heart pounded so rapidly in her chest so much so that it was painful yet Mitsuri continued onwards. She had to keep going, She needed to get to the shrine as fast as possible.

Keep going, Don't stop. Not for a single moment.

Mitsuri had been running for who knows long, Hours maybe, She hadn't stopped for a second. An awful feeling sat dormant in her chest, A foreboding omen that unsettled her for too long.

As soon as she had heard those five little words she'd known that something was wrong-

No. Mitsuri had always known something was wrong. A draining parasite that sat in the back of her mind, Eating away at her for years now. Those words.. It was just those five little words that made her realise what that something was.

The parasite had been nibbling away at her, Planting little ideas of possibility and doubt into her passing thoughts every time she and [F/N] talked. Back then she had brushed them off, Not completely of course but enough to where there was plausible deniability. Just enough to where she could push it out of her mind.

But when [F/N] had muttered those words, Spoke them in such a normal tone of voice there was absolutely no more avoiding it. Her doubts, The possibilities.. She needed to face them.

Or maybe it wasn't those words specifically, It was the way [F/N] had looked at her when she said them.

Her stare, Her blank doe-eyed gaze permeated into Mitsuri's mind. The picture in her mind vivid as it was as she first saw it.

The smile [F/N] had on her face just didn't quite reach her eyes, A small little smile that felt so wrong looking back on it. The dull stare that pleaded to Mitsuri's own, Begging her no matter how unconsciously it may have been.

It was such a melancholy gaze, A sad little smile. She remembers now the tiny quirk of her lip.

Mitsuri should of done something sooner.

Back then Mitsuri herself couldn't process the deeper meaning. But she remembered her body reacted sooner than she herself should of, Grasping onto [F/N]. Holding her hand as she tried to get inside the carriage.

Subconsciously she had recognised the meaning. She should of said something, Should of done something. Ask her to stay the night, Go with her, Or even just offer her a simple hug then maybe [F/N] wouldn't think that way.

But in the end she did nothing. She just let go of her hand, Feeling the warmth slip away from her grasp.

Only a few hours later did the true meaning really render inside of her mind, And when it did it hit her like nothing else ever did before. What it meant, She knows now.

As soon as Mitsuri knew she had taken off, Running off into the streets without a second thought. Something bad would happen, Something terrible would happen if she didn't get there to her on time.

Mitsuri knew she shouldn't of let go of [F/N]'s hand. The regret pounding throughout her bloodstream as she felt tears involuntarily drip down her cheeks. She shouldn't of let go.

Even though she didn't do anything back then didn't mean she couldn't do something to stop it now. Mitsuri needed to, She wouldn't let [F/N] slip away once more. Never again, She will be there for her this time.

And as she heard the call of the crows, Mitsuri knew that this would be her last chance to do so.

☆♡☆

"Moon Breathing, Fourteenth Form: Catastrophe, Tenman Crescent Moon"

Siphoning ultraviolet crescents flew out haphazardly into the fighting ground, Crashing down onto the nigh-derelict rooftops throwing rubble out everywhere. Several stray crescents hurtling past the slayer, Barely able to avoid the attack.

It was absolute chaos, Pandemonium. A spectacle of whip-like half-moons striking at it's enemy so swift that any normal person would be severed in half in an instant.

By chance however [F/N] was no ordinary person as he dodged and weaved throughout what very little openings were given, Body contorting and swimming through the gaps as he tried his very best to land his own attacks.

"Soul Breathing Second Form: Seven Separate Spirit Slashes"

"Moon Breathing, Seventh Form: Mirror of Misfortune, Moonlit"

"Soul Breathing Sixth Form: Apotheosis Blade o' Ascension"

"Moon Breathing, Ninth Form: Waning Moonswaths"

Kokushibo never gave much of a chance however, His movements or slashes of his sword never strayed from what could be considered perfect form. The closest so far [F/N] had come to severing his head was when he had lobbed off an arm, Which regenerated within a split second.

It was enough to frustrate anyone, Anyone but [F/N].

The wide smile he had worn at the prospect of a fight had grown into a euphoric grin stretched ear to ear. For the first time in years, [F/N] had felt alive.

Though the several cuts on his arms and legs bled, Though he had been fighting for several hours he had never gotten tired. Not once did he falter or stumble, Not once did he succumb to exhaustion.

Not even the aching in his lungs, Which grew more painful with every breathe he took. The adrenaline made him feel nothing.

Kokushibo on the other hand felt the same way, Yet the anger in his chest only seemed to infest inside him more and more as the fight went on. He wanted this one to suffer, He wanted to watch this one bleed out on the ground while he crushed his windpipe.

The disrespect he had shown, Both to him and his sister. The careless attitude The Hashira had towards him, The haori he was desecrating. It made him absolutely furious. Even more so when he found more difficulty than normal when attacking him.

His transparent world showing his body to be at it's peak potential, Though oddly enough he wasn't able to see through the porcelain mask on his body. Kokushibo had to admit this was the longest fight he'd had in centuries.

The man he fought having zero fighting spirit, An oddity. Something he had never came across within a human, Combined with the mastery of the blade and his repetitive action movement he made a formidable combatant.

Even though he despised his opponent, He had to lend a begrudging respect.

[F/N]'s sword swayed along with his own movements. White wisps of translucent mist danced along the blade and left a shivering trail as it went. It was beautiful, Glowing so softly in the moonlight yet it struck so hard it burned like fire.

[F/N] landed in a crouching position after dodging another attack just by the hair on his back. Pushing both his hand and foot forward he launched himself towards Uppermoon one at high speeds.

Yelling out his next attack he readied his sword

"Soul Breathing Fifth Form: Noumenon High Dragon!"

The wisps tailing the edge of his blade were set ablaze, Picking up in velocity the trail formed into a tail as [F/N] rushed towards Kokushibo.

The demon readied his own attack in turn as The Soul Hashira's technique bursting into the shape of a gigantic jaw-opened dragon speeding towards his form, Twisting and swirling around the demon ready to swallow him whole.

"Moon Breathing, Sixth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon - Incessant"

Kokushibo swung his own sword down as soon the dragons gaping maws were about to bite down on him, An array of hyper-violet crescents exploded from Kokushibo's blade.

The sheer kinetic energy caused by the clashing of their swords erupted from the centre of it all like an immovable object to an unstoppable force. The energy hit the ground below them, Blasting both of them apart by the raw force.

Flying off of the tiled roof, [F/N] was shot up far into the air with Kokushibo in the opposite direction.

[F/N] yelled out in surprise as he flailed around in the air, Spinning and swooning around as he started to fall downwards.

Wind rushing through his kimono as he watched the ground grow larger and larger. He raised his sword and took a deep breath in, Ready to counteract gravity with the force of an attack.

"Soul Breathing Third Form: Soul fire, Burn bright!"

Just as he was about to hit the ground he struck his sword, His breathing technique bursting out into a bonfire as it connected with the dirt of the courtyard.

It was successful. Enough to stop the fall but also enough to throw him back up.

Luckily however he had hit one of the lower roofs of the shrine. And thankfully due to his recovery breathing the damage wasn't serious, Only a few scratches and later bruises to decorate his skin.

"Ack-.." [F/N] coughed, The dust from the impact hitting him as he lain sprawled out on the roof. His chest moved up and down, Breathing in and out while only feeling a tiny bit of pain in his ribs.

"Wow.. That could of been bad.." He heaved, Voice hoarse and rough. He raised his upper body so he was now in a hunched sitting position, Completely still except from the movements of his lungs.

[F/N] sat there for a moment not moving in the slightest. He could no longer sense Kokushibo's powerful aura, At least not nearby anyways. It seemed like the force of their blades clashing sent him flying to the other side of the shrine.

That's fine. It gave [F/N] time to recuperate from the non-stop attacks they threw at each other, He needed to savour these moments as best he could.

[F/N] looked around at the destruction of the shrine, It hurt. It felt like his heart was wrenched out of his chest every time he came across levelled rooms, Broken walls and fallen statues.

The home [F/N] resided in for years, One that had provided warmth and comfort when nothing else did had been destroyed. Memories long gone played out in his mind as he came to terms with his loss. It didn't matter now though, He supposed.

He ran his hands down his body to examine for wounds. Feeling along the torn fabric of his uniform and the dips in his flesh [F/N] figured that he wasn't too badly injured. While there were a few points where his fingers came up bloody he had judged it wasn't too bad.

It didn't hurt anyways, Not to him.

Settling his hands onto the roof he pushed himself up with only minimal effort. Stumbling a little to gather his balance he finally steadied himself upon the roof's wooden structure in the middle, Walking on it similar to a tight-rope.

He stalked along the middle beam, Movements similar to a feline's as he put one foot in front of the other.

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck [F/N] decided it was time to go back into battle. He needed to at least buy enough time for the last of the residents to evacuate the building, Afterwards there was only one thing left to do.

As he strolled along the edge of the roof he made his way to the end, Lowering his knees and k-

"[F/N]!!"

He froze in place.

That voice, No.. She wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't how it went in his head, Not at all.

"[F/N]! P-Please.. Turn around.. Alright?" The voice yelled, A high-pitched tone that sounded so desperate in that one moment that [F/N] couldn't disobey.

And once he did turn around, The expression on Mitsuri's face hurt more than any wound inflicted on his body.

"'Tsuri, Hey! You're not suppose to be here.. You know?" [F/N] chuckled, A practiced sound that seemed so strained now as the façade he had tried to build up for so long crumbled down around him along with the shrine.

Mitsuri was sobbing. Tears leaked out from her face like a faucet, Her eyes were bloodshot like she had been crying for a while. Something that was most likely true. Every so often she let out a small choked wail from within her throat, Gasps for air following it close.

It looked as if her knee's would buckle under her weight. It was such a painful sight that [F/N] couldn't bare to look at her.

It felt like his heart was beating a hundred miles per hour, Thumping madly in her chest like a metal drum. He tried to keep a straight face, Some kind of mental barrier he could place between him and the woman he called his best friend.

"D-Don't act like that.. Just.. P-Please just don't act like that right now, [F/N].." Mitsuri yelled out, Her voice pained and shrill.

"'Tsuri.. I.." [F/N] couldn't find the words to say, His mind blank. No words could explain himself, None at all.

"I-I don't wanna hear an excuse.. Please.. I.. I just want to talk.. N-No excuses or lies.. Just the truth." She cried.

[F/N] stared back at her through the mask, Guts turning at the sight. However the porcelain face held up as he wore a blank face, One you might see at a poker table. He mulled over her words, An unnoticeable cold sweat suddenly dripping down from the side of his head.

"..Okay" [F/N] whispered. It was such a low tone but in that single moment it felt like it was just the two of them in the world, Making his mumble seem like a deafening scream to her ears.

"[F/N].. I.. I'm so sorry.." Mitsuri cried. She brought her shaking hands up to cup her face as she cried into them, A fleeting attempt to hide her grief.

[F/N] shook his head.

"Mitsuri.. What do you need to be sorry for?" [F/N] said. A levelled tone playing in his voice.

"I.. I s-should of done something sooner.. I should've known that you were feeling like this, I.. Why couldn't I notice.." She shook her head warily, Trying her best to hold back the choked sobs from her throat.

[F/N] steadied his breathing, He couldn't break.

"Mitsuri, I'm fine. You don't need to wo-"

"[F/N] I'M NOT STUPID, JUST LISTEN TO ME!" Mitsuri screamed.

[F/N] flinched, The sheer volume of it catching him of guard. In all of his years knowing Mitsuri, [F/N] had never seen him act like this, Like a completely new person stood before him now.

"I-I'm not stupid.. I can see how everyone's feeling.. I can always tell how angry Shinobu is or- or how unhappy Giyuu is all the time.. I can see how everyone is truly feeling, That's always been my talent.." Mitsuri lamented.

She wiped off the tears with her sleeve

"A-And just because you hide behind a mask.. That doesn't make you an exception, [F/N]! It never has..!" Mitsuri shouted once more, Now staring up at her best friend. The person she's known all her life freeze in place like a statue at her words.

"It's just.. All the time you're so.. So sad.. I-I've known you for so long and it's been going on.. F-For the same length of time.. S-So much that I just took it as normal but looking back now I feel so- so stupid!" She cried out.

[F/N] couldn't respond, He felt like a spotlight had been shun directly on him now. Like he stood in front of an unwanted audience as he stared her down.

