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dreamermonica · 1 year

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you belong with me !

when someone else approaches their partner, how do they react?

—includes itoshi rin, michael kaiser, itoshi sae

—gender of reader isn't specificied, fluff, established relationships, angy bllk boys, mentions of creeps, unwanted contact and such. first post in this blog, hope everything goes well!

all hell goes loose when RIN catches sight of another person gripping your wrist—especially when you look utterly terrified and confused. they dare to touch someone that is leagues above their own, someone that's already taken by one of the most well-known soccer players in the world, and do it without the bare minimum of consideration for your own feelings? in that very moment, he only sees red.

quickly apprehending the cause of your discomfort by ripping the person's hand off of your arm and retracting you to his chest with a small oomf from you—a harsh glare burns onto the person's face. you could probably see the intensity of his stare just by looking at the person's horrified reaction.

“who are you to touch them like that?” his airy voice brings comfort to the erratic beating of your heart, your tense form slowly melting in his hold.

right now, he doesn't care that he's attracting unnecessary attention. the crowd that's slowly forming around the commotion he'd caused is the least of his problems right now. sure, it'll probably ruin the stealth of your date but he needs to see this insignificant pest to drown in shame until he's satisfied.

“rin—it's fine. this type of stuff is normal, let's just go, hm?” you probably sensed that he was ready to take it a step too far, and when he kills down the glare on his expression to look at you properly with his usual indifferent eyes, you heave out a sigh of relief.

tugging on his coat, you smile at him nervously. “c'mon now! let's resume our date before anyone recognizes you!”

contrary to the usual soft and compliant rin you're used to, he does not budge an inch. seemingly glued to the floor after your words. “what did you say?”

“...huh?”

“before what you just said right now. you mean this type of interaction is normal?”

with how intense his stare burns into yours, you grow sheepish each passing second—hand reluctantly raising to rub the back of your neck in confusion and slight bewilderment.

wait, he didn't know that until now? how are you going to word this properly without sounding sensitive? “well—uh, you see...you're like, crazy popular, and everyone knows i'm dating you, so of course i'd also grow popular too, and then you know you also have some of these crazy fans that hate me and—” you cut yourself off when you feel a familiar air of anger rise once more.

your lover does not reply, and only carefully brings out his phone to dial what you recognize as his manager's phone number—and very, very scary words coming out from his lips while shifting his stare back at the person who's now groveling at his feet.

his little conversation about hiring bodyguards and telling the media they're doomed for affecting your safety does not faze you one single bit. there's only one thought inside your pretty little mind as you stare at the dark expression of itoshi rin.

oh lord. what have you done?

if there's anything KAISER hated more than anything, it would be when someone touches something, or in this case, someone who solely belongs to him. a emperor usually has his own certain treasures, and they're kept away from the hands and eyes of commoners and peasants for a reason. should one give into their selfish desires and attempt to take away his treasures—an inevitable treason is in line.

“what the hell is this? some irrelevant bumpkin treading where he doesn't belong?” with how loud and condescending the blonde sounds, you're certain that he's doing it so that it garners the entire room's attention.

a celebration party is held to commemorate bastard münchen's latest victory—hence the crowd full of friends and families of the football team's members alike are gathered, along with expensive investors and celebrities wanting to meet the famous aces of the country. funny acts committed in parties like these are not common, yet not all that uncommon either.

but it's mostly happens for the nobodies. who would even consider getting too friendly with the infamous partner of michael kaiser—who's offhandedly the embodiment of bastard in bastard münchen?

at the end of the day, it seems there's someone with more-balls-than-brains here in front of him. it's interesting, in a way. kaiser thinks as grins as the man's face contorts into a way that feeds his own sadism. the day was starting to get boring until this little failure came to ruin his—

a gentle squeeze on his hand halts his violent thoughts.

he cranes his neck to look at you with an eyebrow raised, your [e/c] hues glinting in a way that's telling him to stop whatever he's going to do before it goes too far.

contemplating options as the football ace glances back at the man drowning in shame amidst the sea of judgemental looks thrown his way, he heaves a deep sigh. one of defeat rather than disappointment. he's already well-aware of your forgiving nature.

“okay. i'll cut it out. but in one condition,” he looks back at you, squeezing your hand back as a smirk creeps on his face. “we ditch the party.”

“wha—? but isn't this whole event your idea in the first place?” you come nothing short of confused, hand still in his.

“meh, who cares.” he retorts boredly, snapping his fingers to call on forth the body guards hired for the party, before gesturing towards the man—kicking him out for the good and betterment of guests. “it was getting boring anyway. 'only hosted this event just so i could see you all dressed up.”

dressed up for his victory, he chooses not to add to spare your blushing face. that final goal he scored would've made his fans froth at the mouth if they were up close. he briefly wonders if you had reacted the same. er—most likely not, but a man can dream.

“you're so infuriating, you know that?” you comment without any malice, a small smile spreading on your lips when kaiser starts tugging you away from the room filled with expensive champagnes and rich ambassadors. almost feels like a daydream to run away like this, hand in each other while noa's scoldings fall on deaf ears.

a light laugh escapes his lips, “but you still love me anyway.”

he sends a playful wink your way right after, and you might just faint—knees weakened and all.

SAE seems indifferent at first, blankly staring at the person attempting to woo you. is it of disbelief? disgust, even? whatever it was, he just kept staring while the person uttered the most horrendous pick up lines your poor ears have ever heard. you were too preoccupied in tuning out the person's musings to even notice sae moving towards you.

it sure is a pain to have an attractive s/o. the famous football player just went to the bathroom and he comes back to see another man kissing up to you like some dog whimpering for scraps of food. in this case, the scraps of food the dog was getting desperate for was your number. a shitshow, he thinks.

“sorry, but i'm actually waiting for someone.” you finally managed to formulate a sentence without the man cutting it off once again with his terrible lines. you forgo the urge to compare him to an npc designed to rizz up a rock. it was genuinely that bad. bad enough that the rock would probably grow legs just to get away from him.

“you've said that what, three times now? where's that person yer' talkin' about, huh?” the man leans closer while rubbing the insides of his ear, causing you to cautiously take a step back. god, a bath could really help this man, and he's right—where is your boyfriend? “just lemme hit now, you won't regret it one bit—”

a sturdy hand places itself onto the creepy man's shoulder, roughly, and i mean, roughly turning the man around to face a maddened pair of emerald hues. right before you and the man stands an enraged itoshi sae—one of the most well-known aces of the entire country. from the way the man stays paralyzed in his place, it's not hard to deduce that he probably recognizes the living and breathing legend right in front of him.

“out of my sight, unless you want things to get dirty.” the soccer genius is known to be level-headed and rational even in dire situations when it comes to within and outward of the field, so who exactly are you staring at right now?

the redhead coldly dismisses the man with a chilling glare, before approaching you with hands now stuffed in pockets, eyebrows raised as if to question your dumbfounded look. “let's get going. the grime is starting to rub off on me.”

ah, that's right.

you let him grab your wrist to drag you away, his demeanour doing a complete 180 as he asks about what kind of food you'd want to eat today, naming your favourite restaurants one by one whilst he tugs you around, ignoring the double takes of passerbys making sure they didn't just see sae itoshi in the flesh.

the man you're staring at right now...is your lover

the very same man who shut down the touchy feely dude earlier, not to mention him completely dismissing the entire situation as to not ruin your mood, the one who has all your favourite restaurants memorized, the very same guy who invited you out today because he simply wanted to see you and enjoy the day with you, the boy who chose you out of millions, and millions of admirers—

you're simply looking at your boyfriend, itoshi sae. not the genius revered by multiple nations, but simply a man who loves you just as much as you do to him.

a smile spreads on your face as you finally keep up with his pace, now beside him instead of being dragged around like a lost puppy. “hmm, why don't you choose? i'm feeling like trying some new today.”

“okay. we're going spicy then.”

(ik bastard means like sword or smth for germans ok kaiser being THE bastard just sounded right for me)

edit; okay just found out bastard actually means bastard, it makes more sense now

ALSO YES I HC SAE LIKES SPICY FOOD

#blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #rin x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi rin x reader #kaiser x reader #bllk x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi sae x y/n #har❗#har❗fiction

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threadbaresweater · 1 year

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a temporary reprieve

You knew that a relationship with Aki Hayakawa was a risk. You vowed to take it as it comes, to take care when it came to your heart and your future, but when you fall pregnant with his child, you realize that the best laid plans often go awry...

The details: 6.9k words. Heavy angst, little to no comfort. Not a happy (but a quietly hopeful) ending. Major character death. Pregnancy and childbirth. Very brief consideration of abortion. Mentions of vomit and nausea. Canon divergence. Shower sex, vaginal fingering. Mentions of bruising and blood. LARGELY UNEDITED, probably rushed because it really got away from me fast and I was terrified if I didn't end it here I'd write forever. Please read at your own risk. (Repost)

Aki is angry when you tell him.

You knew he wouldn't be happy; to be frank, you weren't exactly thrilled. You'd been together long enough that it had certainly come up in conversations about your future, but it was never a discussion. You both agreed that it wasn't what you wanted out of life. Aki had his own reasons, you had yours, and that was that. There was never any need to revisit the matter because you'd made your choice together. It should have been cut and dry.

The universe apparently has other plans, however, and the longer you stare at those two little pink lines, the more you realize you are only delaying the inevitable. You have to tell him.

"You okay in there?" His voice is muffled from the other side of the bathroom door, but it still makes your head spin with panic. You turn on the water and flush the toilet, hands trembling.

"Fine!" you lie. "Be out in a sec."

Not tonight, you think. You need time to process it yourself. Maybe there are other options you could consider. Maybe it's a false positive. Maybe this is a bad, bad dream and you'd wake up in a few hours and nothing would be any different than it was before you went to bed. Maybe…

"Hey, we're gonna be late. Not trying to be a dick, but–"

You open the door and smile brightly at him– too brightly, you fear– and your boyfriend raises a brow in a look you know so well, the one that tells you he knows you're hiding something from him and he thinks you're stubborn for even trying. "Ready!" You say, clapping your hands and brushing past him to grab your shawl off the back of the couch. "Sorry for taking so long. I just wanted to look nice tonight."

Aki softens and leans forward to kiss your temple as you bend to strap on your shoes. "You always look nice." He's so sincere that it makes you feel bad for lying to him. You keep your head lowered a few seconds longer than you need, makkng sure the buckle is secure.

"Let's go," you say, threading your arm through his. "I'm sure everyone's waiting for us."

The restaurant is one of Makima's favorites: upscale, swanky, suit and tie required. Bone china, polished silver, crystal and linen as far as the eye can see. You feel Aki stiffen at your side when you enter and you squeeze his hand to quietly reassure him. His thin, strained smile says it all when he looks at you– let's make this quick. You nod in understanding just as Makima comes to greet you.

She's dressed to the nines in an outfit that must be worth a year of your salary, hair in a perfectly coiffed updo that accentuates her long neck and diamond teardrop earrings. Her smile is syrupy and almost too sweet when she bids you good evening and offers her hand to Aki. He hesitates, then lifts her knuckles to kiss them lightly.

"Good boy," she says, looking directly at you; for some reason, it makes your face feel hot and you duck your head. "Our table is in the back. Come with me, won't you?"

The entirety of Division Four is present. You hear Denji and Power before you see them, half expecting them to be throwing food across the table at each other. You feel like a proud aunt when you see them sitting next to each other, chatting excitedly about their latest kill. When they see you, Aki, and Makima, they straighten up in their chairs and smile. You can't help but wave and smile back.

A waiter comes to ask what you'd like to drink. Aki orders himself a whisky, then nudges you gently when he sees your nose buried in the menu.

"Hm?"

"What do you want to drink?"

"Oh– oh! Um, water's fine."

You lift the menu back up to your face and pretend to be deeply engrossed in the selections.

"Babe? You're sure you don't want something else?" Aki asks quietly. It's not like you to endure these outings without an alcoholic beverage.

You nod. "Mm-hm! Water's fine, thanks," you confirm, hoping that no one is watching too closely. You have a terrible poker face.

At your side, Aki shrugs and lifts his eyes to Makima, who sits directly across from him. She's been watching the entire exchange with scrutinizing eyes, but decides that now isn't the time to bring up your strange behavior. First, she'd like to have a pleasant dinner.

Division Four is smaller these days; devil hunters with balls and brains are hard to come by, and Makima seems to keep those who have stayed with her even closer now. Tonight is a celebration of a month of work without casualties. It's a bittersweet get-together, and almost everyone ends up eating their fill and probably drinking more than they should. You're uncharacteristically quiet; so much so that Aki keeps a reassuring hand on your thigh and gives you a squeeze now and then. He's worried about you, but he engages in conversation with others just the same.

Makima says your name, and you look her directly in the eye, your lips quivering into an uncertain smile. "Are you feeling alright?" she asks. To the naked eye and unwavering ear, it’s an innocent question. But the way she studies you creates a bubbling sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. You take a long sip of your water while maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with her, then use the linen napkin from your lap to wipe your mouth.

“Just fine,” you lie. You know she sees right through it. Makima isn’t someone you normally want to be dishonest with, but this is not the time nor the place to reveal what’s really going on.You swallow again and rub your cheek, the intensity of her gaze making you the one who looks away first. “A little tired tonight, that’s all.”

She rests her chin in her hand and narrows her eyes a little, her painted lips turning down into a deep frown. “Mmm. Maybe you and Aki should call it a night. I’d hate for you to feel worse if you stayed out too late.”

Aki hears his name and is suddenly a part of your conversation with Makima. “What’s that? I didn’t catch it.”

“It’s nothing, Aki, I–”

“I was just telling her that maybe you ought to leave a little early if she isn’t feeling well. You should take her home, Aki. She looks a little pale.” She looks smug, and you reach under the table to squeeze Aki’s hand that’s still resting on your leg.

If the situation gets any more awkward, you’ll crack and just blurt it out. You have a brief, lucid daydream where you stand up and shout I’M PREGNANT WITH AKI’S CHILD! And everyone in the entire restaurant turns to stare at you and you give birth right there on the expensive, white tablecloth. You shake your head to shatter the image and find Aki’s face close to yours, a crooked finger lifting your chin so that he can get a better look at you.

“Makima’s right. You okay? We can go, if you want.”