"Y-You're scaring me, [F/N].. Y-You're really, really scaring me.. Just please.. T-Take off the mask.." Mitsuri broke down into a quiet sob, Soft cries aching her throat.

[F/N] looked back at her, An indescribable emotion etched into the porcelain of the mask. He felt his fingers twitch before raising them towards the straps. Lightly unlocking the clasp at the back she pulled the leather down from her head, Lowering the kitsune mask into the palms of her hands.

[F/N] stood there, The blank expression she wore was flooded with tears flowing free from her eyes as she gazed down at her best friend breaking down. Her lip twitched, Unable to say anything as she barely held back quiet cries of her own.

"'Tsuri.. Please, Just don't look at me like that. Just.. Just don't" [F/N] said, Swallowing back her pain.

"I.. I just.. I.." Mitsuri babbled as she clutched the centre of her chest, Trying to soothe the ache of her heart.

"You've got to leave.. 'Tsuri, It's not safe here, Alright..? I've got to get back to the fight.."

"N-No!" Mitsuri yelped out, Cutting off [F/N] prematurely.

"P-Please.. 'Tsuri, You've got to go.." [F/N] said. Her breath was growing more laboured by the second as the tears dripped down her eyes.

"N-No, You're not going back to the fight, [F/N].. Y-You can't go, You can't.. I.." She bit down on her lip, The thought trailing with her words were cut short.

"Why..?"

"B-Because when when you go into that fight.. Y-You're hoping that you won't come out of it.. And it terrifies me.." Mitsuri cried.

Her words felt like a knife jabbing into [F/N]'s heart, Like a blade was eternally twisting and turning inside of her arteries. It hurt, Out of everyone she had ever met, Mitsuri was the last one she would have wanted to say that to her.

"J-Just please.. G-Get off the roof, Come down.. D-Do not waste yourself on this roof, [F/N]. D-Don't you remember our promise..? Please.. J-Just come to me..?" Mitsuri pleaded, Reaching her hand out for [F/N] to take.

Her words felt so enticing, Like an oasis in a scorching desert.

Something she had been searching years for, Only to turn up in a gift wrapped box sitting on her doorstep. [F/N] felt her fingers twitch, So desperately wanting to reach out and take her hands.

But the letter had already been sent, Her mind had already been made up so long ago. As much as she wanted to hold her hand, Run away and never look back [F/N] knew that it wouldn't be enough.

"'Tsuri.." [F/N] mumbled. Mitsuri caught on quickly to her tone and her eyes widened.

"N-No, [F/N]! Please.. Come down, P-Please just take my hand.. PLEASE!" She cried out as she watched [F/N] place the mask back on the now his face.

"'Tsuri.. Do not feel guilty over me, You were the best friend I could of ever asked for. You did your best.." [F/N] smiled.

The mask was now matching his expression as it looked down on Mitsuri, Who rushed forward but her knees finally buckled making her fall forward.

"Ah-!" She cried out. [F/N] tried to resist the urge to go and help as he spoke.

"'Tsuri.. You still haven't recovered from the swordsmith village attack.. Not to mention it looks like you've been running for hours.

"Please, Don't exert any more energy." [F/N] said as he turned around back towards the direction Kokushibo would be in.

Mitsuri screamed out for [F/N].

"P-PLEASE, [F/N]! L-LET ME COME WITH YOU, PLEASE! A-AT LEAST LET ME COME WITH YOU. W-WE GO TOGETHER, L-LIKE WE ALWAYS HAVE! TOGETHER!!" Her voice was so painful it tore a hole into [F/N] as he tried not to run to her side.

"I'm sorry, 'Tsuri.. Between the two of us, You have people that will miss you. There are a lot of people out there who love you, Adore you not just for your strength but just for yourself. Between the two of us.. You'll have people who will mourn your loss." [F/N] said.

Mitsuri didn't even have time to scream out as Seijun rushed over from somewhere south. She had been put to help with evacuations and Mitsuri's screams had alerted her over.

"[F/N]-sama! Kanroji-san, Are you both alright?!" Seijun asked, Alarmed by the incoherent babble of Mitsuri in front of her as she desperatley tried to pull herself to her feet. A futile attempt as she just fell back down.

"..We're alright, Thank you.. I hope evacuations are going well?" [F/N] asked. Cocking his head to the side as he tried his best to focus on the maiden instead of the mourning.

"Smoothly. Due to the combined efforts of the slayers and the handmaidens, The first round of escapee's have successfully gotten away… Though there are quite a few many still around.." Seijun said, Quickly bowing down to her superior.

[F/N] nodded.

"Seijun. Thank you for helping out with the evacuations, I sincerely appreciate it.. All I ask of you now is that you could escort Kanroji-san out of the area. She's in no state to fight and is delirious." [F/N] turned back to look at the two, A reassuring smile sat uneasy on the mask.

Seijun nodded as she started to pick up Mitsuri by the armpits. At the touch of the handmaiden Mitsuri instantly started to scream and flail around in her grasp, In complete hysterics as she cried out [F/N]'s name.

"Kanroji-san, Please calm down-"

"[F/N]! [F/N]! PLEASE! L-LET GO OF ME, LET ME GO! [F/N] COME DOWN, COME TO ME PLEASE- I CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!" She screamed. Despite her inhuman strength her muscles were so tired from both her injuries and the marathon here that she could barely even struggle in Seijun's hold, Just scream and scream as she tried to get out of her grasp.

[F/N] turned back, Walking on the roof like a lamb to the slaughter as he tried his best to ignore the gut-wrenching pain in his stomach. He had made up his mind, And as much as [F/N] adored Mitsuri it wasn't going to change anything.

Her screams got further and further away as he drew his sword once more.

As they did, He raised his head high and smiled.

☆♡☆

"Blood Demon Art: Electrokinesis, Third form: Thunder Swarm!"

Black bolts of ebony struck down from Kaigaku's blade, The steel conducting the movements as he brought it down onto the group of slayers he had been tracking for quite a while now.

Several yells called out into the vastness of the forest, Snow exploding into the air once the thunder whipped at the ground. Kaigaku cackled as he heard the screams of his prey, The game of cat and mouse had begun.

He had leapt out from one of the tree branches, Ones he had been carefully maneuvering on as he quietly trailed along with the group.

Kaigaku had struck at the right time, They had taken the bait. The red cloth was a carefully placed lure he had swiftly placed in order to lead them into a honey trap, It was easy. Especially once he knew who he was dealing with.

He was shocked at first. Not in a million years did he expect to come across them, Not at all. It was something that seemed impossible to him, But here he was pouncing in for the attack.

Gyomei, Zenitsu, Shizuko. Along with that boar-headed kid they were well-known targets, Once he had lain his eyes on them his heart seemed to soar in his chest. A sadistic kind of glee bursting up from inside of him.

People who had looked down on him in the past, People who had treated him like he was just another person and not the prodigy he really was. The kind of people he truly despised were right in front of him, All grouped together.

Even though he was ordered to attack the shrine from the other side, He had to take this. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass by on, Not for a single second.

They group was launched into the air. The force pushing them away from the focal point as Kaigaku watched the boar-headed kid land into a tree, Hitting his head and passing out while the other two kids were pushed off a steep hill.

He laughed like a closing in hyena. His body falling close to the ground as he prepared to land, All before a chain launches out of the snow dust, Hurtling straight towards the demon.

Kaigaku swerved. Only dodging the metal by a hair as the mist finally cleared, Revealing The Stone Hashira standing strong in-between the snow. Chains in hand he swayed them about as the axe in his hand started to swing between his fingers.

Another chain shot out from beneath his haori sending it straight towards him at nigh-impossible speeds.

Kaigaku breathed in to steady his style. Tossing his sword up into the air he threw out a hand and wrapped it tight around the chain. Tugging once he screamed out into the night

"Blood demon art-"

An explosion of electricity erupted out from his palms, A black current travelling down the steel chain as it quickly developed into a shockwave heading straight towards Gyomei.

Sensing the incoming thunder he let go of the chain and threw out the axe as it hurtled towards Kaigaku.

Catching his sword in a single hand Kaigaku brought it down with a clash! The metal hitting together with hot sparks bursting out from the sheer force of their connection.

Kaigaku landed on the floor. Gyomei's axe successfully deflected as he hit the ice, Steadying himself with a single hand as he peered up at the Hashira with a Cheshire grin.

"Gyomei.. You've bulked up a bit since I last saw you." Kaigaku sneered. A condescending drawl drawing out every syllable as he peered up at his former peer.

Gyomei halted in his actions, A sudden stop to his quick movements. Grasping the unelectrified chains it pulled on the axe, Catching it in a single hand as he froze in place.

"That voice.. It cannot be.." He muttered. Memories seemed sing out inside of his mind, Voices he remembered coming back to him for the first time in years. Ones he had pushed away, Hidden and ran from yet all coming up within the brutal song of the demon's voice.

Kaigaku's grin grew bigger.

"What? It's not the kid you let be thrown out? The person you discarded so easily? The one whose gonna put this blade through your skull?" Kaigaku cackled, Raising his sword and pointing to the sharp metal.

"Oh.. Right. My bad, You're unable to see the thing that's gonna to kill you. How sad!" Kaigaku laughed as he gripped the side of his head, Tufts of ebony hair sticking out as he hollered like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Gyomei's frown got sharper.

"A low hanging insult.. Even for you, Kaigaku.. It pains me to know how badly you've fallen.." Gyomei lamented as he recalled back on the time's they shared together.

Kaigaku, An orphaned child. One of nine who he had taken in at his temple, One of nine who he cared for like his very own. One of the children who he had worked himself down to the bone for, Tried his hardest everyday to provide for. Even going as far as to starve himself just so they would have enough food to satisfy them.

Even though he was blind, Even though he was starving almost every second of the day making him frail and scrawny he worked to provide.

He had considered them all family, Even if they had no blood connection it never mattered. The covenant was stronger than the womb, They loved each other no matter how bad it would get.

But that one fateful day, That one day was like carved stone in his mind. The wisteria incense put out, The betrayal he had known as he heard the screams of terror from the children he considered family.

Kaigaku had been a thief, He always had been. But when he had gone so far as to sneak out at night, Run into a demon and sacrifice the peers he had known just for a chance at survival that wasn't even guaranteed.

They were all slaughtered by the very thing Kaigaku chose to become. It proved how little he cared, How little humanity he had in the first place.

In the end, He could only save two. And it cost him his freedom, His chance at a normal life.

All because of the demon in front of him.

"How badly I've fallen? Gyomei, I'm upper six now! I've been risen to such great heights, By a man who could actually see my worth!" Kaigaku proclaimed, Raising his hands out as if to announce this to the world.

Gyomei paused, Letting the words sink in.

"Then.. I doubt that man was a good judge of character.. You've always been such a weaselly little boy." Gyomei stated. Even though he couldn't see he could practically feel the sudden drop in Kaigaku's smile.

Kaigaku stood there, The hands he had raise shook. This wasn't the answer he had been expecting from the man.

"..How dare you.. My master is an honourable man! He knows my worth!" Kaigaku yelled out. Baring his canines out towards The Stone Hashira who stood there motionless, Starting to rattle his beads once more.

"No.. You've always been such a pitiful little thing.. Such a selfish child.. You have as much worth as a rat in the gutter." Gyomei announced with such a sad and nostalgic tone, Yet it held so much weight that it felt like a stone to the head to Kaigaku.

His jaw fell agape, Displaying his rows of sharp teeth. From the way Kaigaku was imagining this day in his head, He didn't expect this of all responses.

He had envisioned the sheer pain drown out the features on Gyomei's face, Tears drip down from his eyes as he begged for forgiveness under the sharp point of Kaigaku's claws. He'd cry, Yell in pain as he was slowly mutilated in the slowest way possible.

He didn't expect to be fixed in place, Feet feeling so heavy he was unable to lift them. Unable to do anything as he stared him down. He felt helpless, So helpless. And that made him angry.

"I-I am powerful now! I am strong! You just can't comprehend how powerful I am now, Y-You're the one that's weak! You just can't believe how great I am now!" Kaigaku yelled, His voice suddenly sounding hoarse as he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

"Really.. Are you really that great?" Gyomei asked quietly.

"O-Of course I am!" Kaigaku yelled back in response.

"Then.. If you truly are.. You would know a distraction when you see one.." Gyomei finished.

Kaigaku's brow raised before a sudden prescense- No, Two presences appearing from behind him at nigh-impossible speeds.