You look around the table to find that it's fallen silent, and everyone watches you with bated breath. Power has even paused mid-bite with her jaw open, waiting on your answer. So you nod and push your chair out, standing a little too quickly. Your fork chatters to the floor and shatters the deafening silence. "You're probably right," you concede. "Thank you for dinner, Makima. It's been a pleasure."

The drive home is just as awkward. You insist on driving, as Aki took advantage of the free drinks, and you spend most of the drive biting your tongue and contemplating the best way to tell him the news.

Aki isn't an idiot. Your silence speaks volumes; he lights a cigarette and rolls his window halfway down to ease the tension. The smell– which normally doesn't bother you– makes your nose itch and your stomach lurch. You roll your own window down to let the cool night air refresh you.

"What's going on?" he asks, his eyes trained on you under the glow of a stoplight. Fat drops of rain start to fall on the windshield of your car, distorting your view. You watch them streak across the glass instead of looking at Aki. "Did I do something to make you mad?"

He's holding back his anger, his confusion, but it spills over in the tone of his voice. There's a quiet strain, as if there are more words caught in his tongue and he doesn't quite know how to form them in a way that won't upset you further, if indeed you are angry at him. He's painstakingly combing over details of the last few days in his mind, trying to pinpoint the moment when you might have been offended, but he genuinely can't recall anything.

The light turns green and you make a turn toward home. "You didn't do anything, Aki. I swear."

He's quiet for a few seconds, dragging on the last of his cigarette. "Then what is it? Did something upset your stomach at dinner? Are you in pain?"

His concern brings tears to your eyes and you shake your head, focusing on your grip on the steering wheel. You shift in your seat and fidget with your seat belt. "I'm a little sick, yeah. Started before dinner though."

"Why didn't you say something then? We could have stayed home if I'd known." He sounds annoyed. "This wasn't a required thing, you know? Makima would understand–"

"No, Aki, I don't think she would have," you retort, snapping at him far more angrily than you meant to. Both of you know you're right, and you let it sink in for a few seconds. You snap your lips shut and turn them into a deep frown, the shame washing over you in a cold, uncomfortable wave. "Sorry- I didn't mean to snap at you."

When you arrive home, he reaches over to grab your hand just as you unfasten your seat belt. His grip is strong, but not forceful. "Please," he says in the darkness. "Please tell me what it is."

"Upstairs," you say, pulling your hand away. "I'll tell you upstairs."

The walk to your shared apartment is too short. Aki walks behind you, step by step, and your keys jingle in your hand. Your heels feel too tight, the pins you put in your hair pressing too hard against your scalp. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and turn to face Aki, meeting his hardened gaze for the first time in at least a couple of hours.

"Promise me something."

He squints, his mouth open just enough that you see the lick of his tongue behind his teeth as he tilts his head. "Promise what, exactly?"

"Please don't be mad at me."

He huffs a short laugh, scratching the back of his head. "Depends on what you're going to tell me."

You start to protest, but decide that he's right. You have no business telling him how he's supposed to feel, so you open the door and immediately unbuckle your shoes upon entry. Aki sheds his jacket and follows you to the kitchen, where you brace yourself against the counter to gather courage. The clock above the sink ticks away the seconds, and Aki stands before you, an arm's length away, but doesn't touch you.

"It's not good news," you whisper.

Aki’s lip curls a little and he crosses his arms. "Yeah. I figured it wasn't."

"I, um." You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I was late. And I took a test, and…uh…" You look at him with a mixture of hope and fear. You don't want to have to say the word– somehow it feels less scary if you don't.

Aki's eyes haven't left your face, but as he mulls over your clumsy confession, his breathing grows more labored and his cheeks flush bright pink. He steps back and lifts a trembling finger. "No…no no no no." His voice raises in volume and intensity. "We said that wasn't going to happen. You were supposed to be on the pill. We've been careful. You– I…" He shakes his head in disbelief and backs up further as if it will soften the blow.

You reach for him, but your hand falls lifeless to your side when he takes another step back. "Can we talk about it?"

He laughs, incredulous, pushing his hand through his bangs. "Talk about what? What's there to talk about? You wanna talk about how fucked up this is? About how we agreed to fucking be careful and prevent something like this from happening in the first place?" He opens the sliding glass door to the balcony and steps outside. You follow, tentative and quiet, watching as he lights another cigarette. "What the fuck are we going to do? This- this isn't…"

Now Aki is the one who won't look at you.

It pains you to even consider, but you know there are options. You lean against the open door, pushing away tears with the heel of your hand. "I mean, I don't have to…" You trail off, looking down at your toes. "I haven't been to the doctor yet, so I don't even know how far along I am, but I could find out, and we can talk about what to do then."

He doesn't say a word. You can feel the ire boiling, rolling off the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he exhales the smoke with impatient force. You don't prod him for a response. With Aki, you've learned that he likes to choose his words carefully and not speak from a place of impulsive emotion. Instead, you step back inside with a deep, wavering sigh.

By the time he comes back inside, you've changed into your pajamas, removed your makeup and jewelry, and crawled under the covers. You're lucid enough to sense when he comes into the bedroom and quietly shuts the door, but you don't make a sound. Instead, you lie still and pretend to be asleep as he goes to shower. When he finally climbs into bed with you, he lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.

When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.

You don’t panic at first, though morning sickness hits you like a freight train as soon as you sit up. The room spins and you break out in a cold sweat, the wave of nausea washing over you and making your skin crawl. Thankfully it’s only a few steps to the bathroom, where you fall on your knees in front of the toilet and heave until there's nothing left but bile. You stand and brush your teeth, but gag on the bristles of your toothbrush on your tongue and end up vomiting again. It takes you several minutes to feel capable of standing without feeling too wobbly, but once you're okay, you go to the kitchen to heat up the kettle.

You're used to occasional mornings alone when Aki works. You try to tell yourself that he got called out on a mission, but this feels different. Usually, there's an air of expectation when he's at work and you know he'll be home, almost always by the time it gets dark. This morning, there's a finality to his departure. You don't recall if he kissed you goodbye like he usually does, or if he told you he loves you in the dark stillness of the early morning. He hasn't taken any additional belongings that you can see, and you try to reassure yourself that he'll be back this evening, but your gut tells you otherwise. Most of the day is spent dozing on the couch, nibbling on saltines and sipping peppermint tea to keep your nausea at bay. It's mundane and routine, but it comforts you to do a load of laundry, to sweep the rug, to add a little birdseed to the feeder on the balcony. The life you've built with Aki– despite the imminent danger he's in every time he goes to work– is, by contrast, quietly domestic. It's almost picturesque what you've built together.

Now, there's another life to consider.

Somehow you muster up the courage to call your doctor's office to schedule an appointment. They tell you at first that the only available time won't be for another three weeks, and you panic. If you're to consider termination, you need to find out exactly how far along you are now so that you can decide how to proceed. Without explicitly saying as much, you tell the receptionist that you've been having a terrible time with morning sickness (it's not a total bluff) and you'd like to have a sooner consultation. She sighs heavily and miraculously finds an appointment for you two days from now.

Two days. You hope Aki comes home to go with you. The thought of him leaving for good is one you just can't shake. It's so out of character for him, but considering the way he reacted when you told him the news last night, it’s not totally impossible to fathom.

It turns out your gut wasn’t wrong, after all. You don’t sleep a wink the first night.

You’re due at work the following morning, but you’re so nauseous and exhausted that you call in sick. Your boss is understanding and tells you to take it easy, but she doesn’t know the extent of what’s happening. Next, you try Aki’s cell. He usually only carries it for work, and since the charger is still plugged into the kitchen counter outlet, you don’t figure you’ll have any luck. When it goes straight to voicemail without even one ring, your fears are confirmed. Though Makima is the last person on earth you want to talk to right now, you know she’s also the first person who might be able to give you a clue as to Aki’s whereabouts.

“Public Safety, Makima speaking.” Her voice is crystal clear and cuts through your courage like a hot knife, splitting you in two. You stammer into the speaker, and her laugh lilts down the line. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up. I can’t understand you.”

You take a deep breath and tell her who’s calling. “Have you seen Aki?” you ask– hopeful, tearful, palm clasped over your mouth to quiet your sobs.

“He’s out on a mission right now. May I leave him a message for you?” She’s cold and detached, just as you knew she’d be. You’ve never been able to crack her, and you’re not sure you even want to. There’s something about her that leaves you feeling unsettled and exposed every time you’re around her, as if she knows all of your secrets but won’t tell you which ones she’s thinking about the most.

“Do you know when he’ll be back? Like, even an estimate? Or where he is?”

“I’m sorry, that information is classified. As soon as he’s back in the office, I’ll have him call you.”

“Wait, Makima, I–!”

She sighs softly. “What is it?”

You hesitate, lowering your head in defeat. “It’s nothing. Thanks anyway.”

“Give him time,” she says.

“I’m sorry?”

The line goes dead before she responds, and you’re left to wonder if she knows. And if she does…is it because Aki told her, or because she figured it out at dinner the other night? Or perhaps she has another way of knowing, and that’s why you felt so uncomfortable in her presence that night.

When Aki doesn’t return home for the second night in a row, you worry more about his safety than what lies between you. If he was injured or killed on the job, surely someone would have reached out to you by now. Although you’re not married, you’re the closest thing to family that he has. It’s tempting to call the Public Safety office again, but you know who will answer and what she’ll say. So you shower, you dress in Aki’s pajamas, and you crawl to his side of the bed where you try to catch a little bit of sleep.

You've been sleeping so lightly that any small sound is apt to rouse you, so it's no surprise that you'd be keenly aware of the front door opening. The clock at your bedside indicates that it's past three in the morning, and you sit up just as Aki's shadow appears in the doorway to your bedroom.

You hold your breath, waiting to hear him say something– anything. But he's quiet and still, hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, shoulder leaning into the doorframe. Moments pass between you, and he sighs.

"Hi," you whisper, tentative and unsure.

It's his signal to move. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on your knee, studying your face. He looks like he's falling apart. Angry, purple crescents beneath his eyes tell you he hasn't slept. He's dirty– old blood streaked across his cheek, under his fingernails. Now that he's closer, you smell the booze, the stale smoke, the acrid coppery scent of blood and sweat and struggle. Your stomach lurches and try to breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. You won't let it ruin this reunion.

"I'm sorry," he offers. "I got a call, and I had to go. There wasn't time to–" He chokes, inhaling sharply and pressing his hand to his mouth to hold back his sobs.

"Oh, Aki…" You sit up fully and wrap him in your arms, tucking your head between his neck and shoulder. He stiffens at first, confused and overwhelmed with your affection, but soon you feel the tension in his body melt away and he allows himself to be held.

He does lift his arms to fold them around you, eventually. There are a million and one things you could both say, but the silence speaks volumes. The fact that he's here with you, that he came back, that he hasn't made the decision to run is relief enough. You know him well enough to know that he wouldn't have the heart to abandon you, but the overwhelming fear of not knowing his whereabouts for the last two days had you thinking all sorts of horrible things. You know his past, you're living in his present right alongside him. But you can't read his mind.

There's a ritual when he comes home from missions, and though he doesn't expect you to help him this time, you do so anyway. You peel his jacket from his shoulders, you take out the knot in his tie and undo the buttons on his shirt, all while the shower runs and steam begins to waft toward the ceiling, creating a warm haze in the confines of your small bathroom. You carefully pull the elastic from his hair and run your fingers through the soft, black strands while he slips his thumbs into the waistband of your pants (his pants, he notes, and his heart swells with guilt) and helps you step out of them.

The water washes away his tension, but the resulting fatigue overwhelms both of you. He's not wounded this time apart from a few small scratches on his face and a larger one on his left shoulder, but the bruises you find tell you that this mission was no small struggle. Aki follows the path of your fingers with tired eyes as you gently circle each blemish on his tender skin.

"What's it like?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

You furrow your brow, wrinkling your nose to keep the tears at bay. "What's what like?" You think you know, but you ask anyway.

Aki places a trembling hand on your abdomen and looks at you meaningfully. "This."

Despite your best efforts, the tears fall anyway and mingle with the water that's misted over your cheeks. You cover his hand with yours. "I don't really know yet. I don't feel any different except for being sick to my stomach all the time."

He frowns a little, then trains his eyes down to where your hands meet. "Do you think the…" He pauses and swallows thickly. "The baby…will have my eyes?"

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but the hope that blooms warm in your chest is hard to deny. "Maybe. There's only one way to find out." You look at him expectantly. "I have an appointment today... Do you–"

"I'll come with you," he says. It's resolute and determined, and you know in your heart that he's already decided what the outcome will be.

Before you can say another word, he's kissing you. It tastes of melancholy, of longing, of long nights of missing you and worrying that you've already made up your mind. You wind your arms around his neck and he turns, pressing you against the shower wall with his body hard and slick against your own. His kisses take a desperate turn, and his hands knead and grab your flesh as if it's the first and last time he'll be able to touch you like this. You kiss him back with equal intensity, the taste of him mingling with the saltiness of tears– yours or his, you're not sure.

His kisses fall to your jaw, to your neck, tongue tracing over your skin as one hand falls between your legs. You grip him tight around the shoulders with one arm and brace yourself against the wall with your other as he works his fingers just inside, flicking them softly over your clit until your quiet moans fall on his ear.

"I'm sorry I disappeared," he says again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. You feel his hardness pressing just under your belly button and you widen your stance, eyes shut tight against the deluge of water and the desperate need for him to be inside you. You can't bring yourself to care much beyond this moment– past or future, it doesn't matter. He's here now, and he's all you need.

"It's okay," you say, earnestly, your voice climbing a few notes when he grips the back of your thighs to lift you. Back against the wall, arms still wrapped snug around his shoulders, your body welcomes him with practiced ease. Aki takes a moment to steady himself, to feel the warmth of your sex envelop him, before he begins rolling his hips up against yours. You gently scratch your nails through his hair and across the back of his neck and lick your way into his mouth in a deep and dirty kiss. He groans low and gritty, his breath hot and heavy on your tongue.

It isn't long before the intensity builds for both of you. Within minutes, he's moving at a near frantic pace, fucking into you as hard as he can manage without slipping from his position on the slick tub floor. Your legs are wrapped tight around him as he moves, each thrust making your back slide along the wall to create an angry sounding squeak of skin against vinyl. Neither of you are in any state to care or even notice. When Aki comes, he pushes hard up inside, staying there without moving to feel the way he pulses, the way your pussy flutters and spasms around him, accepting all that he's giving to you.