He only turned around in time to see the two boys, Zenitsu and Shizuko, The two boys he knew so well raise their swords in a prepared attack.

"Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash"

"Earth Breathing, Second Form: Seismic Shake"

They screamed in unison, Only a few feet away from Kaigaku's stunned body as they raised their respective weapons. Thunder started to crackle at the metal of Zenitsu's katana while the murky smell of fresh compost emanated from Shizuko's machete as they charged towards him.

Kaigaku lowered his knee's and jumped back just in time to avoid the massive crater left in the place where he stood.

"You bastards-!" Kaigaku screamed out as he was flown out into the air. He looked down at the horrified visage of Zenitsu, While he scowled at the enraged Shizuko as they jumped up towards him once more.

"Ne, You're one to talk..!" Shizuko screamed as he used the tree branches to throw himself up to Kaigaku's level.

"K-Kaigaku.. How could you!" Zenitsu cried as he followed in his peer's footsteps.

"Oh shut up you wimp! You know exactly why!" Kaigaku screamed as he watched the two slayers come up towards him, Preparing another attack.

Just as the two were about to swing their weapons a metal flail flew out from beneath them all, Shooting out towards Kaigaku.

This isn't good, This isn't good at all. Kaigaku was seething, This moment was suppose to be glorious with him on top and those below quivering under his iron fist. But he had no more time to daydream as he was about to be attacked on three separate fronts.

Zenitsu directly below, Shizuko from the front and Gyomei from the side. He couldn't lose, He was special.

Quickly, Kaigaku had no time to think as he activated his blood demon art. His sword igniting as he yelled out his attack.

"Thunder Breathing, Fourth Form: Distant Thunder!"

Kaigaku screamed out as bolts erupted from the cold steel of his sword, A versatile attack reaching in all directions. Below, Front and side thunder crackled out in response to the attack.

He wouldn't let them kill him, Anyone but them. He knew he was worthy, But also knew he had to prove it.

And this was the perfect way

☆♡☆

Kokushibo stood in the middle of the rubble, Standing in the midst of broken wood, stone and clay as he examined his surroundings.

He had been thrown to the other side of the shrine, An unexpected force from the joint impact pushing him off the roof. Kokushibo had meant to get back to the fight, Get back to that accursed Hashira.

But as he looked around, He found himself hesitating.

He took a deep breath in, Inhaling the cold night's air into his lungs as he reminisced on old memories. It would be the last time he would ever get to experience this after all, The shrine was in complete disrepair now.

It was bittersweet, The memories he had here played in front of him like a reeling tape. How he'd come back from a mission only to be greeted with the smell of stewing vegetables and sweet berries. He'd smile and walk inside only to be greeted by [F/N] and Yorichii.

Now the mere scent of human food disgusted him.

The shrine would be destroyed, Not like there was much to save in the first place. The slayers had desecrated it, Infected it like parasites and transfigured it into something unrecognisable from its original state.

And just like a parasite leeching on the flesh of an arm, The only solution was to cut it off. It wasn't her shrine he was destroying, No. It was already gone, He was just levelling another base of operations. Nothing more.

Kokushibo was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps hitting the tiles, A slow pace as they walked up to his location down below in the garden

He turned, Looking up to see that slayer on top of a roof point, Balancing on a single foot. The moon shone down from behind him, High in the sky to illuminate their oncoming brawl as his haori danced in the breeze.

A neuron clicked within Kokushibo's mind once his sight connected with the mans stance, A realisation dawning on him.

"You.. I remember you now.." Kokushibo drawled as he fully turned over to look up at him.

"Really? I don't remember us ever meeting." [F/N] said carelessly, Yet there was still a hint of curiosity in him as he waited for the demon to go on.

"No.. We have not met.. But you, You are the slayer who killed one thousand of my kind.. In a single year.." Kokushibo said, Eyes narrowing as he stared him down.

He remembered his the notice from his master ringing inside his mind, The announcement demanding the death of this slayer for the crime of efficiency. This one single demon hunter had managed to cause such alarm in Muzan, A feat never done before.

They had never managed to catch him, The slayer was rather tricky.

Moved about place to place and never lingered long, Never slept in any inn's or districts. Any demon that did come face to face with him however was instantly shot down and killed in seconds.

Normally, Kokushibo would hate to see a waste of talent die out. He never understood why slayers would prefer staying human, Instead of becoming a demon to perfect and hone their technique to perfection.

But knowing the weight this man had, Knowing the haori he disgraced and the artefacts he wore with no care. Kokushibo had no bargain to present to the slayer, Instead enticed by bringing his head back to Muzan for the reward.

"What is your name.." Kokushibo asked.

"Fujimori." [F/N] replied, Shrugging his shoulders.

"Your full name.." Kokushibo prodded.

[F/N] wondered why he wanted to know, Why it was necessary information. But in the end he supposed that the demon wanted to know what name to write on the trophy stand.

"It's just Fujimori." [F/N] answered back, If that was the case then he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he was going down then he was going to make it as inconvenient as possible for his killer.

Kokushibo breathed out hot air from his nose. The careless tone in the slayers voice angered him, How could he be taking this so casually? A fight with Uppermoon one and he took it like child's play.

It was infuriating.

He drew out his sword once more, The flesh pulsating as it grew out in length. [F/N] in turn drew his own blade from the sheathe on his back, Pointing it at him like the judge to the accused.

"Alright then. Don't hold out now, Better give me all you've got!" [F/N] laughed as he jumped down from the shrine spire, Sword raised as he swung it down.

"Soul Breathing, First Form: Psyche Cutter!" He screamed, Sword alight with white wisps as it hit down onto the place Kokushibo once was, Rocks erupting out leaving only a crater.

[F/N] turned around, Seeing Kokushibo about to pierce into his back he raised his sword in response.

Metal on flesh connected with a clash! Both swordsmen's blades pushed against each other, Battling for that single opening to end the fight once and for all. [F/N] struggled, Letting out little groans as Kokushibo's strength was unmatchable.

Kokushibo yelled out, A pained scream. He swung out a forceful attack making [F/N] back up as their swords rapidly connected back and forth, Withdrawing and crashing right back into each other. If [F/N] stopped for a single moment, He'd be cut down.

[F/N] could barely dodge the oncoming breathing techniques as he tried to let off his own, It was one after the other so much that he couldn't take his mind away. He supposed it was a good thing.

Mitsuri's face, That desperate expression. Her hysterical screams for him to come back, To not do what he needed to. It was all set into the stone of his mind, Appeared when he blinked and hallucinated her voice.

[F/N] was thankful he had no time to think about it.

Their blades made sparks burst out like a faulty lighter. [F/N] started to struggle, The grip on his sword beginning to fall despite his iron-clad grip. His grin never faltered though, This was what he had been expecting.

[F/N] was only human, His stamina was bound to run out eventually and he knew this.

Jumping back up onto the roof to avoid another attack, Kokushibo quickly followed after. It was labouring as [F/N] tried to balance both his feet and his continued slashes at the same time, Being pushed back by the force of the demon's blade.

He felt his breath get heavier with each inhale, The pain in his chest doing nothing to help him as he felt his fingers ache. He only had so much left to go before his body finally gave up, Before he collapsed. This was [F/N] chance, To go out in one single blaze, Hopefully taking down the Uppermoon with him. His final action as a slayer.

Ever since he saw the kanji in his eyes, Ever since he felt the raw power coming off of him [F/N] knew what action to take.

The Eighth Form of Soul Breathing. The most powerful of them all, An attack that left [F/N] bloodied and beaten into a coma the first time he used it. Hospitalized for months in critical condition.

The year onwards he hadn't used it, He didn't dare. It was an attack only supported by the blade he was wielding, The Soul Sword. An attack that utilized the trapped spirits in the blade, Using the power of them all in one devastating move affecting both the user and target.

He felt the trapped souls of one thousand course through the hilt of the blade as they continued to duel against each other in rapid motions, The concentrated spirits radiating through his skin. If he used this attack, It was bound to kill both him and anyone in the surrounding area.

But Kokushibo? He wasn't sure.

Thankfully however the evacuations were successful, [F/N] had made sure to check. Everyone was out and at least a few miles away from the shrine, It was just the two of them now fighting to the death.

[F/N] smiled lightly. No one would get in the way, Not the hand-maidens, Not Mitsuri, No one. There would be no casualties on [F/N]'s hands, That was good.

[F/N] needed to try. To end it all and try to bring at least something good out of his death, To bring something good out of his life for once.

But then, He caught the faint hue of carmine red.

The mask's eyes widened as it caught the vivid colour tucked hidden within the rubble, It was barely there but [F/N] could make out a face. One that sparked up his own in recognition.

It was Maika.

Maika sat hidden behind a torn wall, She looked wounded with her kosobe being stained in thick ichor. She stared wide-eyed at the fight, Looking absolutely horrified. Her hands cupped over her mouth, Not daring to speak for a second.

But what concerned [F/N] the most was her legs, They were trapped under a large wall crumbled down onto her. She was unable to get out.

No.. No this wasn't good. [F/N]'s heart beat faster and faster by the moment, Losing concentration from the fight as he stared the injured girl head on trying to make sense of the sight in front of him.

Maika was still here, She had somehow gotten back to the shrine only to get caught within the destruction. Did the evacuation team miss her? Did they not find her? [F/N] felt his jaw shake, He couldn't use the Eight Form. Not while she was still here.

[F/N] dragged his eyes away from the girl, Trying not to alert the demon of her presence. Before he had taken this fight with a careless grin but as he saw the young girl there, Injured and terrified the stakes had finally hit him.

Her life was at stake, And somewhere deep inside him he wasn't willing to let that life slip through his fingers.

He can die any other day, But she needed to go on. Maika was too young.

[F/N] pushed himself up into the air, Sword readying itself above his head as he ignored the implications of his thoughts. He couldn't use the eighth form, Not while Maika was here. So [F/N] had to settle on the next best thing as the wisps grew into a blazing inferno.

"Soul Breathing, Seventh Form: Takamagahara's Wrath, Divine Judgement."

Moonlight danced around his sword as gravity pulled him down forward straight to the demon. Spirits trailed along as energy picked up. He felt the air shift around him and the energy pulse in his sword.

Kokushibo raised his own sword once again, A counterattack ready to happen.

"Sixteenth Form: Moonbow, Half Moon"

His sword moved up and before he knew it, [F/N]'s sword was at his neck, Sharp side pressing into the side of his neck. [F/N] screamed out, Exerting his energy as the fibres of Kokushibo's neck started to tear-

SLASH!

[F/N] landed on the other side of the roof, Sandal soles lightly touching the ground as he steadied himself.

[F/N] stood there completely still, The only movements of his figure was the light breeze passing through his clothing. He sheathed his sword, All before his knee's shook and [F/N] stumbled hard.

Copper was tasted at the tip of his tongue as he stumbled around on the roof losing his balance. He could only feel the sudden burn in his abdomen as his foot pressed down onto nothing, Letting him tip off the roof.

That speed, That blinding speed. Kokushibo didn't utilise it before, He had been formidable yet.. [F/N] felt the dawning realisation rise.

Kokushibo had been toying with him.

He had drawn out this fight, Holding back his true strength. Those cuts placed onto [F/N]'s body were a way to torture him, To let his blood be drawn and to feel agonising pain in the highest degree.

[F/N] never stood a chance.

[F/N] knew this was what he wanted, The thing he had been craving this entire time. This should of been a sweet release, Yet there was such a bitter aftertaste that it filled his mouth along with the blood. Overwhelming his senses.

He still wanted this, He did. It was a happy finality, It didn't matter whether he was in an immense amount of pain or not. It didn't matter at all. Yet the thought of Maika's fate was the one to spoil that moment.

Would she be okay? Would she be discovered by the demon?

He could barely comprehend the question as he hit the ground, World going red.

☆♡☆

Hack, Slash, Hack, Slash!

Kaigaku had barely any time to dodge the unrelenting slashes of Zenitsu, All while dodging the bloodthirsty hits of Shizuko's machete. Both desperate to get to his neck, To sever it and take it as their reward.

It wasn't even the most difficult part. Gyomei had still not moved an inch from his stance on the snow yet he kept sending out axe then flail, Ones Kaigaku couldn't even dodge at times due to the velocity at which they went.

Even then Kaigaku asked himself why Gyomei didn't dare to move from his position, This wasn't like the man he knew. The one who would charge head first into a problem and tackle it head on. It made him angry, Gyomei should be trying to kill him yet he chose to refrain.