Panting, he helps you lower one leg as he slips out of you, then replaces his cock with gentle fingers. "Got carried away," he says with a quiet, breathless chuckle, kissing his way up from your collarbone to just under your jaw before capturing your mouth in a kiss again. He knows just where to touch and how to kiss you to bring you to the brink quickly, and you're soon falling apart around him, a quivering, wet mess at the hand of your very own devil hunter.

According to blood work and an ultrasound exam, you're seven weeks along. The doctor's report is positive, and you're given medicine to help with morning sickness, which they say should be manageable by the end of your first trimester. Aki listens carefully from the chair beside the examination table where you sit, absorbing all the information until his head spins. It's overwhelming for both of you, but there's no denying the little, flickering flame of excitement when it comes to imagining the future.

The months fly by. Your morning sickness is replaced by a voracious appetite for noodles and dumplings and almond tofu. Quiet moments are spent with Aki's hand on your swollen abdomen, your feet in his lap, and a tiny human who seems to enjoy practicing somersaults against the warmth of her father's palm. The quiet domesticity you've built together over the last couple of years has a new intensity to it now, and it's increasingly difficult for you to face the reality of Aki’s devil contracts. You don't want to think about it, because ultimately you know that he isn't going to see your child grow up.

Two years, the Curse Devil had proclaimed after Himeno had passed. You'd met him a few months prior, and at the time you were blissfully unaware of his occupation. He didn't want to have feelings for you, but the more he tried to deny them, the stronger they became. He was honest with you only when he realized how serious you were about pursuing a relationship with him, and he fully expected you to run.

You loved him, though. And you told him as much one evening after you'd drug him to your favorite hangout, drunk on cheap spirits and his warm hands under the hem of your shirt. And for the first time, Aki thought that maybe there was something in this world worth living for beyond revenge.

It wasn't until you told him you were pregnant that he even considered retiring from Devil hunting, though. Working for public safety had been what he thought was meant for him. Nothing else made sense. Though it could prove fatal for him to even consider abandoning his contracts, he did consider going private.

Makima's cold, hard gaze makes him feel small and insignificant, and he shifts uncomfortably from where he stands in front of her desk, hands clasped behind his back. His courage wanes the longer she stares, and he knows exactly what she's going to say before the words even leave her mouth.

"You can resign from Public Safety, Aki Hayakawa. But the devils you employ have nothing to do with your paycheck or your conscience."

He bows his head. "Yes, Miss Makima. I understand."

"Hm. Do you also understand that the life you've created will not have any bearing on the length of said contracts? That devils do not care for such trivial human matters?"

Aki grits his teeth, fingernails digging into the fat of his thumbs. "I do."

"And that doesn't change your mind about staying with Public Safety? Public or private, Aki Hayakawa, you'll still be required to call on them from time to time in order to keep fighting."

"I understand, ma'am. Respectfully, I'd like to think that going private might buy me a little more time."

She sits back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest, tilting her head. "Is that so?"

He nods. "If I can choose when I fight, and how much, I can preserve what's left of the time I still have."

"What about money? You won't be paid regularly, or fairly for that matter. Don't you want to be able to take care of this child responsibly in what little time you have remaining?"

"I've been saving. And I have an insurance policy. Even years after I'm gone, she'll be comfortable." There's a solid lump in his throat, and he swallows around it before he continues. "Ma'am, I appreciate your concern, but I've made my decision. I'd like to ask that you respect it, and accept my resignation, effective today."

Makima stands and walks from behind her desk, smooth fingertips trailing over the mahogany surface. She steps, inches away from Aki’s face, and turns her lips into a derisive grin. "Have it your way, then. Though it's sad to see you give up so easily on the one thing that's given you purpose for all these years."

Aki holds her gaze, determined and steadfast. "I'm not giving up. If anything? For the first time, I give a shit about something other than vengeance. There's someone who needs me for who I am, not what I can do for them. And it's restored a faith in humanity that I once thought was hopelessly lost. And if you can't understand that, then I'm not sure we ever understood each other at all, ma'am."

He knows that when he turns and leaves her office, it won't be the last time he sees her.

You go into labor on a late afternoon in March. The previous days you'd been filled with an inexplicable energy to organize the bedroom closet and get every bit of lint out of the dryer vent. Aki watched you with curious fascination, ready to chide you into resting when your breathing became labored and your face began to shine with sweat. The nurse at your doctor's office called it "nesting", and while the term seemed funny to you at first, you soon realized that it came with a primitive purpose.

You were preparing for the birth of your daughter.

Within hours upon your arrival at the hospital, your daughter makes her bloody, messy, screaming entrance into the world. Aki watches from your bedside– fascinated, disgusted, terrified, enchanted, enthralled– as you give life to her with firm coaching from the swarm of nurses and the doctor who guides her out of your womb and into your aching arms.

There's a flurry of activity around your bed, but you only see her. Still covered in blood and fluid, little patches of vernix behind her ears and on her shoulders, you think she's the most amazing person you've ever laid eyes on. Ten tiny fingers and ten little toes– you count them one by one while she curls against your chest and Aki kneels at your side with a trembling hand laid atop your head. You coo at her when she looks at you and swipe your finger across her cheek to wipe away the tear that had fallen from your chin.

She has his eyes.

"Mamma, mamma! Look at me!"

It's a sweltering summer afternoon in the middle of July. There's a playground near your house that's become one of your favorite spots. There's a slide that your daughter swears is as tall as the skyscrapers downtown, and she stands at the top now, waving her little arm in an attempt to garner your attention. You look up from your book and shield your eyes from the sun that burns hot over her shoulder and smile to acknowledge her bravery. No matter that she's done it twenty times this afternoon– each climb is worth celebrating to her.

"I see you, baby! Go ahead! Show me how fast you can go!"

Her giggle is infectious, and she sits down at the edge. "Three…two…one!" Her squeal on the way down makes you throw your head back and laugh, and she nails the landing with her arms thrown in the air.

"Ta-daa!"

You applaud her bravery and showmanship, and she runs over to reward you with a hug that knocks the wind out of you when she throws her tiny body against yours and climbs into your lap. You stroke her silky black hair and hold her tight, despite the oppressive heat of the humid summer air and try not to think about the fact that Aki’s been missing for the last three days. The last time you’d seen him, he kissed you and his daughter goodbye in the wee hours of the morning, and you felt the familiar– albeit bitter– sense of dread wash over you that you felt every time he left on a mission. He’d kept true to his promise and only went out on calls that were deemed low-risk, fighting only in the private sector.

Your daughter had just turned three years old that spring. You celebrated her birthday with a trip to the bowling alley and a cake far too big for the three of you, but it didn’t matter. It was cause for celebration for more than one reason, and you knew it as well as he.

There wasn’t much time left. But you hadn’t realized just how little until you see Denji approaching where you and your daughter embrace on the park bench. He lifts a hand in greeting, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes waver, unsure of where to focus, and he takes a deep breath in through his open mouth while slowing his step as he approaches.

“Been a long time,” he says, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk; your vision blurred with tears, you watch as it lands in a soft patch of grass.

You cover your daughter’s ear with your hand and keep her head pressed against your chest. “Is he dead?” you whisper, searching Denji’s face for the answers you so desperately need.

Denji looks at you, and your head spins, your heart lurches into a frantic rhythm. You kiss your daughter and send her off to play; she happily obliges, and Denji sits beside you, scratching at the back of his neck. “She looks a lot like him, doesn’t she?”

“Identical,” you agree.

“I’m real sorry.”

“I knew it was coming.” It doesn’t soften the blow, however. You’d known that his time was short since before your daughter was born. But no amount of prior knowledge could have prepared you for the way you felt in this moment. The day is too beautiful. The sun is too bright, your daughter is too bubbly. It was supposed to happen on a rainy afternoon when you had nowhere else to be but home, inside and warm and comforted by the quiet stillness of your living room. It wasn’t supposed to be Denji who had to deliver the news. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t–

“Miss Makima said to give you this,” Denji says. It quiets your thoughts when he speaks, and he lays a small yellow envelope in your hand. You know immediately what it is, and though in reality it weighs mere grams, it feels like the weight of the world in the palm of your hand. Suddenly, the world stops spinning, and you don’t hear anything beyond the thrum of your pulse inside your ears, steady and insistent and frustratingly loud; it demands to be heard, to serve as indisputable evidence that you’re alive and Aki is dead, that you’ve outlived him just as you and he both knew you would. You lift the flap of the envelope and dump the contents into your hand.

The ring has been cleaned and polished. A simple circle of plain gold; you’re immediately thrown back to the day you married him under the canopy of trees, just beyond the very playground where your daughter runs with her friends. He’d asked you not long after she was born, and you’d happily agreed. You didn’t want to think about how much time you had as Mrs. Hayakawa, you only wanted to enjoy knowing that you were his and he was yours. That was enough for you. Your vows were simple, your honeymoon modest. You hadn’t told anyone of your decision– you married quietly and happily, despite it all.

“Denji,” you say, tears streaking endlessly down your cheeks as you turn the ring over and over between your fingers. “Were you there?” Was he alone?

“I was called in at the last minute. I–” He hesitates, drumming his fingers on his knees. “He was gone before I got there. But I killed that devil! I tore his ass up, man! For you, for Aki, for your baby, for all of us!”

You smile through your grief, despite your pain. Denji’s energy is exuberant and exactly what you’d expect from him– it’s exactly what you need, and as you wipe your tears with the heel of your hands, you thank him. You thank him for being the one to deliver the news. You thank him for being Denji, for being such a frustratingly perfect coworker for Aki. You thank him and hug him until he’s tomato red and folded in your arms, unsure of whether or not he should touch you.

“Aw, man. I don’t even know what to say!” he says.

“Uncle Denji!” Your daughter runs over and you tuck the ring into your pocket and dry your tears. “Uncle Denji, did ya see me on the slide? Wanna watch?”

“Watch?!” he says, turning to give you a conspiratorial wink. “You’re looking at the slide master, little lady! Come with me!” He lifts her onto his shoulders and runs through the grass, her laughter ringing clear and pure.

You pull Aki’s ring from your pocket and fit it down over your thumb. It’s loose, but it’s warm and it’s comforting and it’s a piece of him that you can carry with you throughout the rest of your life.

You’ll break the news to your daughter tonight. You’ll figure out the rest later.

It’s all temporary, anyway.

#csm fanfic #aki hayakawa #aki x reader #aki x you #chainsaw man x reader

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murderthecat · 5 months

Text

Space Ghost

Written By: ChryslerBuildingFeathers https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChryslerBuildingFeathers

Art Prompt #20 By: SapphicSaphir https://www.tumblr.com/kipo-oak

EctoImplosion 2023

Vast cold crowded silence. That's what this was. Like lying lonesome in a local lake long after the day’d gone dark. So much happening around him, so many stories to be told, and here he was floating. On, and on, and on. Comforted and aching at the same time.

Danny was having a very strange last summer vacation.

Prologue:

Split

It started, as most things do for Danny, with Jack and Maddie Fenton. The two had burst through the house's front door, raving about an old colleague they'd ran into again during their nightly ghost hunting: "Scotland!" they cried in unison.

"We're going to Scotland this summer!"

"We.. Are?" Danny asked worriedly.

“Well, we certainly are!" Jack replied, exploding with giddiness.

"But…" Jazz trailed off expectantly.

"Er, well, me and your mother, anyway." Jack corrected himself.

Maddie continued for her husband: "But not you, obviously, Jazz. We know you've got work and college stuff. And, well, Danny..."

"Danny, we were thinking. This is your last summer before adulthood. Maybe-" Jack said.

"Maybe you're old enough to spend it on your own, and figure out what you want to do for yourself." Jazz finished for them with a smile.

"You.. You mean it?" He asked.

The three nodded. "That's great!" Danny grinned.

And so his summer was set. It was gonna be an awesome couple months!

Except.

Except, when he went to tell Sam and Tucker about it:

"You're both going on college trips? But I thought you were set on MIT, and you've been there a dozen times by now!"

"Well, we were- " Sam replied, hesitantly. "But then we got these new letters, and you see..."

She sighed. "Danny, of all places, Harvard offered us a full ride."

"I know we had everything all planned out, and we wanted to tell you sooner, but-"

Danny groaned. "But you didn’t want to bum me out while we were studying for finals, this is an amazing opportunity, and I'd have to kill you both if you didn't at least think about it?"

He couldn’t even blame them for waiting until now, because he knew he’d probably do the exact same thing in their place.

Sam smiled sadly. "Thanks Danny, love."

"And sorry, dude. Seriously." Tucker added on.

"Hey, maybe this could be a good chance for you, though?" Sam suggested.

"Maybe you can do something just for yourself?"

“I guess so.” Danny said.

The two wrapped him in a hug.

“And hey, you can still give us plenty of ghostly visits while we’re on our trip, you know? You’re our boyfriend after all!” Tucker cheered him.

So here he was, following their collective advice. Or at least, trying to. Alone in space feeding his obsession, swallowing as many stars as could fit in his eyes. The portal was locked, the ghosts knew to leave him alone, and he had all the time he could need to try figuring out what to do with his afterlife.

He’d planned to go to community college, hit the books hard to make up for his bad high school years, and then join Sam and Tucker at MIT. But, if his partners went off to a school as exclusive and Ivy League as Harvard? There’s no way he could make it into there, let alone afford it. And even if he could, he still had no idea what he’d do with himself after finishing college.

Get a job in aerospace engineering so he can at least be close, only for the inevitable trouble that follows him everywhere to steal that away too? Become a professor so he can teach everyone else how to accomplish his hopes and dreams? No.

The human world is not built for a ghostly prince.

Him, or his space fantasies.

#Danny Phantom #Space Ghost #ectoimplosion #ectoimplosion2023 #Everlasting Trio #Danny Fenton #Fanfic #phanfic #phandom #Space #Ghost

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mangoshorthand · 6 months

Note

you said nothing in response; you felt your mind slip into humouring thoughts of the situation at hand - mulling over your options as undeniable, inevitable truths, before mentally retracting from them, in a plea of autonomy. sliding down the wall, to join five in a seated position, you stared back at him.