And it made him absolutely livid when he found out the reason. Gyomei Himejima, The man who he had lived with for several years, The man who was his family only to be abandoned and ruined the life of all because of Kaigaku was holding back.

All because he still harboured love for him.

Kaigaku yelled out in frustration as he prepared another blood demon art, This time focusing off of the two boys who were still hurling attacks and insults at him as he targeted Gyomei instead.

The thought of him holding back infuriated Kaigaku to no end. Stupid human feelings.. It was disgusting. The notion of it, The action of it, The feelings that rose up inside Kaigaku himself were all absolutely disgusting.

"You fucking bitch!" Shizuko screamed as he charged at Kaigaku once more, Machete wildly trying to hack away at his neck.

Kaigaku dodged. Completely ignoring him in favour of charging at the other man as he got behind Shizuko, Pushing his foot into the dip of his back he used the forced momentum to launch him forward towards Gyomei.

"You absolutely worthless human being!" Kaigaku screamed His sword was raised as he charged at the blind man. Kaigaku ignored the way Gyomei's frown got deeper, Ignoring the way his own grew deeper as well as he got closer and closer. Black sparks jolting out from the metal.

"Himejima-san!" Zenitsu cried as he gave chase, Doing all he could to ignore the past both him and the demon shared as his blade charged up.

Shizuko joined in, Screaming his master's name as Kaigaku got closer. It was clear, Gyomei couldn't kill Kaigaku, He wouldn't. The memories they had shared together were too strong to be cut down for him.

He would rather die than kill one of his kids.

Despite how much Shizuko respected his master, He chided him for letting that get in the way. Even though Shizuko shared the same memories as Gyomei did with Kaigaku, He never let it get in the way.

Not in the way of his work.

Kaigaku was only a few inches away, Sword lightly grazing the skin of Gyomei's neck about to be cut down in an instant.

Come back, Now.

Kaigaku's eyes widened. The voice of Kokushibo, His master, Rang throughout his head. The telepathic link connected to him sounding an indescribable tone in his voice, Something he had never heard off his master before.

Emotion..

Kaigaku jolted away from Gyomei, Landing a few feet away from him as he skidded on the ground.

Zenitsu and Shizuko rushed over to Gyomei's side as he stood there frozen, Kaigaku had stopped. His senses told him so but for what reason.

Kaigaku looked back at the group and snarled at the feeling so persistant on bubbling up inside him. It was weakness, Human emotion. He had no time to think it over as he took off in a single shot of lightning, Leaving the group behind.

Shizuko snapped his head over to the sound of faraway thunder only to realise that the bastard was gone, Escaped while he was concerned over Gyomei's safety.

He gritted his teeth and screamed out into the night after him.

"Ne, Come back and face us! You're a coward, You've always been a coward.. COME BACK AND FIGHT US!" Shizuko hollered out, Voice echoing through the vast treeline surrounding them.

Shizuko could only hope that the demon he once called his brother could hear his yells as he was chased off into the night.

☆♡☆

Erratic sputters of blood erupted from [F/N]'s throat, Making ichor drip out of his mask and down his chin, Staining his already drenched uniform.

Everything hurt, Everything hurt so bad unlike before. [F/N] kept telling himself to breathe, In and out. It would be over soon, Everything will be over soon. He wouldn't need to worry anymore, He had got what he wanted.

[F/N]'s body made spasms, Wild jerks of motion as his back was propped up against fallen stone.

When he fell he had landed into a pile of rubble. Jaded rocks jagged into his flesh, Opening wounds and bursting blood vessels. If his vision wasn't blurry enough, The dust that came up from his heavy landing had made it nigh-impossible to see.

It was a miracle [F/N] was holding on as long as he was. The wound cut so deep into his abdomen that you could near see his guts. He had lost a lot of blood too, More than a normal person could survive losing.

He could barely make out the shape of the maiden only a few feet away cried quietly.

"F-Fujimori-sama.. Fujimori-sama.." She wept. Tears were left unashamedly flowing down her face as [F/N] lolled his head to meet hers.

He had to blink once to remove the visage of Mitsuri appearing on her face. It was funny, [F/N] had never noticed the visual similarities between the two until now. If his lungs were in shape, He might of laughed at the thought.

"Mi-Maika.. Listen closely.." [F/N] rasped out. Voice hoarse as dry as the maiden nodded quickly, Intently ready to hear his final words.

"Y-You need to trust me here.. Y-You won't be able to get out in time.. So.. I need you to get under the rubble.. H-Hide yourself.. Alright?" [F/N] coughed up more blood, Staining the inside of his mask as Maika's eyes widened.

"D-Don't make a noise.. No matter what happens to me or.. Or what you see.. O-Only until sunrise are you to come out.. Only once you know its safe.." [F/N] wheezed as he watched a shape in the mist start to form.

"Q-Quickly.." At his final word enunciated Maika quickly pushed herself under the rocks, Burrowed her small body into the tight space until all [F/N] could see was the moonlight's reflection on her eyes.

[F/N] smiled weakly, He hoped it would be enough to keep her hidden. Enough to save her life as he watched the figure in the fog take shape into his assailant, The man who would be his executioner.

"Pathetic.. Really.. You were able to take out one thousand of my kind.. Yet you fell to me, Even when putting in your all you just couldn't win.." He drawled out, Making sure to pronounce every syllable. Mocking the man, A sharp frown etched into his face yet [F/N] could tell he was enjoying this. Every last second.

[F/N] felt his vision double, A dark haze appearing over the horizon of his eyes. He could barely hear what Kokushibo was about to say next, All blurring into white noise.

He felt the dark haze thicken, He didn't hesitate to let it swallow him whole.

Kokushibo breathed out air from his nose, Returning his blade back to its hilt as he took slow strides towards the fallen man. He watched as his head lolled from side to side, Most definetly in a state of semi-conciousness from the blood loss.

It really was pathetic. If this man didn't bring up such horrid memories, If his very cells didn't make his blood boil he might of offered this man to become a demon. A way to forever hone his already impressive skills.

It was a waste, But it didn't matter now. This Hashira will die by his blade, It was near-written in the stars.

Kokushibo stopped in front of his incapacitated body. All six of his eyes taking in the sight before him as he crouched down to the mans level.

He was sprawled out, Body black and blue in so many places.

Kokushibo knew he was still somewhat awake, In between death and life. Even in such a spot he should've been able to move, Say something at least.

But the man never said anything. Kokushibo lowered a brow, It was if his body was fighting tooth and nail to stay alive yet his mind was ready to give up. It puzzled him, Any other slayer would be fighting whole heartedly to stay alive yet this one decided to go out without complaint.

"You.. Fujimori. You are such a miserable creature.. Everything about you is simply.. enraging" Kokushibo seethed as his eyes moved onto the rest of him. Kokushibo reached a single hand out to grasp the soft fabric of his haori.

"This haori.. How you were able to get a hold on it confuses me.. Yet angers me all the same. The way you wear it.. The way you no doubt have stained it with blood of those you've killed.. The way you wear it is a disgrace to it's true owner.." Kokushibo lamented. His voice growing only a tone drier.

He trailed a thumb over the pattern. The scales of the dragon were soft under his touch, It made a chill go down his back. How he was able to get his hands on this homemade pattern he didn't know, He had buried it with his sister's body.

Yet here it was, Caressed under his claw.

"The gods may be punishing me.. Making me look at it again.. But I suppose it does not matter now, Not to you.." Kokushibo said. His hand trailed up the man's body, All the way up to the rim of the kitsune mask.

He trailed a talon along his jawline, Deep enough only to make his body twitch at the touch.

"Not to mention the precious artefacts.. One's you wear and wield like your everyday kimono.. Disgraceful." His talon moved up to dig under the brim of the mask. Kokushibo watched on intently as his claw played with the leather strap wrapping behind the mans head.

"I am unsure whether you can hear me.. yet.. If you can.. I want you to watch as I tear out your intestines.. A fitting punishment for your crimes.." Kokushibo whispered.

His claw started to rip the leather slowly. The hide easily coming apart as he tore it down once.

It broke.

The fox mask fell to the floor, A loud clatter hitting the floor.

Kokushibo's heart stopped in his chest.

What.. What is this?

The smoke around them seemed to settle down back to where it came from. The moon was raised high in the sky, Looking down upon the scene from the heavens.

Kokushibo's hand retracted instantly, His body jerking away like he had just touched hot coal.

All sets of eyes went like saucers, All fixed down to the young woman in front of him.

It.. It was [F/N].

His little sister..

No- That was impossible. It couldn't be.. She had perished in his arms over five hundred years ago. He held her cold corpse, He cradled her cadaver begging any god who could hear him to bring her back to him. His tears wet her corpse.

Before this was a man, A man of stature unlike his little sister's. Yet when he took off the mask.. One moment it was the man he had defeated, The next it was her.. But.. It couldn't be her, He was hallucinating again. It couldn't.. It just couldn't!

Yet Kokushibo nudged forward. He reached out a hesitant hand. His fingers lightly cupped her cheek, So delicately as if she'd break from a single touch like a porcelain doll.

He felt the fading warmth in her cheeks, He felt her skin corporeal in his hands.

She was real but..

He heard a soft whisper come out from her throat, Something repeated over and over like a broken tape.

He moved his ear closer to her

His eyes only grew wider once he made out what it was

"M.. Mi-Michi..Nii.."

She mumbled softly, Blood still leaking out of her mouth. Kokushibo's jaw fell agape, His grasp of her cheek growing shaky.

There was no doubt

She was real, She was here.

But how.. How could she be here?

Kokushibo felt his vision start to blur yet never felt the hot tears leaking out of his eyes.. He was crying. She.. She said his name.

His jaw shook as he looked down at her, He saw the red ichor leak out of her gut. He saw the thousands of cuts placed onto her skin, All the bruises and the blood.

Did.. Did he do that?

Memories hit him. Back to that day in the snow, The day almost identical to the present. The day he saw the wound in her back.. The day she died..

Kokushibo yelled.

His body moved for him. In a single second he wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her up onto his shoulder, Carefully cradling her body like a small child in his hold as he started sobbing.

He felt her blood stain his kimono, He felt a panic shock him to his very core.

She was going to die.

That thought on its own was enough to send him into a bloodlust. It didn't matter how she was here, How she was reunited with him once more. It all faded into the back of his mind as the one task came clear in his mind.

He couldn't let death take her away from him, Not again. He couldn't lose her, He needed to keep her alive.

The one person whose ever loved him more than Yorichii. She needed to live.

Kokushibo yelled out to Kaigaku in his mind, The telepathic link connected from him to Tsuguko calling out to him. Telling him to come back. They needed to go, He needed to save her life.

The shrine didn't matter, It was if it never existed to him anymore. Going after the evacuees nor searching for useful information throughout the ruins were not a thought going through him.

Carefully making sure she was secure in his hold he pushed her head into the crook of his neck, Made sure her arms were locked around his neck as he watched Kaigaku run up on the horizon.

"M-Master..!" He called out to him as he ran. However his pace skidded to a halt once he came in front of the event unfolding before him.

His master was holding a maimed girl.. And he was crying.

"Wh-What is-"

"Quiet." Kokushibo hissed, His tears still fresh and flowing down his cheeks as he let out a harsh silence.

Kaigaku didn't push him any further. Shut his jaw and listened, The curiosity killed on his tongue yet the incredulous expression still played out on his face.

"We are leaving. Now." Kokushibo said.

Kaigaku nodded quickly. Bowing down low to show respect as he watched his master turn away, Softly running his fingers through the hair of the girl he held. Kaigaku was baffled, He couldn't understand it.

"Nakime!" Kokushibo yelled out.

And in a single strum of a biwa, They were gone.

☆♡☆

The sun rose up in the sky. Clementine skies painted like a tapestry, Only stopped by the misty clouds adorning the atmosphere. Cold air dancing on passer-by's skin as soft sunlight shone down towards the butterfly mansion.

It was lively. Crowds of escapee's and refugee's flooded into the gates of the mansion desperate for medical attention as the staff ran around trying to tend to them all. They all arrived on wagons, Coming out in groups.

As several people walked by they were lightly pushed out the way. Mitsuri ran like hell through the crowds, The lime hue of her eyes scanning every wagon. Every person who resembled [F/N] even if only a little bit.

She asked around. Asking any person she could find to see if they know of her whereabouts, All came up empty. None knowing where she was.