“i chose nothing”

“nothing?”

“if those are the only three options, then i chose nothing. im not advancing the plot any further.”

“tried that. doesn’t work.”

it was comforting, in the very small sense of the word, to see someone go through the emotions and pleas of autonomy he found himself going through upon his (at the time) newfound revelation.

“what are the options again?”

“argument and emotionally mature; argument and confession + sweaty sex; horror, and probably murder.” Five lists off, making use of his long fingers to list off each option.

“i thought it was confession and/or sex. not confession and sex”

“just trying to be succinct.”

“you just introduced an existential nightmare of having no depth, autonomy or existence - being succinct isn’t going to ease the tension”

“so you admit there’s a tension.”

“i’m getting the axe” you said, making no movement towards the hanging weapon; in exhaustion or annoyance, really either one, you closed your eyes.

“can we remove options off the table? murdering you sounds exhausting, and if something wants me dead it has to take a number with the 3 apocalypses you’ve chased.”

“i mean we don’t really get a say- but from what i’ve noticed, we’ve would’ve been introduced to the threat by now. or at least, one of us would’ve.”

“so, emotional maturity or sweaty sex.”

five kisses his teeth in agreement, taking in the room around him.

“so…” you start, five’s eyes moving towards you in vague interest.

“…your dad’s kind of a prick. wanna talk about that?”

“he was a prick. if we didn’t wash the dishes, he’d tell us we were causing a world-ending evil. he made us listen to Frued during dinner and i think he locked diego in a closet once.”

“do you feel emotionally matured?”

“no.”

“rats.”

Context Part 1

"Wait." he said, cooking his head as if scenting something on the air, "did you feel that?"

You felt it too. A prickle on the back of your neck.

"Yeah. It was like something...shifted then. I felt..."

"Another presence?" Five asked.

"Yeah."

"Like another author."

It was indeed like another author, because it was. Someone had dared to challenge My supremacy over the fates of these pathetic characters.

"Is The Other Author on our side?" you asked, pointlessly, given that I had regained control, "I feel like we were getting somewhere there. It was as if you were going to kill me with the axe for a second, but then something changed."

"I...I don't know," Five said, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughfully, "this has never happened before. Should we just have sex? See if it does anything? I carry condoms with me everywhere I go just in case. I even take them to the bathroom with me at 3am. There's no telling when She's going to put me in one of these situations. I'd guess She's got a pretty high sex drive that her partner can't keep up with so takes it all out on me."

At that moment, a ceiling tile fell down and struck him on the back of the head.

"Ow! Fuck!" he cried, though deserving the pain as a sharp reminder of his place in this scenario.

You looked up at him from your position on the floor as he rubbed the back of his head..

"Guess we know which author's in control now," you commented, rather astutely for a reader-insert character.

"That's for sure," he grumbled, "Now, are we going to fuck or what? I want out of this goddamn basement."

"No!" you said, seizing desperately upon one tiny piece of autonomy.

"Don't be an idiot," he said, businesslike as his hands dropped to the button on his waistband, "you're just going to draw it out by acting this way. She wins. She always wins."

Apparently the ceiling tile had had its effect

"I don't want to fuck you," you said, vehemently, "get that into your mind."

"Oh please," Five said, rezipping his fly indignantly, "you think I'm over here dying to fuck you? Don't flatter yourself."

"Sorry, 'don't flatter myself'? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you wouldn't exactly be my first choice of person to screw."

"Well ditto!" you almost yelled, playing precisely into My hands, "you're so up your own ass you can see out of your mouth! Your own siblings barely even like you!"

"Well I'm sorry," he said, though not sounding sorry at all, "Sorry for actually having character traits. Believe me, I wasn't looking forward to trying to get hard over someone whose only personality trait is being a blank slate!"

"Wait!" you said, now holding a hand in the air with an air of inspiration entirely inconvenient to Me, "we're arguing! It's happening! The plot's advancing. We're playing into The Author's hands by doing this! Why do we have to accept this as inevitable?"

"Why did you say my siblings don't like me?" Five replied softly, playing along and ignoring your meta comments (like the good boy he knows how to be if he can just put aside his little temper tantrums for five minutes).

"Seriously Five," you said, eyes alight with idiotic ideas, "we can break out of this."

Five shook his head, eyes pleading with you not to be foolish.

"Why did you say my siblings don't like me?" he repeated, though his eyes begging your compliance gave the lie to his words.

He knew that you risked worse than being hit by falling roof tiles if you continued this way. His compliance was wise. Would you show similar wisdom?

"What if The Other Author could help us?" you said, standing up suddenly, the enraging words tumbling out of your mouth as you did so, "we could try to trigger another shift. Maybe they'll get us out of it? Maybe They're less of a weird pervert?"

They would never get the opportunity to find out, however. Fictional characters cannot induce such shifts unless-

Five launched himself across the room and laid his hands, finally upon the axe. "I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS!" he yelled, raising the weapon and advancing upon you with a crazed look in those pretty green eyes, "AND I'LL DO IT WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!"

#number 5 imagine #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #umbrella academy x reader #SHIT #YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING REGRET THIS FIVE

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greenflamedwriter · 4 months

Text

Killing Stalking AU:

Okay when I read Killing/stalking I was a bit disapointed. Too much killing not enough stalking -_-

And so Imagine Luo Binghe who is a serial killer instead of wives it's girlfriends and instead of marrying them he kills them. And Shen Yuan, who bought the apartment just to observe such a thing ends up obsessed he calls the victims 'wives' till death do they part, and he has an obsession with the seriel killer.

Like bordering on gay but he's still in denial.

Already he has a list of all the names of the girls, Ning Yingying was the first and now he's up to Qui Haitang, already he counted that Luo BInghe was accumilating an anti-harem.

Shen Yuans room is FULL of photos, clothes, even HAIR of Binghe as well as Luo Binghe in a apron, bloody and cleaning up his mess.

Shen Yuan loved him. Quircks and all.

But he wasn't stupid, not only was the evidence of Binghe's crimes in this room, footage and videos of girls going into Luo Binghes house then NEVER returning, wanted posters and last places they were timed perfectly. A little plushie doll of Luo Binghe as well in a corner. But he also hid evidence around the city, places with his name on it, most were holding his anime stuff but after the first five lockers the rest were filled with nothing but Binghe's crimes. He never went back to the old ones, to obvious instead he would pay for a new locker and fill that one up.

NSFW undercut

And Sy whose still in the closet probably thought it was normal to react, esp seeing the stallion having sex with the women in his bedroom, with his camera Shen Yuan could see everything.

At one point it even felt like Luo Binghe looked up and locked eyes with him, it made Shen Yuans breath hitch. It wasn't possible, it was dark, lights out, and Shen Yuan shivered palming himself, so hard it was the point of pain.

And this was when he decided to get closer.

Shen Yuan wears a disguise, Luo Binghe didn't like men, only women. So Shen Yuan wears a wig, with a hat and glasses and actually nice clothes. He dresses nicer as a women than he would as himself, in just sweats and loose jumpers.

He sits at a cafe and watches a girl on Luo Binghes arm Wife #32 Shen Yuan couldn't believe he was sitting right next to them.

And each time he would get closer, changing his looks, and disguise, practically listening in. Listen to the lies Luo Binghe would say, his favourite colour? Song? Movie?

Shen Yuan saw into his house, he knew what Luo Binghes interests were better than these wives.

He got too close once, when a wife dropped her wallet, he picked it up.

"Excuse me?"

She turned with a sneer on her face, that was usually how people reacted to Shen Yuan, like he was gross. He knew he would look alright with decent clothes hair cut, but he had that attention before, he didn't want it again.

But seeing it was just a small girl with a face mask pacing her her wallet with kind eyes, the sneer fell away into surprise.

"Oh my gosh! Thank you!"

"It's no problem, I understand the stress of losing your credit cards and having to cancel them and start over- I'm overally clumsy like that aha."

Luo Binghe was staring at him, and Shen Yuan couldn't help but shiver at the attention.

At that moment thats when Shen Yuan realised something, back in the comfort of his home. He may actually like Luo Binghe...

well...it's just Luo Binghe, right? maybe he's just bi and only likes him?

Either way, he kept skirting around him, until the wife inevitably died and he sat at the cafe, waiting for Binghe with his next fiance-

"Hello, miss. I thought I'd find you here."

Shen Yuan held back a flinch as he glanced up, "Ah hello there, I kinda recognise you," Shen Yuan leaned closer as Luo Binghe sat down before him but internally he was freaking out.

Was he wearing the same disguises over and over!?

Did Luo Binghe figure him out!?!?!?

"My names Luo Binghe, and you are?"

"Um," Quick think of a name! "Xiao Gongzhu."

"Little palace mistress? Hmm suits you."

Like hell it does! But that was the only thing he could think off!

"I was just wondering," Luo Binghe looked bashful, and it broke Shen Yuan out of his thoughts, he looked so boyish it was cute.

"Could we trade numbers?"

What? He killed Wife #32 already? wait- was Luo Binghe seriously seeing Shen Yuan as a potential wife!?

This was bad- it was going to mess up Luo Binghes streak! He was the protagonist, he couldn't mess up because he was accidently tricked by a man!

Also the not-dying thing would be great and if Shen Yuan didn't go back to his apartment and pay rent then the landlord will come in and SEE all of his evidence, Binghe would go to jail!

"Uh yeah sure- I mean yes!" Shen Yuan spoke then grimaced at how flustered he was, even so he still couldn't believe it- Binghe's number!

Luo Binghe hummed "Hmm I'll put you as Princess, if thats okay I like giving pretty girls like you pet names. You can think of a name for me too."

"Hmm, I like Bingpup, you're like a cute puppy who deserves head pats!" Shen Yuan spoke and saw Luo Binghe's smile stiffened.

Shen Yuan immedietly preened aha thats right! Luo Binghe hates being called dog or mutt! He found out that Luo Binghe had an awful teacher who would call him that in school! He found that out by waiting for Binghe to take wife #16 on a date and bugged his house!

When they were getting intimate after their pillow talk Luo Binghe admitted such a sad thing.

Because wife#16 called him a good puppy during foreplay, and when she said she'd never do it again he agreed and said she won't then straggled her. Shen Yuan listened to that footage over and over again.

When Luo Binghe stood up, Shen Yuan giggled "Oh and one more thing." He stood up too, flipping his hair over his shoulder.

"If you think you can take me as the next wife, you can forget it."

Luo Binghe paused looking confused, "I'm sorry?"

"I know your type, playboy. You have a fiance wine and dine, but after the first night your the type to believe in death do us part." Shen Yuan emphansised the smile on Luo Binghe's face faded. "This is amazing, the Luo Binghe! I'm such a huge fan," Shen Yuan kept his voice low, so the other patrons at the cafe wouldn't here. "I actually liked Liu Mingyan, such a good girl she knew martial arts as well. Pity, but I don't plan to be accumulated into your 'harem' I don't like to share. No, I prefer to watch."

Luo Binghe eyes narrowed, "Do you think it's a good idea to be telling me this?" Shen Yuan looked at him with pity, "I can't help it, your so cute and I didn't want to lie to that face when I turned you down. it's not any of Binghe's fault, I just genuinly like to watch, if we cross that step I'm afraid I'll have to die of shame." Before he left he also glanced back, "Oh, and I'm a collector by the way, I have evidence all around Shang hai completely hidden unless I mysteriously disapear, someone is bound to find everything. See you around, Husband."

Shen Yuan flaunced away, knowing he was being followed, thank GOD for public bathrooms, he walked in, immedielty removing his wig, hoodie and skirt and pulling on his baggy and drabby clothes, and oiled up his hair to look more greasy and gross espeically from wearing a wig, he dumped the back in the bin and walked out, slouching and on his phone, he walked past Luo Binghe who stayed leaning against pillar waiting for the 'women' to leave the bathroom.

Shen Yuan still didn't trust it, hailing a taxi and purposfully going the awkward way to get to his apartment. Even then he decided to back track and couch surf on his friends sofa instead, just to be safe.

Even so, when he recieved a text from Binghe, vaguely threating him, promising he'll find him and kill him, Shen Yuan shivered feeling his breathing hasten.

"You can try, Husband."

So long story short, Liu Qingge is the policemen interogating his sisters mysterious death, finds Shen Yuan and believe him to be a victim of domestic abuse, and yeah both Luo Binghe AND Shen Yuan are playing cat and mouse the power imbalances keep changing, and at one point, Shen Yuan finds himself actually going on dates with Luo Binghe, even helping him take down a wife with his 'husband' it's such a rush. And for a moment even Luo Binghe felt affection for Shen Yuan and didn't care that it was revealed he was a guy, even started having some fucked up moments of his own, comparing Shen Yuan to his mother. Shen Yuan: Hello police? Theres a man with a milf kink send him to jail!

Even so theres honeymoon moments, SY actually spends a night in Binghes house but thats where it all goes wrong, SY is now a wife, he just doesn't die straight away, forced to being trapped in the kitchen dressed as a women and still playing their cat and mouse game as Luo Binghe is trying to force him to reveal his evidence, he claims he'll stay with Shen Yuan properlly if he does. And then SY at one point escapes the house, finds Liu Qingge and confesses everything and even gives him the keys to his apartment and the locations of the lockers with the evidence.

Luo Binghe finds him, says he saw SY with another man, had he grown bored with him?

Pretty much ends the same way as Killing Stalking both die in the end, Luo Binghe dying alone, and SY still thinking he's alive and is frazzled ends up going into on-going traffic.

-I think with the story it was supposed to end tragically, because neither were good people, but I just hated how the character in KS was reduced to an innocent uwu who was sexualised but didn't have a braincell- I would've preffered if there was some intellectual schemes, like KIRA VS L both smart people trying to one up the other and maybe just a hint of romance, delusion on both sides, Binghe finally seeing SY as his partner in literal crime but then because of jealousy ends up trying to kill SY after he's another Wife isn't he?

#SVSSS #svsss #dark fic #Trigger warnings #dead dove #don't eat #but dark #Killing #Stalking #killing stalking #Scum Villain #SCUM

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smuttyfang · 8 months

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Judy Alvarez, The Last Voicemail

"as a Judy simp, could you please make something for if female V chooses the suicide ending and leaves a really heartbreaking voicemail for Judy?" (TW: Suicide. Read at your own risk. This is never something to make light of or joke about, and I am not attempting to romanticize it in any way, shape or form.

Words: 1,172

You could feel your own heart sink realizing that you knew this was what you had to do. What you really needed to do. Your mind had been made up and there was no backing out. No changing your mind. Nothing anyone in this world could do. Looking up from your chair, you saw Johnny leaning against the wall. His hand was rubbing over his beard.

"Are you seriously sure you want to do this? After everything we have been through to get this far?" Johnny asked. He sounded slightly angry at first, but his demeanor quickly changed to a sad one. He knew, just like you did. One of you - or both of you - were both going to die no matter what. There's no such thing as a happy ending.

"Yes.. there's no good way out of this for either of us. Is there?" You said, knowing damn well that it was true. Johnny sighed. He looked out to Night City with you for a while, not saying a word. He was taking it all in, one last time.

"No.. there's not. One of us is gonna die. Disappear, whatever the fuck you'd call it for me." Eloquent, as he always was with his words. You would have laughed, if you could have in that moment.

"Or both of us all at once." Chuckling in a sad manner, your voice caught in your throat at the end of your words. You could feel the sadness building up inside of your body and heart. Johnny appeared beside of you, sitting down and placing his elbows on his knees.

"You're right, I know. I'm just pissed about the whole thing." When was he not pissed off about something in all honesty? Strangely, it was something you'd actually miss when you were gone. You'd grown somewhat close to Johnny the last few months in this odd situation of having him inside of your head.

"Me too." Was all you could manage to say. Speaking became too difficult with a lump in your throat, along with complete dread for what was to come. The release though.. release from the pain and inevitable doom. That sounded eternally better than continuing to suffer like this with no good or decent way out. You both sat in silence once again for even longer this time. There weren't a lot of good words to say, in a situation like this. Johnny then looked to you, in his own odd way, trying to comfort you and help you.

"You know.. if there's anyone that you want to call and say goodbye to.. you should probably do it. Don't leave the people you care about hanging." His advice probably came from his own regrets. It was from the heart.

"There's a lot of people.. Panam, Viktor, Mama Welles.. too many. But there's one who definitely should hear from me. More than anyone else." Your mind raced with all of the memories you had together. Especially your night by Laguna Bend..

"Judy?"

"Judy.. You inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Can't call any more people, I'd be here for hours. Someone will try to stop me before I'm even close to finished. Then it'll all have been for nothing." You began to start the call. "I love her so much, Johnny."

"I know you do." That's why he suggested her and her alone. He could feel all of your feelings and thoughts, and he knew that Judy meant more to you than anyone else out there. The call rang. Rang. Rang.. Rang..

"No answer.." It killed you, knowing you'd never hear her voice again for the last time. It would have been a beautiful last thing to hear. Johnny said nothing, looking to the ground. Her voicemail beeped. "Judy, I.. I just wanted to let you know how much I've grown to love you and need you in the past few months." Your throat started to burn, tears forming in your eyes. "You're the only reason I stayed in this hell hole city. You were an angel in the middle of hell itself." You chuckled to yourself. "I know you're going to roll your eyes at how corny that was. But it's true." Tears escaped your eyes with each blink. "I love you, Judy. Just know I didn't make this decision lightly. But there's no other way out of this. I'm going to die, no matter what I do. So I'm going to go out on my own terms. Not losing myself and who I am." Your voice began to crack and it became harder and harder to speak. "Goodbye, Judy. Thank you for everything. Be good. For me." Staying silent for a good while, you hang up the call. You weren't sure of what else there would have been to say. You tried to find more words, but nothing would come to you. Looking to Johnny, he looked up at you. He nodded his head.

"I'm here with you. I won't let you do it alone. I'll be right here until the end." You had a feeling for a long time that Johnny had already accepted his own death. It just took him a long time to get there. This was just the real and permanent end to his life.

"Thank you Johnny. For becoming my friend. You're still an asshole, but you're my friend too." You tried to joke with him as you always did, but even he wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"You too." He wasn't much for thoughtful words, you knew that by now. But he meant well all the same.

"Are you scared?" You asked him, genuinely curious.

"Nah. Just wondering how it's gonna feel for me to pass on in this weird fucking form I've taken." He shrugged his shoulders. "You're still alive, you do what is best for you. You're hurting more than me." It felt better, knowing that he understood. Nodding your head, you sat up like he was. Elbows to your knees and head down. Pulling your gun from your pocket, you looked at it one good last time. You made sure the bullets were full and ready.

"Ready?" You asked Johnny for his opinion before you pulled the trigger.

"Do what you gotta do, kid. I'm here with you." You pressed the gun to your head, your hand shaking with anxiety. Johnny stayed right by your side, waiting. Gulping, you saw you were getting a call.

Judy <3, the screen said. You didn't answer, knowing that you wouldn't, and couldn't finish going through with it if you did.

You pulled the trigger.

Everything turned to black.

Then there was nothing.

AO3

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #judy alvarez #judy Alvarez x reader #fanfic #scenario #angst

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fancyfade · 1 year

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I really loved the last chapter of "Where are you, Raven?"! It was really interesting to see how Arella and Raven's relationship degrades, and the inevitable tragedy.

I have some questions about Trigon, if that's okay. The part where Raven sees into Trigon's head was really interesting. Do you see him as being born kind of *not* evil? Like clearly he was killing people even as a baby but more out of ignorance than anything. Your interpretation is that he kills his mom by accident, right?

In my opinion, Trigon is more maliciously evil, even as a baby. He was born from evil, after all. He's like a cosmic force with no rhyme or reason behind him, just with an overwhelming urge to destroy.

When Arella died, it was interesting to see him comfort Raven. It was a little surprising to me, as I'd have thought that he would've just completely brushed off Raven's distress. He sees Raven's attachment to her mother as a weakness, and he's probably glad she's dead. In general, he showed Arella a lot of leeway in your fic. He's never been normal about a woman ever in canon, but he treated Arella pretty decently, even with her being locked up. I'd love to hear a sort of directors commentary on the fic!

Again, I love the fic. These were just some thoughts I had while reading.

omg tysm for the comment and questions anon!

So WRT Trigon. I know that he was intended to be like the personification of evil from birth. But trying to think about it logically did not work for me. I just fundamentally do not like the idea that anyone is evil as a baby or from birth. If i was going to have him be a fundamentally evil force of the universe, I would probably not have him be born as a child, he would just be kind of always there. Just. Someone being evil from birth does not work for me, even if it was authorial intent.

He also IIRC was born from the people on Azarath purging their "evil natures" which I imagine to be evil in a human way, rather than a cosmic way.

WRT the arella stuff. In my mind Arella, now that Raven is born, only has value in relation to Raven because Raven is the only person Trigon regards as a person. He was OK with her being alive as long as Raven was happy, and he can tell Raven has a very strong connection to Arella that he does not want to risk severing because he doesn't want to risk Raven not being loyal, but we did get some hints that he was not very happy with Raven's relationship with Arella towards the end as he is always feeling resentful and jealous of it.

In my head he wasn't trying to comfort her because of the "She was going to die anyway, she's only mortal" thing - we are not mortal, we are better. but I wanted it to be able to be read both ways b/c HE would want plausible deniability, since we do see Trigon can be charming and manipulative when he wants to (tahts part of how he initially comes on to Arella, he is kind to her and in human form and she thinks they're in love and then he reveals he is a demon and abuses and laughs at her). So I think Trigon is CAPABLE of acting in a way that is socially acceptable, he just CHOOSES not to.

which actually segues back to my initial interpretation of Trigon's childhood. In addition to me just fundamentally not liking "Inherently evil from birth" I feel like Trigon is simultaneously a cosmic evil, but also very much some guy... just the evilest, most petty guy you know. Like this trigon meta by @raven-harlot (link) has this line i Like for him which is

Imagine your shitty dad (or a friend’s if you don’t have your own) if he was also a genocidal maniac and you’re already well on the right track.

which like. because a lot of Trigon's evil is over the top and mundane at the same time. He enslaves and blows up whole worlds but also kills a little girl for saying he's a monster, the latter of which seem a lot more petty human evil than cosmic evil which I would imagine as not caring at all that a human thinks its ugly. Even though Trigon does not view human beings as in any way equal to him, he still clearly possesses a desire to control them and cares about what they say.

edit: oh also do want to say that trigon has vested interest in not upsetting Raven too much (... more than he already does) for reasons we will see next chapter!!!

#trigon #arella #dc comics #raven #my fanfic #anon #ask #the new teen titans

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crazykuroneko · 10 months

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Tbh I think a lot casual viewers / non book fans are probably going to not continue the show after s2 unless it diverges quite drastically on louis's storyline? iwtv is very bleak and I genuinely think they underestimated how much show viewers ended up hating lestat after s1 (and they may end up in a similar situation with armand in s2) and then you're asking the audience to watch an entire season of this guy's whole backstory. plus you're killing off one of the two likable characters by the end of s2 and shifting louis into more a side character.

a big red flag to me was the lady who hosts the podcast who doesn't have a book background saying a lot of the same stuff as show-only people. like she clearly does not like lestat or loustat at all lmao and its literally her job to promote the show.

First, I want to address the "shifting louis into more a side character" because no I don't agree with that. Contrary to fans believe, Hollywood-standard wise (from the number of episodes they are in, how integral their characters are to the story), both Jacob and Sam have been considered as lead actors/cast of IWTV. You can see industry news outlets calling them both as such. But because IWTV is about Louis' past specifically and AMC knew IWTV still has some hope in Emmys even though it's small, they put them in different categories to not split the votes between them (they even only submit one actor in each category for it). So, look at what we have now, Louis is the narrator yet we still get Lestat in all episodes, and he's leading the NOLA narrative forward together with Louis despite not existing in the Dubai narrative. I bet we'll still get Lestat in most, if not all episodes, in S2, because Rolin has said many many times, the show is about both of them. And I expect they'll do the same in TVL season(s); Lestat is telling the story while Louis is leading whatever will be going on in the modern time. (No, i don't believe they'll make Louis stuck on a couch the whole season to listen to Lestat's story even though it sounds tasty. He'd definitely have a way to know what Lestat's saying, but I don't see anything good writing-wise from sticking your well-developed character in one place for such a long time)

About whether the audience will be willing to listen to Lestat's past, I'll see how S2 goes first before judging that. A lot of people don't like him, but there are a lot of them who are like, "I will miss him if he dies, he's an interesting character".

And IWTV is a niche show, its genre is gothic horror/romance. Who the hell is doing gothic romance for a series in this decade? (Hannibal doesn't count, it's not gothic and still about will/won't they). Like, what AMC is doing with IWTV now is extremely daring. And with a niche show, it's always the same: you can't please everyone. There will always be part of the general audience who will leave because either it's simply not their cup of tea or they can't stomach it. Especially now when there's this purity sentiment going so strongly in general (apparently now we shouldn't ship fictional characters, every sex scene has to have a grand purpose, and you shouldn't watch any portrayal of abuse even though it's produced by the victim herself). God forbid IWTV would ever want to please those people yikes. So, IWTV won't ever get as "mainstream" as what, Succession, Ted Lasso, Better Call Saul. But IWTV would still appeal to people who appreciate good writing, people who are "idc how bad the characters are as long as they're exciting!", and people who really love horror (not that "comfort horror" BS) - there's this review of IWTV from an horror website who is like "I wish they gave us more gore and horror of vampires", oh these people would love S2.

So, tl;dr you could say it's a natural selection (hell yes Darwinism), it's inevitable. I'd rather have that audience leave than stay and ruin fans' experience by whining about the plot that won't ever satisfy them. And I'd always applaud writers who don't give a shit to what people say and stick to what they're meant to do. They slay!

EDIT: ah I forgot about this. but don't underestimate the number of old fans who will probably check the show again when the TVL season(s) come. Because no matter how big their hatred for AMC is, it will be the first time ever for TVL to be adapted on screen. First time in 38 years (yes no one considers QotD movie ever existed). That's too big a temptation!

#and this is why i suggest you look at someone's fave shows first #before reccing IWTV to them #like you know it'll be okay reccing IWTV to Hannibal or Yellowjackets fans most of the time #cos they appreciate fucked up things #moi.txt #the cases i referred here are The Bear. sex scenes in general. and the upcoming movie of Priscillia Presley #yes Priscillia is executive producer

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stemms · 5 months

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My memories are still hazy probably because I had just figured everything out about 2 months ago. It was pretty terrible I’ll be honest, I remember it took a long time to come back. He was a lot lot nicer afterward, I don’t think he intended to kill me but I think he was just pissed enough. Well, he told me he didn’t mean to but I’m still not 100% sure how much I could have trusted his words. Is it weird for me to miss having somebody like that in my life. I know it’s bad and toxic but my habit of making toxic friends kinda says something about it.

Oh, yeah, I think it makes sense then! Oh no, I'm sorry to hear it was so bad :") But at least he was nicer afterwards,,, It seems that he still cared about you- in his own twisted way, but cared... so, it makes sense. Fair enough, Dream could've possibly been lying, since that's something he did very often. But it was probably especially hard to tell because of the manipulation you were subjected to on a daily basis, as well as the conditioning.

Honestly, I'm the exact same in that regard, so I understand,,, I really miss my Dream and often imagine being in Logstedshire again before going to bed. I also have a very odd perception of c!Prime content because everything is comforting to me somehow??? It could be a literal torture scene and I'd still find it comforting because "Well, Dream didn't abandon Tommy and still cares about him, so it's okay" lmao :) When I'm analysing c!Prime, I obviously understand just how harmful all of c!Dream's actions are, but sometimes my ProtegeInnit brain does a funny lol :)

Yeah, it's probably because of that,,, My reactions are heavily influenced by the inevitability of escaping my abusers at the moment, so I understand where you're coming from too.