Mitsuri was in the middle of talking to a shrine-maiden when she heard her name called out from the side of the mansion.

"Kanroji-sama!"

She snapped her head over, Only to be met with Tanjiro.

He was standing in one of the nooks in the garden, The one next to the shed with several trays of plant life growing along the windowsill.

Mitsuri rushed over to him. A glimmer of hope rising up inside her, Tanjiro. If anyone was to know where she was, It would be Tanjiro. He was apart of the rescue team after all

"Kanroji-sama.. I'm glad I found you." Tanjiro greeted her, Bowing once. Mitsuri returned it rather hastily with a last-minute smile. "No. I'm glad I found you, Tanjiro.. I've been all over.. But.." Mitsuri huffed, Her injuries still severe as she had to take a breath.

Tanjiro laid a hand on her back, Patting it lightly as if to relieve her pain.

"Thank you, Tanjiro.. I came to ask.. H-Have you seen [F/N]? Was she able to evacuate or.. In fact, Have you seen Fujimori?" Mitsuri said. She grasped Tanjiro's hands into her own, Hope shining in her eyes as she looked at him.

Tanjiro frowned a little.

"N-No.. I haven't seen [F/N], Nor have I seen Fujimori-sama.. I'm sorry." Tanjiro apologised.

The grasp on his hand felt lighter, Mitsuri's smile faltering only slightly as she gulped down the overhanging feeling in her gut.

"I.. I see.. Thank you anyways, I.. I better get back to searching." Mitsuri said. She tried to keep her normal tone, Her normal bubbly tone that she wore everyday without effort yet there was an undeniable fumble as she walked off.

"Wait!" Tanjiro called out.

Mitsuri turned back around to see Tanjiro search his pockets, All before fishing and holding up a folded envelope in his hands.

"I haven't seen [F/N].. But, Fujimori-sama gave me this letter.. He told me to deliver it to you.." Tanjiro announced as he presented it to Mitsuri.

A letter.

A sudden cold sweat washed over Mitsuri. A bad feeling came up in her gut as she walked over.

Mitsuri took the envelope in her hands. The soft paper feeling like sandpaper in her touch. She steadied her breathing, Trying not to break down in front of her Junior.

Taking in a deep breath she carefully picked off the wax seal and unfolded the envelope. Watching as the folds came undone only to drop a pristine piece of white paper in her hands.

She started to read.

To Mitsuri, My dearest friend.

This probably isn't the letter you wanted from me, I know that and I've tried to make it better so it won't hurt as much.

This is about the fiftieth time I've tried to write this letter, Over and over again I've tried to find the right words to say to try and make it perfect, But every time I just end up throwing it out.

So I've decided to just speak my mind, Let it all out. No more redo's. Alright?

First off this isn't your fault, It's not at all. I've been feeling this way for as long as I can remember and I've tried and tried to find a way to feel something else other than monotony or subservience. Sake and such. but nothing has ever worked for me. So I want you to know that however I died, Whether I found someone strong enough to kill me or that I finally found the gut's to do it myself. I want you to know I did it I did on my on volition. I chose this, You have nothing to feel bad over.

Life just isn't worth living for me. I remember getting asked a short while ago what my purpose in life was, What my motivation was. It ate away at me for a while trying to find an answer. But In truth I have none except for protect those I hold dearest to me, Yet once I found out that my single motive became obsolete I now realise that what we call a reason to live is also an excellent reason to die.

I'm living a lie, Everyday I go to work as someone I'm not because of myself. It's pathetic. There isn't any meaning, I'm sorry for saying this but as these are my last words I feel like it's necessary.

I feel like I missed out on a lot of things. A family, My childhood, A normal life. All of these things I feel like have slipped out of my grasp away from me, And I can't get them back and that hurts me more than I can put into words. Everyday it haunts me and I just can't take it anymore.

But, I lied earlier when I said nothing made me feel something other that monotony.

The truth is its you. You were the only thing that made me feel like I had a family, Like I had my childhood, Like I was a normal person for once in my stupid little life. I adore you, Tsuri. I really do.

Do you remember that day on the porch? You probably don't but I do, I know it was just a one off thing you did for me but at the time I felt like a little girl for once, I felt so happy in that single moment and it meant the absolute world to me. It was probably the first time I ever had a genuine smile on my face. I treasure that memory so very dearly.

Please don't feel sad over me, I don't want that. I love you so so much and I know you probably don't feel the same. I'm sorry you had to put up with me, You deserved a better friend than me.

If Shizuko ever finds out the truth, Tell him his big sister is sorry she couldn't be there for him and that I'm so proud of him for becoming a slayer.

I love you, And I wish I said it sooner

-[F/N] Fujimori

"Kanroji-sama..?" Tanjiro asked, Taking a step towards her.

The letter shook in her grasp, Letting the envelope fall to the floor as she gripped the letter in both hands.

"Kanroji-sama.." Tanjiro watched as wet splotches started to stain the letter, All before the woman he looked up to fall to the floor

And scream.

Next Chapter

[amethyst-crystalfly]

hi! Diluc reacting to accidentally hurting s/o while training w/ them? He feels rlly guilty and promises to help u get better because he thinks it’s his fault.

thanks you!

A/N: Ooooohhhh hello there! I really like this prompt! Thank you for the ask! This is my first time doing a request and I am so excited! Let’s see what we can cook up 🧪 welcome to my blog and I hope you have a pleasant stay! 🤍🎀

Warnings: mentions of blood, like a LOT of it, mentions of injury.

Character: Diluc

Kiss it Better

The hours right after Dawn are your favourite. The air is filled with chirps of birds and the cool Mondstadt breeze brings a certain sense of peace with it. This is also the time you get to train with your beloved partner, the roguishly handsome wine tycoon of Mondstadt, Diluc. The flaming red of his hair matches the early morning sun. You have never felt more alive, as you do now, training against him in a clearing just outside Dawn winery.

He is strong and his movements are steady, his high ponytail doesn’t seem to have a single strand out of place, even though he is drenched in sweat. Your agility never seems to stop amusing him. You could feel droplets of sweat trickling down your back. But oh it feels so good. Neither of you are quitters, the playful competition is infact the best part of it all! You swipe your sword at him and he swoops past effortlessly. His movements are like that of a mountain lion. But you are no less admirable yourself. You dodge his attacks and parry his sword with just as much grace. It’s like you two are locked in a dance . Each matching the other’s movements flawlessly.

Oh but the sun is starting to feel hotter today. As expected in the middle of July. You both had been going at it for a while now. Your breaths were paced out with little pants in between now, but neither of you wanted to give up. Did the sun seem brighter? Was the heat getting higher? Or was it all in your head? You really should have had a better breakfast this morning. Why did your sword suddenly feel heavier? Your ears were buzzing. You tried to shake off the feeling with a quick shake of your head. But oh! You felt Diluc’s sword hit your side, the same moment he realized that you missed the dodge.

The blunt edge of the wooden sword crashed against your ribs sending you flying off your feet. Everything was happening so quickly. You felt your head knocking against something hard sending a sharp jab of pain through your body and then nothing.

Diluc couldn’t believe his eyes, you missed! You didn’t dodge! How is that possible?? You always dodge! He saw the exact moment your eyes started to look out of focus, but it was too late. His sword was in motion and he tried to soften the blow, but it was too late. And then he heard the sickening sound of the sword hitting your body. It was all playing out in agonizingly slow motion for him, yet he couldn’t do anything, as the impact knocked you away. Then your head hit that rock and he felt his heart beating through his chest. He rushed to you instantly and found your blood already drenching the grey rock crimson. No no no this can’t be happening. He used his handkerchief as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding. You were loosing so much blood. He swooped you up in his arms and rushed back to the winery.

“Charles!! Adelinde!!” Diluc called out as he neared them, they rushed to your aid. They had never seen their young master in such utter state of panic since…it didn’t matter now. You needed immediate help! One of the maids instantly went to fetch a doctor. Adelinde had tended to multiple wounds of the Dark Night before, but this one, it needed stitches. Blood gushing from your bleeding temple had run all the way down your neck, and mixed with the sweat it was a terrifying image. Your breath seemed shallow and pained. One of the maids, brought a rag and a bucket of water to clean your wound, but Diluc simply thanked her for it and started cleaning your face and your neck with his own hands. Carefully he swiped the wet rag over your face and neck. He was not thinking, right now his priority was making sure you were okay. Barbara burst in through the door, and quickly ushered everyone out so she could begin working on you. Diluc too had to leave, although he was reluctant but he knew that it was necessary.

Once outside the room, it all started sinking in for him. He could still hear your sharp cry of pain as the sword connected with your side. He could just pray that he was able to soften his blow enough to not break a rib. He felt waves of guilt wash over him. It was all his fault, it was him. He never wanted to hurt you. He was so sure you would dodge like you always do, that he didn’t think of holding back. Why didn’t he realize earlier that you were not okay. He was internally cursing himself as he bent over clutching at his hair. Tears started streaming down his face. Tears of frustration at his own failures, tears of guilt, pain and of fear, the fear of losing you. He never wanted things to become this way. Yet here he was. Pathetic.

Barbara opened the door and Diluc shot up to his feet, jostled from his world of inner conflicts. She saw the worry in his eyes and her heart broke for him a little. She always thought of him as somewhat of an elder brother. She tried to calm his fears the best she could, she said that you were going to be okay. The bleeding had stopped and she put in about 6 stitches on your forehead. Your ribs were bruised but no signs of breakage, there was some internal bleeding, but she healed it to the best of her abilities. She showed one of the maids how to change the dressing of your bandage, the stitches will take a little while to heal.

“She needs rest, plenty of it, not even light activities, her wound is pretty deep, thankfully it was not the back of her head” Barbara said. After prescribing some medicines she offered whatever words of comfort she could and took her leave. She could see it in Diluc’s eyes that no words of comfort would sooth him right now, unless they were from your lips.

Diluc gently opened the door to your shared bedroom, and found you laying there still on the bed. The gentle rise and fall of your chest the only indication of your beating heart. The maids had changed you into a one of your soft white cotton night dresses. Barbara gave you some painkillers to help. The dosage was strong enough to lull you into a gentle sleep. Diluc vowed to take it upon himself to tend to you, to repent for his sins.

You woke up the next morning to the sound of pleasant bird chirps, a gentle breeze wafted in through the open window as if softly caressing you with its healing touch. Your peaked from underneath your lashes at the soft morning light washing the room in its pure light. You felt a weight on your hands, and looked to discover Diluc asleep on the bedside clutching your hand. Your head throbbed a little at the movement and your groaned at the sudden pain. This woke Diluc up. He was surprised to see you awake. You tried to sit up, Diluc was instantly there by your side, helping you, he put a pillow against the exquisitely carved headboard to ease your discomfort and propped you against it gently. He silently offered you a glass of water from the bedside which you didn’t realize you needed till you drank it, the delicious cooling effect of the water felt healing to you. You sighed happily with your eyes closed as he carefully took the glass from your hands and placed it back down. You opened your eyes and cracked a sleepy smile at him, “good morning handsome”. Diluc had not said a word till now, you realized why as he instantly broke down after seeing you smile. He kneeled by the bed with his arms around your waist, with his head down. You could feel his body shake with the tears spilling down his pretty face.

“I am sorry I am sorry I never meant to hurt you I love you so much I am sorry” he kept saying as he poured his heart out to you, he revealed all those thoughts that had been tormenting him, all the painful what-ifs that had been holding him hostage, he confided all of that to you.

You let him say it all, as you quietly ran your hands through his hair, offering him comfort. When he finished, you took cupped face in your hands and made him look up to you in your eyes. And you said intently, meaning it with all your heart, “it was not your fault love” you could see the tears brimming in his eyes as you continued. “ I am okay am I not? You controlled your movements the best you could, I know it, if you had not slowed yourself in time, archon knows I wouldn’t get away without a single broken rib, I faltered because of my own fault, but you saved me” you sighed, “to be honest, I should have told you that I wasn’t feeling well, I know you would have understood and taken care of me, just like you did now, but my silly pride got in the way, I didn’t want to give up…if anything I am sorr”—- you couldn’t finish the sentence as Diluc captured your lips in a kiss. You leaned back, tugging at his collar, and he joined you in bed with you. Saying all the things he left unsaid with his kiss, it was not a hot kiss of burning desire, but a gentle kiss of affection, care and love. He cared for you deeply and he promised to never let you go.

🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🩷🤍🤍🩷🤍🩷🩷🤍🩷🤍

Find more work here ☀️ happy browsing!! ^o^

If you can and want to please consider supporting me on https://ko-fi.com/amethystcrystalfly 🌸 (it’s a cry for help at this point) But If you are also struggling like me I hope you find the support you need and I am grateful for your like and for your existence💕 You matter, don’t forget that. I love you *wishing on my eyelashes for your happiness*

[thewingedbaron]

Owlcatober Day Seven: Lamplight

A bit of a late entry tonight. I love to use these prompts as an excuse to establish little lore tidbits. Who could have sent this late night visitor? What does our Knight Commander have to hide?

This one might have some errors, its very late, but I told myself I was going to do my best to do these every day, so here we are. I hope you enjoy the results of diving way too deep into Pathfinder's lore to creatre character backstory :)

A Knife In the Dark (1,052 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Warnings: Violence

Read here under the cut, or on Ao3 :)

Camp was always quiet this time of night. Some crusaders still moved between tens, swapping stories, sharing unapproved bottles of booze, or gambling away the hours with decks and dice. Out on the perimeter, the sentries walked their rounds until their feet kicked up the grass and left a bare path in the earth somewhere between their fiftieth and hundredth pass.

Light spilled across the grass from the Knight Commander’s tent. It seemed like the lamps were always lit, no matter the time of night. The general staff and their aids came and went, dropping off reports, checking the large map of the World Wound that lay perpetually pinned to the grand table in the center of the space. Vysk rubbed her weary eyes, holding off sleep for just a little longer as she poured over the day’s reports. Supplies were down, tensions were high. The crusaders were apprehensive about the final run to Drezen, but for now, their faith in the Gods and their Commander held. There were no desertions to be reported tonight. Small blessings, she supposed. 

“How did we end up here?” Vysk wondered aloud, shuffling the same stack of reports around the table. “From pirates to demons huh?” 

In the corner of the tent, a mass of feathers and fur shifted in acknowledgement of her words. A single eye reflected the low lamplight as Jester fixed her with a concerned glance, cooing softly. 

“I’ll sleep soon.” Vysk smiled, suppressing a yawn. “Just one more stack of scouting reports to get through and I swear…” her voice trailing as the yawn won her over. 

Across the tent, Jester stood, ruffling his feathers out like a cat. He slowly unfurled his wings, nearly touching the sides of the tent as he stretched. Vysk grinned at her hippogriff, her oldest friend. 

“Go back to sleep buds.” She whispered. “Just because I have to be subjected to a tide of paperwork doesn’t mean you need to suffer with me.” 

Jester cooed softly, cocking his head as he took in the sounds of the night. Vysk watched him for a long moment, an amused smile on her lips. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. Perhaps that was the reason she nearly missed Jester’s alert. 

The hippogriff stiffened, hooked talons gripping the earth beneath him as if ready to launch himself forward as his head snapped to the back of the tent. A long tear had appeared in the cloth, silently ripping its way down the wall just behind the Knight Commander. Following Jester’s gaze, Vysk threw herself forward, hands automatically reaching for the axes on her waist. She could feel the air on her back as a dagger flashed, mere inches from her flesh. 

Stepping through the rip was a spindly figure. Their body was wrapped in tight leather armor, stained as dark as shadow with a single red sash braided into the gauntlets. Their head and face were concealed behind a black mask that covered all but their eyes, which gleamed with anger. Vysk didn’t stop to consider the implications of the assassin’s presence as she launched into action, unclipping and hurdling an ax at her attacker with one smooth movement. To her surprise, the assassin simply ducked under the projectile and launched themselves at her with reckless abandon. The blow might have landed, were it not for the fully grown hippogriff that shoulder checked the stranger mid air, sending them flying across the tent. 

The ax reappeared on Vysk’s belt in the same moment that the assassin rolled, smoothly regaining their feet. For a moment, they both stood frozen, each sizing the other up, waiting for the next move in the dance. A blur of feathers shot past Vysk as Jester flashed past, beak open in a scream of rage. The assassin dipped under the hippogriff’s gnashing beak, slamming their dagger home into the creature’s shoulder. Jester took the blow without comment, instead using his momentum to carry him into his opponent, knocking them clear of their feet. As they fell, they tried to roll again, coming up right into the path of Vysk’s ax.

There was nowhere to go. With a sickening crunch, the ax buried itself into the assassin’s neck, dropping them on the spot. The entire encounter had lasted little more than six seconds from the first blow to the last. Even then, Vysk collapsed into a nearby chair, hand pressed against her chest as adrenaline surged through her body. Her backside had hardly hit the chair before she was buried in a mound of feathers and fur.

“I’m okay buds,” She rasped. “I’m okay. Let me see that shoulder alright?”

“Knight Commander!” The half armored form of Irabeth surged into her tent, sword drawn. “We heard a commotion. Is everything alright?” 

Vysk waved her off. “There was an attack. I’m okay.” She said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “My attacker however.” 

Irabeth’s eyes landed on the body, slowly seeping blood onto the ground. She nodded. “I am glad you are unharmed. Anviea is performing a sweep of the camp, I will remain here until we are certain there are no more.”

“Thank you.” 

Irabeth nodded, stalking over to the body, sword still drawn. The frown on her face only grew deeper as she leaned over it. 

“This is no cultist. I do not recognize these markings, unless it is a sect we have not seen before.” 

“I doubt it.” Vysk replied, forcing herself to stand. She carefully picked her way over to the body, grimacing at the odd angle of the broken neck and scattered limbs. Irabeth pulled back the assassin’s mask, revealing the face of a young human woman with short cropped hair. Vysk leaned closer, slowly unthreading the red sash from one of the woman’s gauntlets. As she suspected, it held a small icon of a crown and anchor, etched in gold. 

“It seems even here, at the end of the world, I cannot escape the Red Queen’s assassins.” She muttered. Irabeth gave her a concerned glance. 

“Commander?” 

Vysk waved her off. “I’m sorry, Captain. I have not been the most forthcoming with you, I hope that you can forgive me for that. Would you be so kind as to summon your darling wife and my advisors? It’s time I told you about my home.”

[sculptorofcrimson]

Commorragh’s Arenas

Synopsis: Just brainrot I had. (: 

Just torturing my OCs.

Warnings: Very, very vivid gore

Kyraraq of the Cult of Last Waltz, Champion of Seventy-Seven victories, the Daughter of the Dancing Delight, she perishes then. She effortlessly weaves beneath his first blow, and laughs at him, her voice beautiful and lilting. Then his second blow crunches down, and she sees the fist enlarging, its knuckles monstrous and ceramite-plated, she feels it slam and snap her face to the side, hitting her just beneath the cheekbone. The flesh splits to the side from the sheer force, her slender neck snapping back like a reed in a storm. Her skull splinters in five places, jabbing in bone shards into the soft tissue of her brain. She reels, her graceful leap disrupted as Faramund thrashes her like a ragdoll, crushing her bones with one hand and pummeling her with the other. He aims for her face, her beautiful, broken face. The fist smashes into her jaw - reducing her teeth to powder - it clips her neck and nails into her stomach. She convulses in mid-air, no longer dancing, no longer so beautiful beneath all the savagery. One, two, three more blows and a backhand from Faramund sends her flying, her teeth cracking like fibers as her slender form spasms from the sheer force. For a moment she is sailing like a crippled bird through the air, suspended in the altered gravity of the obsidian arena, and then she is crumpling against its far wall, her body ragdolling past the barbed spikes lining the curved arena walls. 

She gargles, choking in blood and fluid and tries to crawl for her weapon. She cannot. A massive boot crunches down upon her fingerbones as she twitches, one ceramite hand curling into a hateful fist and crushing against her sternum, hurling her delicate form again. She skids against the bone-white walls, painting a trail of blood against the blades, hearing herself die to the cheers and boos of the crowd, feeling the grating of broken bones crumbling within her. She dies sometime between this blow and the next, her brain whipping back and forth inside a shattered skull like a ragged piece of meat, dying before Faramund’s boot stomps on her beautiful, broken face with vengeful abaddon, pressing down with crushing force before dragging the heel across the remnants of her snapped throat and spine. The Blood Angel stomps on her body one last time before kicking it aside, the pulverized flesh of her face having been reduced to a sluggish, red paste with jutting cheekbones and a grinning, bared smile full of broken teeth, eyelids slack over hollow sockets.

He stands, bloodied, lips drawn over a thin, humorless grin. The Blood Angel’s emblem was all but covered by gristle now. He absently wipes it aside, revealing the wings, smiling to seemingly no one but himself.

Rest easy, my brothers. I have avenged you.

“I am Faramund Raith, Captain of the Blood Angels, son of Sanguinius. And in the name of the Emperor and Sanguinius, I will not die today!” He shouts, and raises the crushed, mangled corpse of the gladiator before his head. He laughs with wild, murderous joy. He can taste blood in his mouth and rage in his mind. Rage, black and beautiful and hungry. “Bring me your soldiers, pitiful spawn! Bring your servants, bring your kin and bring your brethren! And I will kill them all, I will kill them in honor, in blood, in Sanguinius, in our father’s name, and I will live tonight!"

They were cheering. By Sanguinius’ wings, he had just killed one of their gladiators in blood and brutality, and they were cheering. He could hear the Archon laugh, her voice sharp and musical, her withered form invigorated by the carnage as she leaned forwards, like a slobbering hound towards a meal, itching to not forget even a single second of this carnage. He could see the inky sclera of her eyes, her pupils black and dilated and full of that rampant, murderous joy. 

“FOR I AM FARAMUND RAITH,” Faramund roars, and he hurls the corpse in his hand. It splatters against the walls, and he hears the Archon yip in sharp, vicious amusement. “I AM A SON OF SANGUINIUS, AND I WILL NOT DIE TODAY!”

His words were greedily taken, drowned out, and celebrated by the delighted roar of the crowd. 

[headstrongblake]

[ CHOICE ]  receiver has to choose between sparing their own life or the sender’s / kassy and nick :'))))))))))))))))))))))) / @thewholecrew

it's the most agonizing twelve and a half minutes as nick races to kassy's apartment complex. cursing and berating himself for giving this fucking stalker a chance to get near her. he can't touch her. can't hurt her. can't have her. the tormenting thoughts drive him faster as he shoves the spare key into the glass door, nearly snapping it off with force as he rushes inside. his heart hammers in his chest as he takes the stairs two at a time, climbing higher as he rushes through the stairway door to get to kassy, her phone still where she'd abandoned it. the sight alone nearly stops him in his tracks. the last thing he'd heard was the crashing of her phone, her terrified no. bile rose in his throat as he pulled his weapon once he reached her door. "fuck," he cursed when he tried the door, fishing as quick as he could for the spare key again before he burst inside.

"kassy!" he called out, gun raised as he moved into her apartment. her struggle with the bastard is evident with the rug shifted at the doorway, and his mouth ran dry as he moved further inside. where? his anxiety burned brighter, eyes widening as he heard kassy's fearful screams and pleas. instantly, nick darted toward her bedroom, rage and adrenaline overtaking every thought beyond kassy's safety. he's in her fucking bedroom. gripping the handle, nicklas expected to throw open the door and immediately kill her attacker, but to his sudden rush of fear, something prevented his entry.

with all the force he could muster, nick slammed himself against the door, busting it and sending kassy's desk chair flying toward her rugs. catching a quick sight of her, "kass--," came from him, but before nick could get her full name out, her stalker knocked him square in the temple with the empty vase she always had on her dresser, effectively shattering it against his skin. with a groan, nick stumbled, blinking back the stars that clouded his vision, giving the stalker a chance to attack him violently to the ground while his gun slid across the floor.

while trying to block wild, uncoordinated fists, nick shouted, "get outta here kassy! go, kassy, go!" swiftly, nick managed to gain the upper hand as the two tumbled around on the floor, nicklas switching places to deliver bone-shattering force against the man's body. crystal hues snapped toward kassy for a single moment, just one second, as she scurried out of her bedroom. but in that brief second, her attacker delivered a forceful blow to his stomach, forcing all the air out of nick's lungs. he coughed and groaned as his elbow and forearm pressed against the hardwood floor of her bedroom, shaking his head as he tried to regain his bearings. "kass..." he choked out, blood from his temple streaking down his face.

despite the persistent ringing in his ears, kassy's voice and struggle with this sick bastard register so clearly in his mind. get up, get up, get up, she needs you, get up!!! he shouted at himself internally, forcing his dizzied self up from the ground as he spun toward kass. the image of her stalker's hands on her echoes too closely to his father, driving nick to rush them. "you sick, fuckin' bastard!!" nick dove at the stalker's torso, forcefully shoving all three of them to the ground before the two aggressively came to blows. it wasn't until he felt the cool sensation of a blade against his throat that it registered that they might be in real trouble, his body tired and throbbing.

all the scenarios rush through his mind. quickly analyzing each outcome and every way he works through it, one of them gets hurt. but it can't be kassy. with his hand wrapped around the grinning man's throat, nick used his other to grip the hand that held the weapon, attempting to keep the blade from slicing into his skin. "run...kassy fucking run, leave!" he forced out because no matter what...she has to be safe. that's all that matters. the only thing that could matter.