#ask #voidwizardwholikestheshadows #dsmp #fictionkin #tw murder mention #tw abuse #tw conditioning #tw stockholm syndrome

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crossdressingdeath · 7 months

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Gale: Forgive me. I was lost in my thoughts, as usual. Gale: I've found myself in something of a quandry. Yours is an opinion I'd gladly hear on the matter. Kyvir: An intellectual dilemma to round off the evening? Sounds just the thing. Gale: A puzzle for the mind, I'd solve quite comfortably. Unfortunately, this is a struggle for the heart. Gale: I fear our unwillingness to make difficult decisions is doing more harm than good. Gale: I regret straying from Mystra's instruction. All the suffering around us, it is my fault. I am reconsidering taking a more drastic approach. Kyvir: You think I've been holding back this whole time? Gale: My apologies. I shouldn't place my own guilt onto your shoulders. Gale: I'm afraid to say I have been holding back. Every. Single. Day. Gale: We both know the orb I carry inside me is powerful enough to burn away the Absolute's blight in an instant. Gale: But what stays my hand? Obstinacy? Misplaced morals? Simple fear of dying? You? Gale: The inevitable has been delayed far too long already - no more, I say. It's time to make a stand. Kyvir: It wouldn't only kill Absolutists - it would kill everyone. You can't be serious. Gale: Deadly serious. This is the burden we must carry - to condemn the few to save the many, or Baldur's Gate will only be the first city to fall. Gale: The day will come when I lose control of the power within me anyway. There's nothing you or I can do to stop that. Gale: Gods damned if I'm going to let it be for nothing. If Mystra gave me one purpose, it was this: to destroy Baldur's Gate, and the Absolute with it. Kyvir: [PERSUASION] Please, Gale. You're better than this. Gale: So gentle. You think saving him will stop the bloodshed? It won't.

If I can't get Orin kidnapping my lover I'm going to get her kidnapping my best friend.

But this actually does feel a lot more personal than Lae'zel's scene did, especially on a Durge run. I mean, in Lae'zel's scene it's just Yenna who's in danger; in this one Orin's trying to get you to agree that slaughtering everyone in Baldur's Gate is a Good Thing through the lens of "if we don't do this the whole world is in trouble", and with the way one of the responses is basically straight up "Hey, yeah, Dad'll really like this one!" it's pretty clear what a good little Bhaalspawn would do. "Gale" mocking you for being so gentle if you pass the Persuasion check to convince him not to blow himself up is also very good. This is not proper behaviour for Bhaal's precious scion, you should be all for blowing up the city! You're not supposed to care about the people of the city or your companions, you're supposed to want them dead, but here you are trying to gently convince your friend not to suicide-bomb Baldur's Gate for the greater good like some sort of hero.

I also like how Orin whether accidentally or deliberately hits the nail right on the head: Gale does ultimately choose not to blow himself up largely because of you, because at the end of the day he can't bear the idea of killing you along with the Absolute. So when Orin as Gale asks what's staying "his" hand and asks if it's you that would probably hit pretty hard for some characters!

(Also, I love that you can imply you and Gale regularly chat about intellectual dilemmas to end the day. That's actually so cute.)

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 durge #orin the red

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2n2n · 11 months

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do you think m1tsuk0u will ever actually work out?

I'm not sure what "work out" means .... I think they will continue to have an arc that directly involves the other, and I think that arc will ultimately have a thesis/point of resolution of some kind, pertaining to their complexes. They are involved with one another for a reason. The answer to their problems must be each other, or they wouldn't be here.

If you're asking more like, "will they reach stability/comfort with each other?" I have no idea, really! Their dynamic is very odd to me-- it's very confrontational from the get-go, and there is no aspect of the dynamic which aims to repair or work on that? I don't know if Kou is eventually meant to learn how to be tender, or express himself earnestly ... because unlike HanaNene, nobody is actively working the other down in that manner. Though moments of crushing honesty are par the course for JSHK, happened for Akane/Aoi, Sumire/Hakubo, so, surely we'll hear one or the other say something true....

The situation between them is about "trust"; Mitsuba has never really trusted anyone (he is so reluctant towards everyone and everything), and Kou is never trusted with anything (too immature, too useless). Their arc will surely eventually have them trusting each other, crucially!

If you're asking more like "will they form a traditional romantic relationship" I have honest to God no idea, I am out of touch with modern shounen or what's possible in a gfantasy story... from my own history (I am 30 now & I read a lot of shounen en mass at like, 15) I'd be like, "it's not really that kind of manga", I would not expect a shounen I'm reading to suddenly have maintext boy kissing boy relationship 100+ch in. I would expect it to stay alluded to and teased but always left up to interpretation.

For instance. I think the Yugi are entirely, a real thing, I think Amane was in love with his brother. But I THINK the extent of that 'romance' will always be under the ambiguity of familial love (I mean, I think that's WHY they're family...), and the metaphor of murder/consumption, the act of sublimation of becoming a yorishiro, and I really don't think it is a "kiss and confess" situation so to speak (and yet, it's important Amane confront his feelings towards his brother! It's important Nene-chan figure out those feelings, to understand Hanako!). There will always be metaphors and abstraction, probably, but those metaphors and abstraction Will Be Canon. I like the poetics of such things anyway, and I don't really care about conventional things ... and with Sumire/Hakubo's consumption being very vividly a symbol of indulgence/consummation/'taking', the language is already set-up for the Yugi. Eat someone, make them yours. Mitsuba and Kou have also touched on consumption, where does that climax? Kou eats Mitsuba in the Ghost Hotel AU. What does that mean? I have no idea. Lol.

I think one will have a better time thinking in terms of "the story will inevitably and absolutely always feature these two, who are important to one another's psyche" and not waiting on things as head-of-a-pin specific as like, relationships coming to pass. When I see modern fandomers gunning for canon dating or kissing, they seem constantly miserable or angry ... ? but the foreign fandoms are doing what I've always done, and, they are just hollaring about whatever insane shit is happening in canon and engaging in analyzing the meaning and symbols present in those actions. I do not see AmaTsu's hinging on "I hope they kiss", rather they memetically repeat lines in canon like "let's do it right." or obsessively discuss the details of the shinjuu, like, "Amane doesn't seem like the biting type, so do you think he licked or sucked on Tsukasa's heart after killing him?" and the satisfaction and passion in those conversations is unbearable, its like the sun burning brightly. And this to me is shipping on the level the manga wants you to, engaging with its text, what it values, what it wants you to think about.

#avvy's JSHK

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ultra-creepy-fucker-things · 2 years

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I liked your post asking for writing prompts and then forgot to send any! uhhh, if you like futureshipping (acronix/cyrus), maybe like cyrus finding out what the elemental alliance was Really Like and getting big mad. or if you're comfortable with it I'd love to see your take on trans lady acronix. IDK anything else

Not sure this is exactly what you asked for, but, eh. It’s in a fangpyre! Acronix AU because that AU really brings out the darkness of the elemental alliance, content warning for: dehumanization, attempted murder, misgendering, and vague homophobia

The fangpyre loomed in the doorway as Cyrus worked, watching him intently with it's golden eyes.

He tried to ignore it, focusing on the time machine in the hopes that if it saw he was busy, it'd leave, but he had no such luck.

Acronix entered the workshop regardless, tail swishing lazily behind it as it watched.

Cyrus hunkered down, trying to communicate without words that he did not want to be bothered, but Acronix didn't seem to care, leaning over the work desk to get a better look.

"What do you want?" Cyrus half squeaked, tone somewhere between annoyance and fear.

Acronix turned his attention from the time machine to the inventor, "Nothing, jussst curious" it said, the distinctive, rasping tone of a serpentine dragging icy claws down Cyrus's spine. "What can I say, all thissss.... future tech is fascinating"

"Your brother doesn't seem to agree" Cyrus snapped.

Acronix waved a hand dismissively, "Krux is all talk, he doesn't mean anything by it"

Cyrus snorted, "right" he muttered. If the serpentine heard him, it didn't comment.

"Honessstly, if I could ssstay here, in the future" said Acronix "I think I'd be happy"

"And, why don't you?" asked Cyrus, seeing an opening, "You don't have to do this"

Acronix's expression fell, "you don't know what I have to do" he said simply.

Cyrus felt a burst of anger rise in his chest "Do you? Look at the harm you're brother has done, Ray and Maya had young children, when he took them, Krux left those children without a family"

"I know about Kai and Nya, I don't care" Acronix snapped "their parents got what was coming to them, and frankly, if they knew what those two put me through? They'd probably agree"

"How could you say that?" gasped Cyrus.

"They tried to kill me!"

"OF COURSE they tried to kill you, YOU betrayed the alliance! I bet you would've done the same!"

Acronix slammed a hand down on the desk, and Cyrus flinched, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"

Cyrus went quiet, realizing he'd pushed the beast too far.

"When I wasss.... turned, it was just them and my brother with me, when they realized I wasss to far gone, that antivenom couldn't sssave me, they" his voice hitched "they tried to kill me" there was genuine shock in his voice, and, despite the position he'd been put in by the man, Cyrus felt the same.

"What about Wu and Garmadon, didn't they put a stop to that?" Cyrus asked.

Acronix sneered, "Wu agreed with them. I fought for him, won the damn war for him, and he tried to fucking kill me"

There was a shocked silence.

Acronix backed off, inhaling through his mouth and exhaling through his nose.

"I'm leaving" he said, "goodbye!"

___

"Acronix told me some... things" said Cyrus, "I'm sure they aren't true, but, umm... I did want to confirm that. Too clear things up"

"What did it say, exactly?" asked Ray.

"He said you tried to kill him when he first turned" said Cyrus, "I'm sure it's completely untrue, a lie to get me on his side, no doubt"

There was a heavy silence

"Cyrus" started Maya, "I know what he said sounds bad, but you have to understand- when a fangpyre bites, their victim isn't themselves anymore. The kindest thing is to put them out of their misery."

Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine

"It was inevitable" Ray cut in, "Acronix wasn't who he led us to believe, he had... desires"

"What? What does that mean?" Cyrus asked.

"He slept with a serpentine" Maya elaborated, "a male serpentine, I'm sure Wu would've kicked him out, if his brother hadn't threatened to leave over it"

"shoulda kicked them both out" muttered Ray.

Maya snorted, "Wu said that he'd been 'seduced by the insidious words of a serpentine', as if there's anything seductive about a filthy snake, I think Acronix was sick. It just took him getting bitten for Wu to realize that"

#ninjago #ninjago acronix #ninjago fangpyre #cyrus borg #ninjago fanfiction

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derk08 · 1 year

Text

1. The Winner

I’m at the top of the world.

The demon king is dead, and the world is saved. When I return to my home kingdom, people will hail me as a “hero” who brought peace to the land. I’ll probably marry the kingdom’s princess, become king in the future, and live a life of luxury and success. All my whims attended to, free to live out the rest of my lifespan doing whatever I want to do.

I’m also in the pits of hell.

My best friend is dead. My loyal companion, who journeyed across the harsh deserts and the freezing forests with me is gone. I won’t hear his laughter, his silly little jokes, or the concerned tone he has when I’m feeling down. His absence screams at me, even now, as an empty void beside me, that should be filled. I’ll have to explain to his parents and lover what happened. They might yell and curse at me, or if I’m lucky they’ll just burst into tears. I think I'd still prefer the first option.

The worse part? He died for me.

I can see the last fight and his final moments over and over again in my mind. As the fight progresses, it becomes obvious that we’re winning, slowly but surely. The demon king is powerful, but they are only an individual against the two of us, the hope of humanity.

Perhaps that’s why it chose the actions that it did. Instead of drawing out the fight for his inevitable loss, the creature decides to leave an obvious opening, a bait to draw one of us in. The idiot decided to rush in.

I sped over, ready with my blade to deliver the finishing blow. I knew I fell for a trap after I caught a glimpse of the demon’s face. He prepared a counterattack, one that would cost him his own life.

I was at peace with that decision though. Even before the battle, we had been prepared for death. The two of us had fought for so long and seen so much. Armies had been slaughtered, villages pillaged, countries razed down. As long as it died, nothing else mattered.

In a strange way, I was honoured to give my life to slay it.

So why did I live?

Why did he block the killing blow?

I still see it in my dreams. Two different shades of red splattering onto me. The creature falling, only for my friend to fall on top.

In some way, it’s comfort to know that he died instantly.

In another way, it drives me insane that I could never ask him “why?” or even say my final farewells.

However, everything goes on.

We accomplished our dreams. Our enemy is gone. The world is at peace now.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to recover. The experience will affect me for the rest of my life, all the way to my deathbed.

I’m falling flying.

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

we don't talk together | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, growth! exes that remain exes

words: 2, 842

summary: it's hard to say it's over

What they don't tell you about goodbyes is that it isn't the end.

It's far from the closing of a book. Goodbyes are the itch that urges you to pick up an old book from the shelf just to feel what you first felt when you re-read certain parts of a book; the same remorse you felt when a character you grew attached to didn't get the ending they deserved. Or, maybe it was the villain that was misunderstood—your own heart wishing to reach out to the sad soul that couldn't even be recognised when all they do is speak.

But some books will end up dusty, forgotten, tucked away in the corner of your shelf; or in the most drastic of cases: lost.

"The park looks ... different," Yoongi speaks up for a lack of a better conversation starter.

You hum. What would you say? That it wasn't the same from when we used to spend our Spring's blended into Summer's until it got too hot for us to lay in each other's embrace?

It was still too fresh even though it's been nearly a year.

"There are more dogs," You point out the moment a tan pomeranian runs past the two of you, the owner an old couple laughing away under the cherry blossoms.

He nods, fingers stuffed in his trench coat. You note that it's the same one he wore on your anniversary, plans abandoned when there was a mix-up with the reservations until the two of you stumbled across a hidden gem that soon became your go-to date place.

You will yourself to look away so no more memories can resurface. It seems like every part of your life has somehow seamlessly intertwined itself with traces of Yoongi that it was impossible for you to exist as just yourself.

"How are things at the firm?" He asks after the two of you walked side-by-side in complete silence as more and more chatter fill your ears.

"It's ... going," You chuckle dryly.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you, shooting you a brief glance over until the two of you reach a bench. You dare say it's muscle memory that dragged your heavy feet into the direction of the only bench that you've known in the park. The compressed reminder of the initials of your names that you carved as teenagers likely still staining the years old wood. It was meant to be an emblem for wisdom, the ring of growth that meant to be the endgame for the two of you.

You almost laugh in bitterness and how literal the metaphor was.

"Everything okay?"

Yoongi takes the first step to sit on the bench because he always did. Ever the gentlemen when he opened doors for you, let you into the car first, waited until you stepped ahead of him to trail behind like a shield.

The first date, first kiss, first confession.