[stankfella]

Scythes

Killer (One Piece) vs Maka and Soul (Soul Eater)

My first fic on here, and I'm excited to be posting it!

I usually have tons of ideas for these little one-shot interaction stories between my favourite series', so, why not kick it off with a crossover between my two favourites right off the bat!

Without further ado, lemme know what you think!

The interesting thing about scythes, as weapons, is when fighting an opponent similar in stature, speed, or reaction as yourself, you'd need a great deal of preparation.

Positioning and timing are essential for the usage of a scythe. Very often the user of a scythe will spend a large fraction of an altercation dodging and parrying, avoiding the other, more swift weapon's attempts at tearing them asunder, before landing a final, climactic blow.

A large ratio of dodging to striking, and it wasn't hard to see why. Scythes are, originally, farming tools, sharpened enough that they could cut rows of grass or grain with a single pass. With sufficient force, one could cleave anyone in two.

These thoughts always ran through Maka's head when she came to collect another soul, almost subconsciously. The moment to swing her blade came to her like a sixth sense at points - When everything just so happened to line up, Maka knew exactly when to put her back into it and send whatever she was fighting to the underworld. The majority of her time cooperating with Soul was spent mindful, attentive, and patient. She supposed this was what made her current situation so perilous.

She couldn't get a read on this guy.

She'd met her fair-share of masked, crazy laughers on the job. Many humans who's souls fell past the threshold of normality couldn't help but constantly distract themselves with the humor of a punchline only they could see. That usually came with an air of distraction - Not many could see past it. 

Ergo it unnerved Maka that as her combatant dodged and weaved backward through the misshapen, uneven stone of Death City’s walkways, she came to understand that this man's hyena-pitched laughter was, in fact, NOT an indication of his lack of skill with a blade, in fact a betrayal that spat in the face of the very suggestion he would be unprofessional. 

Soul hadn’t even touched steel yet, let alone the opponent’s flesh. The maestro and weapon shared this focus, only interrupted when the masked man seemed to disappear from view.

"WATCH YOUR SIX!"

Her weapon yelled in warning, knocking the confused Maka back into action in a heartbeat, as she sent the blue-clad attacker flying backwards with the momentum of his first attempt at striking the scythemeister. Something that prompted a pause in their altercation, if for a moment.

“You protect her as if with your own life, weapon… Are you sure you want to do that?”

The voice behind the mask spoke in a voice as deep as it was steady. Despite the downright intimidating feats of athleticism performed by him, he wasn't so much as breathing heavy.

Maka was halfway through digesting the mental dichotomy of actions and voice, along with his focus on Soul, so it was lucky for her that he took the lead when it came to replying.

"NOW you decide to stop for a chat?! What kind of steroids are you on to be running around like that?!"

The weapon’s statement prompted the other to look down at his extremely toned arms, but not much else. 

There was a sadness to his lack of reply that remained interesting, but remaining a pragmatist, Maka decided on a more productive angle of conversation. Even those with souls corrupted into Kishin eggs remained less athletically skilled than her combatant. Learning his true nature would benefit her severely.

"What even ARE you?" 

The question made the other one spit out another hyena-pitched laugh, then right back to his baritone, melancholic drawl. 

"Kheh-HIEH, HAAHGH! If you want an answer to that, maybe you should look in your hands."

“You’re not a weapon.” Maka rallied back. “By all accounts you’d seem like a fallen human, but…” 

The man seemed to notice as realization spread across Maka’s face. Closing her eyes for a moment, peering past the veil of the physical world, she saw his soul… Human. Not Kishin at all. Before she could barrage him with questions, the man crouched.

"If you want a name... It's Killer. Now show me what that boy REALLY means to you."

Before Maka had time to think, her arms moved to swing Soul in a circular motion - pure instinct. For a short bout of time, Killer seemed to be in many places at once, and attacking her three angles at the exact same time. But her placement was good. She had some time to breathe and try to understand her opponent more.

Panic struck maka’s face from this oppressive angle of attack, and Killer would take note. She wouldn’t guess it herself, but he was analyzing her every facial movement.

If Killer wanted to hurt this girl, he would have had no trouble. 

The troubling thing about scythes, as weapons, is that they very often end battles in a single strike. His own were sharpened over hours in order to accomplish this very goal. 

That was why he didn’t dare open them while fighting this girl.

Maka likely couldn’t tell due to his speed, but all he was really doing was hitting her scythe with the blunt instruments on his arms, similar to how one would use a set of tonfa. All he needed to do was seem threatening in order to question this girl on something.

She'd been talking to that scythe like it was sentient ever since he'd been threatened by her, and with that reverbed shout, he'd gotten his confirmation. Now he was curious. What were those two, truly? Were they tool, and craftsman? Or something more?

More than that - Why did he care? He could have sped off during their first attack and rid himself of the moral conundrum to begin with. 

Call it an itch, he supposed. They seemed so fluid in motion together that it had to be either extreme, and though he doubted the girl was that sadistic... It wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this from someone who didn't know any better. 

In the corners of his frenzied memory sat a man in a dark, damp, jail cell. Separated from the one he relied on most, all he could do to mitigate the hell of his forced inactivity was to curse Wano’s shogunate, and the rotten termites that resided in its mahogany walls. 

When the vile Orochi had offered Killer an out, he should’ve known it was a ruse. He guessed a small part of him did, at the time, but eating a defective SMILE fruit was the most immediate answer to his desires to protect his closest comrade. He bit down like the starving animal he was, in that cage. Laughed like a pained hyena partway through the cursed meal. 

After that it seemed like everyone was using him. Using him for cheap laughs, for training... Everyone except his captain.

So, that's why he decided to go through with this. This girl was either one of the laughing masses, or this scythe's version of his own captain, protecting one another like the yin and yang.

The logical way to test them was to separate them, then.

Maka flinched as more power was put behind a blow she didn't see coming from the right. She felt the attacker's weapons smash against the hilt of Soul, his smooth metal handle slipping from her gloved hands in slow motion. An involuntary gasp escaped her as she was now face-to-face with the significantly larger body she'd been dodging and parrying so far.

"Ther-There's no reason for us to fight anymore!" She spat at Killer like a curse.

 "You're human! I barely recognised it at first, but I can't take your soul! We can stop fighting!"

Killer tilted his head.

"We haven't BEEN fighting. I'm just getting a better look inside that mind of yours..."

"W-What?" Maka blinked, gaining a smidge more courage back from the claws of the golden-haired hyena before her.

Before he could answer, the man almost caught a blade in the back, turning around in the nick of time.

Soul's blade dug into the steel of Killer's arm-guard.

"Did you forget about me, ugly?" The grin of Soul's human form was unmistakable, Killer responding with a laugh in kind.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

Killer began an assault much the same as before on Soul, each being met with a stressed parry or crude boot to the face in order to avoid the next attack.

Maka was subjected to all of this, and yelled out for Soul to be careful. It seemed to fall on deaf ears, or... Was it a message he knew already?

Killer's attacks slowly began to die down as he distracted himself with his own thoughts. As much as he was in peak condition physically, he was far from perfect, which let Soul have the opening he was looking for.

Another jump using Killer as leverage, this time spinning into his full scythe-form mid-air. 

Maka's gloved hand was waiting, and as soon as Soul made contact, they both yelled in unison.

"LET'S GO, SOUL RESONANCE!"

"Aha," Killer commented, standing upright and waiting.

The light of the moon seemed to completely envelop Soul's blade as a bright blue energy surrounded the pair. Soul's blade beamed and shuddered with power, extending into a perfect crescent, blue and beautiful and gliding through the air like a shark's fin parts water.

Maka, overflowing with energy, let out a mighty yell as Witch Hunter was sent surging through the ground, gliding through the misshapen cobblestone of Death City's backstreets and barrelling right for Killer, who let out a laugh of similar volume as the energy illuminated the gaps in his mask.

The attack wasn't sidestepped, but blocked by Killer, sent flying backwards through the streets, dust in his wake.

So it was loyalty.

Never in all his years would he have thought to give himself for the ones who would point and laugh at him. Even if they were in grave danger, he'd stand idly by. But at the mere suggestion his captain could be hurt, he'd jump in the way of any flame, any attack.

He'd take the heat off of his captain at any cost, even himself. Just as the scythe had done for this girl.

He'd gotten himself all quizzical for nothing, after all.

"Are you DONE now!?" Soul barked, powering down to his regular form. "We can kick your ass if we need to, buddy! We don't WANT a body on our hands!"

"You won't get one." Killer settled, standing up on weakened legs. "I've made up my mind with you two."

"Oh, great." Soul's cycloptic eye rolled in its hilt-socket. "I'm sure that it's great news."

Maka was less quick to disregard his words. "What did you mean by getting a better look inside my head? About what Soul means to me? About... All that?"

"...I don't think I really get how this all works yet." Killer shrugged, "But you... I wanted to see what kept you two together. People are glued to each other by malice, or by loyalty. I needed to see which it was."

Maka answered back after a short pause. "...Meisters and their weapons are together by choice. We don't force a weapon to be with us, and weapons can't force us to use them, either. That's... How it should be."

"I'm glad we see eye to eye." Killer nodded. "...You have a solid head on your shoulders, girl. What's your name?"

"...Maka. This is Soul." She admittedly didn't know this man at all, but something about him seemed more stable than before. Maybe it was his soul, or his mannerisms, but something pushed her to abandon her tense fighting stance.

"Maka, and Soul." He nodded. "I... Could use some help with directions."

"Yeah, no thanks, go buy a map." Soul grumbled.

Killer shrugged once more. Couldn't be helped.

"I'll see you around, then?"

"Not quite." Maka interjected. "There's not a lot of people who can move like you can without a powerful soul. How... Did you do all of that?"

Killer exhaled a laugh.

"Would you like me to teach you?"

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba-blog @dogblessyoutascha

Part Sixty-One

Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century

Also on AO3

Philippe watched the light flicker and die in Martin's eyes.

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say...

Martin turning around and striding out of the room snapped Baldwin from his own fugue.

'Wait, Martin!'

Philippe sighed and sat back in his chair. He had intended to help Martin, but he hadn't expected the young man to focus on the wrong part of the promise.

I did say that I would help him. I was not lying about that.

CRACK!!

Splinters filled the hall. Wood dust motes danced through the air and the carpet was ruined. Baldwin was lying on his back in the middle of an obliterated solid oak table, the shattered pieces propping him up as he stared unseeing at the ceiling.

Philippe scanned him quickly. Shock; not dying.

Martin was nearly away down the corridor but half-turned back, framed by the doorway.

'If any De Clermont sets foot on my lands going forward,' Martin spat, 'I will be sending them home in pieces.'

________________________________________________________________

‘You just cost our son his mate.'

Ysabeau’s glare could have levelled a city.

Philippe had been both dreading and anticipating his wife's return from Brussels. Baldwin still wasn't speaking; his middle child had been in a catatonic stupor since Martin had left three days ago and it was all Philippe could do to get him to eat.

Philippe held up his hands in supplication, then flinched out of the way as a pair of his own throwing daggers buried themselves in his chair.

Ah.

'When I left for Brussels, I expected to return and find everything unchanged. So you can imagine my surprise when I come back to find Sept Tours upended.'

'My servants whispering behind my back, my children unable to look me in the eye,' Ysabeau tapped another pair of knives against her fingertips. 'Our son -your second eldest - lying grief-stricken in his room; Martin, who has, at times, been both asset, ally, and honoured guest-'

Philippe flinched out of the way again as Ysabeau drew her arm back and let the daggers fly.

'- swearing revenge on those who have wronged him and murdered his child, and my husband- my husband cowering in his study instead of searching for the murderers responsible.'

'Cowering?!' Philippe scoffed, and nearly lost an ear to an axe that went whistling past his head and buried itself in his desk.

'Are you hunting?!' Ysabeau never yelled. She enunciated sharply. 'What happened when Hugh died? Martin leapt to the pursuit without hesitation and now, when he comes begging on bended knee for assistance you tell him to wait?!'

Philippe dodged the hand axe but not the arrow Ysabeau shot from a longbow that she had pulled seemingly out of nowhere. He fell to his knees on the carpet with a pained grunt, looking up at his wife through teary eyes.

'Oh, forgive me,' Ysabeau cooed, sickly sweet false patience wearing wild, stormy eyes. 'I am sure this will blow over soon. After all, it is not as if Martin is known to hold a grudge.'

Ysabeau marched out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Phillipe slowly lowered his head into his hands as Yvette’s ghost watched him from the window.

[witchfall]

superposition

[Fallen Hero series. Mid-Retribution.]

[Flystep. Daniel POV with River Basri. Takes place after the coffee date at some point, but before dinner. ~1000 words.]

[Sort of a writing exercise...mostly an exploration of Daniel and their dynamic.]

She slips so easily into cold imperiousness. 

It's the single tell Daniel gets before River slips low and swings out a slender leg. 

He doesn't move in time. In the same breath that warmth leaves her eyes, she becomes an arrow of confusing intention, bizarre enough that he nearly falls over, forgetting himself, before he tumbles, weightless, back into another opening stance.

But then she stuns him again — by giggling. 

Once, light as air, trilling like a bird call. Easy to miss, but he doesn't because someone should notice these things, shouldn't they? She covers her mouth with her hand, fingers long and thin. Beautiful. This is how art works. Everyone finds their own meaning in the sunrise.

He grins—

Her fist snaps right for his shoulder but pulls back before she hits collarbone. Taps twice. A warning.

That's...new. Since they started getting coffee, she’s started giving him tip-offs. Warm-ups. Space before she sends him to the ground.

"Did you forget you can fly?" she asks. The tiny upcurved corners of her lips for once reach her eyes. "You could have built momentum and got me on the ground."

Blood rushes to his face. "Bad instinct, I guess."

"You were in your head again, weren't you?"

She asks, like she doesn't already know. She tries so hard to pretend, like she’s practiced with a script. He knows that a little too keenly. 

"Yeah," he says. Sheepish.

The light leaves her eyes. "I'm your enemy right now. Remember that."

His body goes taut. Why does it have to be like that, exactly, so serious and exacting? Who taught her that the only way to live is by fighting every second for it? Where do you rest, in a world like that?

"Good," she says, and his blood turns to ice. "Get mad, if you have to. Whatever works."

And yet, she has no idea. 

He launches into a flurry of blows, momentum from the core not the arm, prompting her to twist away in surprise. He never goes first, and he knows she'll appreciate the tactical maneuver. But something itches where he can't reach it. She's a mind-reader with an incredible blind spot. 

She can see every contour of his emotions except the ones that apply to her.

They enter the old routine; he swings, she dodges with perfect grace, born to the dance. But she is right, that anger can be useful, so he lets a little of it through. 

How can I make it so you will laugh without covering your mouth?

Who hurt you? 

How do I stop it? 

How do I stop it, before you hurt yourself bad enough you don't come back?

Is that what you're afraid of? Did he think that, before—

His skull suddenly rocks back, whiplash from a fist to the chin. He falls from some edge inside himself, furious and keen, before he remembers gravity doesn't have pull on him anymore. Just other people. His hands clench hard and snap outward. 

Just other—

River goes flying. Across the rooftop, skittering like a stone on water, too fast.

"No!" 

The word is torn from him worse than a reflex. He doesn’t remember the push-off into flight; in the next instant, his back is to the sky, arms tight around River’s middle so she doesn’t fall, momentum pushing them further into the sky. 

He swore it to himself when she fainted that he would never make her afraid again, but here he fucking is, mind screaming one harsh note, a single word, then four: Mistake. Mistake. You are a mistake.

“Daniel. Daniel.” Hands grip his forearms. Her back is curled into his chest still, stunned. “It’s okay. We weren’t that close.”

Lies. Why does she choose now to lie, instead of throwing the truth at his feet like she always does so he’ll lay down like a dog? They are in the fucking air. There’s barely an edge of rooftop below them. “I’m so. I’m so sorry. I’m so…we should…”

“You’re squeezing too hard.” Cold imperiousness seeps back into her voice. He deserves it. It also brings him back to earth, in every single sense. She is taking control of the situation. That’s what she does. “Put me down.”

They both return to the rooftop. His senses return to him akin to exiting a tunnel. His stomach churns. His fingers feel numb.

“I’m done today, I think,” he manages. 

She is a single arm’s length away from him, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her mouth curves downward, matching the trajectory of her gaze, which is affixed to his feet, still cemented to the ground. It’s moments like these he remembers what it feels like to be pulled so fiercely down, so harshly down that it might as well be law. Humans aren’t supposed to fly.

Everyone should orbit something. Even him.

Hubris kills. He saw it happen.

“You’re really mean to yourself,” she mutters.

“You’re one to talk,” he says, before he can stop it.

But then, fuck—

She laughs again.

She sparkles a little, when she laughs. Her freckles catch the sun and her eyes wrinkle slightly, though she hasn’t laughed enough for it to leave lines. Her face is so barren when she thinks no one is looking; but there’s a raw beauty to this, like moon quartz, that means it has to be real.

Fuck. He hopes she didn’t hear that one.

“You’re right,” she says, smile lingering.

He laughs. A balm. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Ortega you said that.”

Her smile turns conspiratorial. “I’ll give it to you this once.”

“He won’t believe me.”

“Exactly.”

He floats again, a little bit. He catches himself in the act, drifting toward her.

And she lets it happen. She lets it happen.

“I’ll get you down,” he says, before his mind runs somewhere else.

They are halfway down the building when she says: “It’s okay.”

A step outside the script. It comes out clumsy and poor.

He holds her just a little closer, all the same.

[violetleaves]

season one break: day 86... christmas eve -- aka, the christmas special location: charlotte’s childhood home time: 7:20pm for: @thursdaygrl​

          the probability of this not completely blowing up in wes’ face is not in his favor. there are so many different aspects of this that could go wrong -- whether it be his mother finding out his true intentions, or charlotte not being happy to see him, or something like a cruel act of god shooting a bolt of lightning at his private jet, it’s highly unlikely that he will make it out of this weekend getaway without something going horribly wrong. how, exactly did wes manage to get himself on a solo flight to charlotte’s hometown to party crash christmas at her parents? it’s partially due to the perks of having a jewish pilot fly his private jet, and the other part is all wes and his masterful scheming. if he thought he was good getting that photoshoot set up, now that he’s forty thousand feet in the air he thinks he just might be a connoisseur. 

however it was not easy tricking his mother into thinking that wes has an audition in the midwest on christmas day, but his determination to see charlotte made it all worth it. he spent most of the day researching casting calls that would be filming in denever, and with luck on his side he’d managed to stumble across one having open call auditions just thirty minutes outside of charlotte’s hometown. he made a few fake emails, pretending to be the director inviting him to attend, and shot them off to his mother who he knew was going to be preoccupied the entirety of the following day and would not be able to join him on this trip. “i’ve set up an audition for you tomorrow.” she’d said, not even looking up from her phone as she sent back an email confirming wes would be in attendance. “you’ll be taking the jet tonight and will be back home tomorrow by the end of the night. you have an appearance on kimmel on the 26th so we need to squeeze this in as quickly as possible.” 

one night is all he needs. just one night with charlotte in between this six month break will at least sooth the voices in his head that beg him to get closer to charlotte every single day. 

immediately as wes steps off the plane he realizes he didn’t even think to check the weather. this christmas in california happens to be a particularly warm one, and while wes is wearing a cushy green sweater... that’s it, and the only thing he’s brought with him on this spontaneous adventure is charlotte’s christmas gift. no overnight bag with extra clothes, or even a jacket in case he gets chilly. it’s not snowing right now, but it seems like the sky could open up any second, and as wes scurries across the tarmac to the car he’d ordered he’s starting to wish he’d maybe prepared a little bit more. 

it’s a lot warmer in the sleek town car that’s escorting him to charlotte’s childhood home. another showcase of wes’ excellent scheming skills is in his procuring of this address. he was only able to get it a few hours ago, once he’d decided that he had to go through with this crazy plan, through jack. a simple, hey, merry christmas! text along with the lie that he wanted to have christmas cookies last minute delivered to charlotte’s house was enough to get jack to send it on over immediately. 

but wes has not ordered christmas cookies. he’s brought himself instead. and now that his driver has dropped him off, he’s standing outside of charlotte’s childhood home, shivering his ass off. he waits a beat -- nervous for a second like maybe he wants to turn around and throw this crazy plan out the window but he’s come so far, done so much scheming that he can’t turn back now. taking in a deep breath, wes lifts his hand and musters up the confidence that he only ever feels while acting and finally knocks on the door. there’s voices on the other side, chattering about who could be at the door unexpectedly on christmas eve, and while wes hopes that it will be charlotte who is the one to greet him, instead it’s the head of charlotte’s father, poking out and smiling before he opens up the door a little bit further. the man is dressed in brightly colored christmas pajamas, green and red plaid from the cap on his head to the slippers on his feet. he recognizes wes, not just from the show he and charlotte star in together, but from their one brief interaction a few days before his daughters birthday. he doesn’t loudly announce wes’ presence at the door, which wes is grateful for, but instead he smiles, and nods. 

          “lottie, honey, i think it’s for you.” mr. washington calls over his shoulder, “looks like you’ve got a present from old saint nichols.” the joke doesn’t exactly land, but it still makes him laugh, albeit anxious laughter. charlotte’s father disappears, leaving the door cracked open, but he doesn’t exactly invite wes inside. that’s charlotte’s job, if she wants him here, that is. she approaches, looking angelic as ever dressed in the same plaid pajamas as her father, and his heart skips a beat. he can’t believe he’s seeing her right now. it’s been almost three months, and he still feels the same: hopelessly, hopelessly in love with her. “hey, uhhh...” he starts, shifting his weight between his feet as he looks down at the snowy pavement. he’s shivering his ass off, unprepared for the cold weather. “i know this is probably really weird... but any chance you have room for one more at dinner?”

[eliteoftheskies]

Pelipper mail! A nightmare. It isn't yours, but of someone who was very much like you.

You're soaring through the dusky sky. The soft orange and pinks of the sunset are quickly being replaced by the suffocating darkness of night. Below you, you hear the faint screams and high-pitched buzzing of Guardian beams, white-hot and illuminating the flames with blue.

Bile rises in your throat, but you know you cannot stop for even a second. Vah Medoh is waiting patiently for you. Waiting desperately for you.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of straining your wing muscles to fly at maximum speed, you reach the Divine Beast. Its flickering blue lights are the only thing you can clearly see now-- night has swallowed the sky, and with difficulty, you land in front of the main terminal.

Gasping for air, you fumble with the controls, when something burns your wing. If you could see much better, blackened feathers would be drifting to the ground.

In front of you, strings of blue light swirl, like a tornado, to form a monstrous beast. Or... you think it's a monstrous beast. The only thing you can see are three circles of pulsing energy, and a single, soulless, neon blue eye.

When the three circles raise in unison to fire a ball of searing energy directly into your chest, you see now, as you stagger back over the edge, that Medoh glows a violent, cruel magenta.

You summon your Gale and blast into the sky. You try to aim your Great Eagle Bow at the monster, but those taunting blue lights swim this way and that, and your shot misses by an embarrassing distance. Your stomach drops when a sudden, fierce blow of wind scoops you up and whirls you around and around and around, before another bullet of energy knocks you out of it. The pillars crumble as your body is thrown into them again and again, and you hear your bones snap and the blood rushing in your ears.

You have never felt so afraid of death as you have now.

It's only natural, that when you finally succumb to your weakness, and frantically jam in the SOS code to join the chorus of your fellow Champions' cries for help, you collapse to the ground sobbing. Crying for the first time in what feels like too long.

Is that why he straight up didn't show to the League today.

That's. Hm. Yikes!

...I can only access his slate remotely and it seems like he's got the camera facing down. I'm gonna just... send someone to go check in on him.

(And add a section to my multiverse notes on "Pelipper Mail.")