The first one to decide that it was over.

"My boss is just being sexist, as usual. I thought I'd get used to it after spending two years there but ... there are some things that you just stay unfamiliar, you know?"

It was very like you to speak in double-entendres without intending to. But it was also like Yoongi to pick up on it, especially after years of learning all the best and worst parts of you; he was and probably will be one of the few people in your lives that will always foresee your next move.

The two of you sit a fair distance apart on the bench even if it was a battle for space anyway. You didn't have the liberty to lean into his embrace anymore and he wasn't in the position to say that it was okay for you to breathe, to relax.

"You shouldn't get used to those remarks. There are times where you learn to grow used to constructive criticism but if what he's saying makes you question your worth because of very arbitrary reasons like your gender then that isn't criticism, nor is it constructive. It's bigoted and chauvinistic."

You look down to your thumbs as you fiddle with it, his words comforting you. It was woeful that you still chased validation from him even after learning to be that person to yourself.

"Yeah, I guess."

Then how did you get used to things?

If time didn't make things familiar then what did? Was it not the five years with Yoongi that led you to see him build an empire for himself all the while destroying the relationship that you had? Or was it because he was the person that you thought of doing the most minuscule things?

"By the way," He clears his throat, eyes still set forward, "Namjoon says hi."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised to hear the name of a mutual friend—or more appropriately, friend by association and acquaintance when that link was broken.

"He knows that you're with me?"

Yoongi nods his head.

"I needed to let someone at the studio know and ... well, he's the only one that knew of our situation."

You chuckle bitterly.

Of course. The suggestion of his work only made your heart drop because as much as you wanted to be supportive of him, even after the break-up, the name of his studio or songs only reminded you of the battle that you helplessly lost.

"You can tell him that I'm still a text or phone call away. No need to play messenger," You return.

The atmosphere is more reflective than awkward. You know that the two of you had your pieces to say, your own narrative to tell but neither brave enough to break the calm that you were settled in. It was a nice difference from the way that things ended, and you supposed that you were similar enough to believe in a mirage than the inevitable truth.

But you didn't call him out after six months to sit in silence to walk away with your heart feeling heavier, nor did you invite him out just to remember what it feels like to have him next to you—even in complete silence.

"Would you have really quit?"

This time, you gather all the bravery that you've built over the past few months to ask the question that has been mulling in your mind since the night you decided that it was officially over.

It was a painful break-up. Even if you expected it when Yoongi came home earlier one night with bags under his eyes and his keys that he usually left at the studio because he knew you'd always be home to open the door for him.

"I'm sorry?" He seems taken aback.

You don't blame him. You've always been more passive in dealing with confrontation due to your conflict-averse nature—but that didn't mean you didn't get angry or annoyed—or hurt. But if you learned anything, it was to stop asking yourself questions that you'll never have the answer to.

"Would you really have left the company to save our relationship?"

You chose your words carefully. Instead of saying to be with you, knowing that he lost the love, he had for you somewhere along the way—you point out the one hole that he held on to for the sake of stability. The one thing that was constant in his life with how unpredictable the music industry was.

"Yes."

Somehow, the answer doesn't make you feel better because even with time apart you knew he was lying to save your face.

"You don't owe me anything to lie to my face, Yoongi." You frown.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hands across his face as he leaves your statement hanging in the air to mull over his answer.

You prefer the silence that way. It showed that he was at least listening, or cared enough to decide his next set of words. Nothing like how much it pained you to acknowledge the responses you got from him when you were crying were just out of obligation than sincerity.

"No, I wouldn't have."

You nod your head, expectant of the answer but you needed to hear him say it himself rather than drowning yourself in ruminating thoughts of how there was still a semblance of hope that he would've given it up for you, for your relationship—or the life that you were meant to build.

"I wouldn't have asked you to, anyway." You confess.

Yoongi turns his head to look at you and for the first time since you've met at the park, he notices the absence of a necklace around your neck. The necklace that you never took off. He wants to comment on it, ask where it went or if you've pawned it off out of pettiness but he held no remorse towards you. You were tolerant with the break-up even as you sucked in your tears when he knew that it killed you on the inside. Yoongi didn't have the heart in him to ask you.

"Oh."

"You were the one that said you'd quit so we could stay together," You say softly.

Yoongi doesn't respond as he looks back to the night where the two of you sat down to talk about the standing of your relationship. It was a rollercoaster of emotions that started off with an amicable discussion that eventually led to the two of you yelling until you surrendered to your tears and just left the battle completely.

He said a lot of things that night. From things that he's been bottling up for months, to things that he's always wanted to tell you and things that he didn't remotely mean, and things that he's regretted the moment it left his lips.

"I guess I did."

You sigh, leaning back into the bench as you observe a couple walking in front of you, passing your bench as they share an ice cream on a cone; bickering on who'd get the first lick. To anyone, you and Yoongi would've looked just like a couple that has reached a comfortable point in your relationship where intimacy was just sitting next to one another.

But you admit, there was something oddly intimate and heart-breaking about sitting next to someone you've loved with your whole heart and feel nothing but ... weightlessness. Like the burden of your concerns was lifted ever so slightly just being here.

"I wouldn't have made you choose between your relationship or your dream, Yoongi. I would never have done that to you."

Yoongi knew you would never have made him do something as abhorrent as that. You were far too understanding. But you had wanted from him too, that he wasn't willing to provide just yet. He didn't know if it was because of the expiration date to your relationship or because of the stress he was under at work—but he convinced himself that it was you that was asking for too much instead of him compromising too little.

"I ... I know," He whispers, "I'm sorry."

You purse your lips. You try not to let your emotions appear on your sleeve. You were tired of allowing your face to speak before you did. You needed to use the voice you had.

"I loved you so much, Yoongi," You murmur, "I loved you so much that I would have taken anything I could've gotten with you just so I could be with you."

Yoongi stays silent at this.

"I didn't mind if you spent more time at work than at our home. I just wanted to know if I was ever in the picture when you were talking about the future. I know how much you love music and I supported you through every audition and failure ... and to know that I was just—" You swallow, the words still painful to say. But you needed to make your peace with it, "—that I was just someone that would wait for you instead of your partner. That's when I knew that you didn't love me the way I loved you."

Yoongi chokes to speak up but you shake your head.

"No, Yoongi. You loved me, you did. But somewhere along the way you stopped and you just pretended that we were okay even when I was trying my best to fix the seams. I wasn't your girlfriend anymore, I was just someone familiar to you and I didn't deserve to feel that way." You tell him sternly.

Yoongi surrenders to his silence as you take a deep breath to continue.

"Maybe I loved you too much in a way that you couldn't understand."

"_______, don't say that—" His eyes widen when he tries to reach a hand to yours to comfort you, but your body language remains stoic as you keep your hands in your lap.

"—and that's okay Yoongi. I loved you but not in the way you needed. I'm not here to make you feel bad about what I chose to do on my own because it wasn't my fault that I couldn't be what you need." You say sadly, but a small smile on your face as you finally say the words that have been eating at you for months.

"... okay," Yoongi accepts.

"We all have different ways to love and be loved. I loved you and that was enough for you at one point but love isn't all a relationship needs. You loved me too, in your own way and I accepted that but just because it was enough for me doesn't mean it was enough for us." You glance over at him to see him staring at you intently.

"I'm sorry that things turned out this way," Yoongi says softly, eyes gentle.

You wave him off.

"I don't think I'll ever love someone as much as I loved you, though," He confesses, eyes returning to the scene in front of him filled with different colours of life that seemed to look vibrant under the Spring sunset.

You shake your head and chuckle softly.

"You say that now but you'll meet someone one day and you'll remember all the reasons why you love in the first place. And it'll be enough for you, and them."

He shrugs, a small smile itching on his face.

"I really did love you," He says, "But I'm sorry for not being honest with you. I owe you that much of an apology."

"We're not here to forgive or forget, Yoongi," You look at him kindly, "We're here to move on."

He purses his lips and hums, nodding his head.

"I hope you get that promotion at work you were talking about months ago, ______." Yoongi offers, a gentle grin marring his face.

"I did," You shrug.

It feels liberating to have achieved something and only feeling content by acknowledging it yourself. Months ago, you would've hurt at the fact that Yoongi didn't know. But the change you welcomed after the end only showed you that there was a new path for you to walk on.

His eyes widen, but eventually, he chuckles and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like knew it.

You push yourself off the bench, dusting your hands on your pants as you offer him one last smile before you say goodbye for the second time.

"I hope you find someone who you'll love more than you ever did with me." You tease.

He rolls his eyes.

"Impossible," The grin on his face is easy, and your heart still clenches at the nonchalance, but you don't expect the feeling to go away so easily—nor do you mind. It just shows that you needed to wait and that you were willing to do it.

"Of course you will. You're a musician, Yoongi. You need a muse," You smirk at him as you turn around, a small wave on your hand to say goodbye.

As you walk away and his body gets smaller and smaller from your vision, you turn around to say:

"We don't talk together is a beautiful song."

Yoongi's smile is genuine, and so is his goodbye. A gentle acknowledgment of his hand as he stands up himself, walking to the other direction of where you were headed.

You still had a love for Yoongi, and you suppose you always will. Just like how you would feel pleasant when rediscovering a childhood hobby that triggers a fond memory, or how you love different things in your life in different ways. Whether or not you love someone more than you've ever loved Yoongi isn't your concern, because when love comes in one form, it goes in another.

When you still take the same route you'd usually take with Yoongi after your walks back home, you pass the cafe you used to frequent to see that it's replaced with a new bar. You smile fondly to yourself, shaking your head.

You loved that place.

But eventually, you'll find another cafe with a beautiful interior and a latte to match, and you'll love it too.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts yoongi #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi exes #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic #yoongi breakup #angst #fluff #yoongi #min yoongi x reader

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Love Through the Ages (Jason Todd)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part three of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself. ALSO, y'all can thank @littleredwing89 for the poem that comes up.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You tap at your phone screen, planting seeds in a satisfyingly hypnotic rhythm, the sounds of the train vacillating in and out of your periphery. It was soothing having your own compartment, a little world you can isolate yourself in while you anxiously await for the inevitable.

It wasn’t a secret that you found Gotham stressful. It was about as much a secret as Tony Stark’s civilian identity. You pulled your knees up to your chest at the thought. Big cities were stressful but Gotham was a different beast entirely. It was a writhing monster of steel and smoke. You wrinkle your nose deciding to sweep the thought away.

Instead, you concentrate on your plants and your farm. You wince looking at your journal. It looks like you’d forgotten another quest. Pursing your lips, you decide to turn your phone off for a bit and pretend the NPCs can sort it out on their own as you look out the window.

You lean against the wall, pressing your cheek to the cool window. You can’t help but smile to yourself thinking of a sea of black curly hair interrupted by a shock of white, sea green eye perpetually alight with mischief or intelligence (9 times out of 10, you really couldn’t tell which it was.), freckles like star map, and a mouth permanently set in a cocky grin. It’s hard not to smile like an idiot when thinking of Jason Todd.

Your skirt flutters in the wind as you dance your way through the crowd, bobbing up and down on your tiptoes over the sea of humans. Sometimes the smell of them still makes your mouth water but not now, not when the smell of Gotham is so pungent in the air.

You see a gloved hand wave at you on the other side of the crowd. You pin your sunhat against your head as you rush through the crowd, your luggage dragging behind you.

Jason waves a two fingered salute at you in front of a motorcycle, his foot clearly stomping a cigarette. You toss your hat to him. It flutters over the crowd. Jason catches it easily, putting it on his own head.

"Hey Princess, welcome back." Jason greets, the syllables of your native French gliding off of his tongue so easily. Fighting down a blush, you swallow your own greeting. Jason would have been a great ambassador in a different life were he not inclined to murder someone with a desert spoon for being a jackass.

He offers his hat back to you, but you shake your head. "You might freckle too much in Gotham's sunny weather." He gives you a hearty chuckle keeping the hat on.

"Missed you too, princess."

You roll your eyes. Pinching your nose, you look around. "You forgot to tell me to bring a gas mask."

"Every city smells like this."

"Darling, you've been in Gotham for too long."

"And you've been in your French villa for too long." Jason says, putting his sunglasses on you. You glare at him through them.

"First of all, it's a cottage."

Jason snorts, "As if that makes a difference. It's still in the idyllic French countryside, isn't it?"

"I-"

"I rest my case."

You cross your arms. "You're welcome to visit, you know?" It was a hopeful suggestion at best.

"We both know the quiet will drive me crazy."

"I said visit," you say, "besides, I think the train ride alone would drive you up the wall." You remember how Jason is with tight spaces.

"Not with you there." Jason winks.

Your heart presses a bruise into your throat and you hate Jason Peter Todd all over again.

"Ah yes, you plan on driving me mad. Evil. Truly evil of you." You say, grinning back at him.

"Here's a wild idea, how bout we just not listen to Roy? How does that sound?" Jason gently suggests, handing you your offensively pink cup of caffeinated goop. Jason can smell the sickening amount of sweeteners added. He might gag.

"Nope," you say, smiling at him as you slurp your ooze. Jason's stomach rolls. Alfred would have an aneurysm. "He was even nice enough to get us both tickets." You hand him one, fingers brushing against his. They felt calloused as they always did. Jason suppresses any oncoming reaction.

He instead turns his attention to the ticket in his hands. Love Through the Ages: Gotham Museum Exhibition on expressions of love. Jason runs through the numbers. "These are $59 each."

"So sweet of him, isn't it?" You chirp adorably.

Jason makes a mental note to kill both of you. "You're only going along with this cus you want to watch me suffer." Jason says, slumping his chair. His foot kicks out to tap your foot.

"I'm doing it affectionately," you say, tapping his foot with yours. "Besides, it's a universal pass time at this point." You swirl your drink and grin at him. It was your real grin, all bright and eager and stupidly sweet. Something in Jason's chest twists. It's always hard to breathe when you smile at him but really Jason would rather all the oxygen in the atmosphere be burned up than see your smile disappear.

He sounds dramatic and he knows that but still he knows it's true.

"C'mon Jay, it'll be fun."

Shoulders slouched, Jason smiles at you indulgently. "Fun for who?"

"Mainly me but you can have fun too."

"You are so lucky you're adorable when you're being evil."

Your smile brightens and with a tap of his foot against yours, he thinks he'll survive whatever Roy has in store for him.

You and Jason have been walking around the museum for quite a bit with Jason's arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders and homicide radiating off of him every time someone even looks at you funny. He'd said that the arm slung around your shoulder was so that you wouldn't get lost. As for the homicide, he elected to ignore the question entirely.

You flush as Jason quotes another line from 'Master Valentine' back to you. You definitely regret letting him house sit. You regret even more not hiding your books. You squirm as Jason whispers the quote in your ear in a husky drawl. The erotica in the book is amazing and you're normally comfortable with talking to Jason about everything, but this- this was just cruel and unusual punishment. It's what you get for trying to make him suffer.

All the pet names he murmured in your ear crawled up your spine. You shove his face away hiding your own in your sleeve. He laughs into your hand enjoying your sudden bout of shyness.

Jason mumbles a half-hearted apology into your hand, pressing a soft kiss into your palm. You lower your head. You're still clearly avoiding his gaze but you let him press you to his side. Jason Todd is an asshole.

You point to a pair of ice skates so well worn and well loved that you almost miss the little penguins stitched on the side. "Love on the ice? That's so cute!"

Jason glances at them with mild interest. "Sounds like hypothermia." He says, shrugging.

Swatting at his chest, you pout at him. He rolls his eyes nudging your shoulder with his. You scowl at him and stick your tongue out. Jason leans down, unable to stop the urge to press a kiss to your brow. You scowl even harder.

"Admit it, doll. The whole exhibition is just Dickie's favorite fanfiction tropes."

"Professor Todd, be a dear and enlighten my troglodyte ass."

He snorts, "Princess, if I was a professor we both know I'd have the highest attendance rate."

"And the highest failure rate." You say cocking a brow.

"Probably."

"You're terribly humble today."

"I just know I look good."

No, you don't, you think. You shake your head. "That explains the leather jacket."

"You love my leather jacket."

"Well, Biscuit certainly loved your previous one."

Jason wrinkled his nose thinking of the yellow disaster. "That dog was a menace."

"She is the sweetest creature on earth."

"She destroyed my jacket and ate my wallet AND phone."

"I never said she was smart... wait, we're getting off topic."

Jason narrows his eyes at you then points to a crown. It was an intricate lattice of silvers and golds with diamonds that glittered like starlight. "Royal AU," he says simply, "go on read the description."

"A prince and a princess from rival nations are bound by a marriage of convenience. Through a series of missteps. They fell for each other.... that one was pretty easy. Do it again."

He points to a blue feather. "Mythology AU."

You arch a brow at him. He waves at it, urging you to read. "A god descended to earth to be with his mortal lover only for him to lose his memories of her." The feather's glow is incandescent. You can feel the power radiating off of it, a sure sign of divinity.

Once, you would have brushed it off as mere story. You've spent more than twice your lifetime now dipped into the world of myths. You glance at Jason. Simple divinity no longer fazes you.

"See?"

"I- Nope."

"You're just being stubborn."

"Would you have been my friend if I wasn't?" Would you have saved me if I wasn't?

You think Jason hears your unspoken question when he frowns. Instead, he turns on his heel to face the other direction. He points to a bouquet of wilted roses tied together by a green ribbon. They still smell of blood and something you couldn't identify. Your eyes drift down curious. Your eyes trace over the words feeling your stomach tumble.

"Gruesome." Jason vocalizes inanely. He hooks his head on the crown of your head, neatly slotting your body under his. You're safe, surrounded by walls of muscle. The crease in your brow softens. You would think that Jason would be less protective after you'd turned but now that you were a vampire, he was somehow even more protective. Roy always joked you only got Biscuit and your other dogs as lap dogs because you already had Jason. He may not have been too off on his guess.

"This should be in a horror exhibit," you say leaning into Jason's chest, "kind of reminds me of you though." You tilt your head up grinning at him.

"If you make a joke about me being jack the ripper again, I swear I'll-"

"-Bury me alive 6 feet under concrete with a recording of Roy singing Auld Lang Syne in a terrible British accent. Got it. What I meant was... you're just as protective as the man in the story." You say, smiling at him.

For good reason, Jason thinks.

Jason buries half of his face in your hair, hiding his answering smile. You smell like sugar and cinnamon. It's a familiar combination of smells that puts him at ease despite the atrocious amount of people in the museum.

You point to another artifact, afraid that you'd accidentally picked at an old wound.

"Star-crossed lovers." He mumbles into your hair.

"Bullshit!"

"Read it and weep, doll."

You read the plaque and the words 'meet' and 'different world' assault your eyes. You scowl at him. "Fuck you."

The grin on Jason's face is genuine. It makes something in your veins sing knowing how much fun he's having.

Your face softens. "You really love this romance stuff, huh?"

Jason narrows his eyes at you.

"You were the one bawling your eyes out when we binged Spaces Between Us. Who the hell cries during erotica?"

"IT'S TRUE LOVE AND YOU KNOW IT IN YOUR SOUL," you protest, pounding your fist against his chest,"besides, you're the one who was crying nonstop when we watched the IDHY duology."

"I was crying because they were accurate book adaptations."

You blink at him confused. "There's a book?"

"Yes, you illiterate heathen."

"You sound like a conquistador."

“....”

"At least they got their happy ending." You say, changing the subject.

"That's true."

"Still better than Titanic."

He furrows his brow at you. "What's wrong with the Titanic?"

"First of all," You pitch your shoulders like you're about to give him a lecture, "That was 3 hours of my life wasted on a shitty movie. It wasn't even that accurate."

"Princess, not everyone can survive the Arctic."

"And second, the most romantic scene in that romantic movie was the old couple staying together as they sank."

Jason laughs, a deep rumbling sound. It scrambles your brain, almost dissolving your annoyance until he opens his mouth again. "You sound like Damian."

"Jason Peter Todd, take that back." You screech, swiping at him.

He jumps back, his laughter still echoing. "Stop sounding like the demon brat first."

You run after him, telegraphing your murderous intent. Jason walks away faster, sticking his tongue out at you. Your growl and claw at the air. You screech obscenities as Jason continues to evade you. He is having way too much fun with this.

You chase Jason around the exhibition for a solid half hour before you come to a skittering halt.

Your eyes land on a vermillion book, leather bound and carefully crafted by skilled hands. You step closer to admire the swirling, arabesque patterns lining the leather. No title is embossed on the front. It's thick. You would wager it was at least 400 pages.

Your eyes drift down even further, finding a familiar scrawl. Below the book were photocopies of some of the pages. Pablo Neruda's 'If You Forget me', Beethoven's 'Immortal beloved', Ibn Hazm's 'My Heart', and a bunch of other poets you didn't know but recognized as ...

"Jason these are your favorites."

"What?" He says, walking over to you cautiously.

You look back down at the pages and your eyes catch on the one in the middle. From the numbering, it was the last.

Love is such a hard thing to define,

I don’t know if I could ever find,

The words to truly express the complexity of such an emotion.

It is an emotion felt in the heart,

Long before it makes sense to the mind,

illusive and uncertain until suddenly it just clicks.

Like so many things in this world,

we tend to know it when we see it in others,

even if we can’t be sure of it ourselves.

I think I’ve always known how much I love you,

When I look at you,

I see everything I’ve ever wanted.

When I look at you,

I see nothing else but your perfect beauty.

Inside and out.

I'm not a poet, (Y/n), but I will tell you anyway I can how much I love you.

-Jason Peter Todd

Jason is a stone next to you.

His mouth is filled with sand as he looks at the far too familiar handwriting. He knew. He knew the moment he saw the red book what it was. Hell, the moment you told Jason it was Roy who told you to go to the museum, he knew what it was. God, why can't he just turn to ash.

Jason can't make himself turn to you. He can't bear to see what ever disgusted expression you make. He just can't.

He feels a tug on his sleeve. He doesn't move. He feels another tug, this time harder. When he doesn't respond the second time, you lace your fingers in his and spin him around.

You squish his cheeks in your hands. "Jason, you actual sap." You say. You look like you're glowing. You beam at him, all toothy and scrunched faced. Jason's lungs stop working again. His mind can't process what you're saying. All Jason knows is that something warm is crowding his chest, pushing everything else out.

"Wha?"

"Jason, you absolute dork!" You repeat, unfazed by his temporary bout of insanity.

Jason is blushing, looking like a strawberry with his freckles. Jason is more adorable than anyone has any right to be. But that's ok. That's perfectly ok cus he's yours.

In a moment of uncontained affection, you pull Jason to you, pressing a kiss against his lips. It's soft and earnest and exciting. It was a kiss Jason spent lifetimes dreaming about. It was you and completely you.

"Jay, they're beautiful." You say in a breathless laugh.

Jason looked down at his feet. "I-" was never planning on giving it to you, he thinks. Because, why would you ever love someone like Jason? Especially, after what he'd done to you.

As if reading his mind, you press your forehead against his. "I love you too, Jay, and you can't argue me out of it. Sorry bud, you're stuck with me."

Jason can't help the smile as it curls on his lips.

He's happy. He's so stupidly happy and he blames you.

"Plus, I already knew."

"Why didn't you say it first?" He asks, his fingers brushing against his tingling lips.

"Cus," you say, pirouetting away from him, "you wouldn't believe me if I did."

"How-"

You put your hand up. "Trust me, Jay. I've tried before." You tilt your head back looking up at the sky light. The curtain of light fell on you like a spotlight highlighting everything ethereal about you. "Remember in Milan? When I told you I cared about you and you told me I didn't."

Jason remembered that. He was angrier back then. He snarled that to you like some wild animal and threatened to throw you out on your ass if you ever so much as spoke a word of that nonsense again. It was the first time he'd seen you look hurt. You face was wide open with shock. Jason felt something in his chest tear at that look. He stormed off, leaving you in that room.

When he came back, you offered him warm tea and a smile. You were quiet, inconsolably quiet.

It didn't…

He didn't…

It didn't occur to him that look in your eyes was heartbreak.

Jason curses under his breath.

You chortle at him, the mirth in your eyes incandescent.

"Yeah. Exactly." You say, clasping your hands behind your back. Jason would like to be buried six feet under with the only words carved into his gravestone 'I am so sorry (Y/n)'.

You snick seeing the look in his eyes. "Or that time in Paris. The one in the little patisserie when I told you in perfect Catalan that you meant more to me than anything else and do you remember what you told me?"

"I told you you were possessed." Jason's shoulders slump. "Please tell me you don't have a third example."

You smile at him pityingly. "I don't-"

"OH THANK FU-"

"I have 50. Well, 51 but the last one didn't count since I was joking that time."

In Jason's mind, his jaw hits the obsidian floor with an audible 'plop'. It would be loud enough that the entire museum would hear it were it real. He blinks at you. "You tried more than 10 times?"

"I was encouraged." You say shrugging.

"Of course, you were," he grumbles and you laugh. Jason's heart skips a beat but he pushes past the feeling in favor of pleading with you. "Please don't list them."

"Oh, I'm not." You hum.

Jason sighs with relief.

"I'm gonna leave that to Roy."

"Son of a- He knows?"

You look over your shoulder. "Yeah. Who do you think I complain to?"

"Who else knows?" He asks, trailing behind you as you walk to .... Jason doesn't know at this point and he doubts you do too.

"Oh just your family."

"I'm surprised they haven't given me shit about it."

"Oh I bullied them into not doing it."

"Impressive." He whistles and you preen.

"Always," you say smugly. You begin to walk a bit faster, craning your neck. "Now, let's go find out if Dickie installed that bakery I asked for."

"That's what you're after?" Jason laughs.

"It's a noble goal." You protest.

"You don't even need to feed."

"I need to feed my inner sweets monster. She's very fussy and is demanding crepes specifically."

Jason smiles softly at you, amused that of all the human traits you could have retained after being turned was a sweet tooth.

"Sorry to tell you doll face, Dickie still hasn't done it."

You look aghast like he'd slapped you in the face with a large baguette.

"What?!"

"He hasn't put in your suggestion from 10 years ago."

"Where am I supposed to get my fix?"

"Are we still talking about sweets or have you moved on to cocaine?"

"Dunno, have you tried snorting sugar?"

"No. Why- Have you?"

"...my lawyer advised against answering this question."

Jason cackles. "How am I the stupid one?"

"I-" Your scowl turns sickeningly sweet. "Yanno, the third time I tried was when-"

"OK. Stop." Jason's face lights up again. "I give."

"Pfff." You smile, looking far too pleased with yourself.

Jason straightens up, something sly passing through his eyes. You stop. The look in his eyes makes you nervous.

"I think I know where you can get something sweet."

You swallow nervously.

Jason leans in. He’s so close to you. You can feel his breath brush against your lips. Nothing else around you seems to exist at the moment.

You lean in to kiss him but you freeze when you register his voice.

“I’m taking you downtown. There’s a new bakery there and I heard the crepes were to die for.” He chuckles, turning to walk towards the exit.

“What the hell?!” You call out falling into step with him.

He grins down at you, arms folded behind his head. “Something wrong, princess?”

Heat rises in your cheeks and elbow him in the side.

“I want to take you on a proper date and I sure as hell am not starting here.” He says, rubbing his side and conspicuously not looking at you. There’s a dust of peach on his face. Your anger fades away. It gives way to a fluttering in your chest.

“Where?”

He looks at you then, brow furrowed.

“Why don’t I take you to the fair, princess? There’s plenty of sweet treats there that’ll tickle your fancy.”

Your mouth waters when you think about all the cotton candy they have.

“I heard there’s a kissing booth too, so if you’re lucky,” Jason continues, winking at you. Predictably, you blanch at him. You knock your knuckles against his chest. Jason chuckles, rubbing his chest. “Sorry princess, I mean if I’m lucky enough to get a kiss from you.”

The temerity.

The gall.

“As long as you get me something sweet.” You huff, exiting the building.

Jason stops on the steps, turning to you with a sly smile. Crossing your arms, you pause bracing for whatever trick is up his sleeve. Jason tilts his head. He says something but the little noises of the city make the words hard to discern. You lean closer to hear him better. Jason steps closer to close the distance, his lips warm against yours. You’re stunned. Your entire body divided on how to react, some parts stiffen while others turn to jelly.

He pulls away, wolfish grin unwavering. "That sweet enough for you sweetheart?"

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