#he doesn’t go too far w the voices but the characters r still clear

[chimeraart]

how am i just finding out kieran culkin narrates the hammer of thor audiobook lmao??

#maybe this is common knowledge #i think it’s kinda craazy #kieran culkin #hammer of thor #mcga #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #magnus chase #mcga meme #spvtw #it really good if you were wondering #he doesn’t go too far w the voices but the characters r still clear #anyway no one cares bye

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

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Always | Draco Malfoy

M A S T E R L I S T Harry Potter Masterlist

smut requested requests info

wow I got such an amazing response to Part 1, thank you! So here is the highly requested Part 2! Enjoy :) also I miiight have listened to the Lion King soundtrack (this song specifically) while writing this?? I know that doesn’t make sense but it’s what was making me feel creative don’t judge me. Part 3 maybe? ;)

Part 2/10 (Part 1)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)(Part 9)(Part 10)

also there aren’t enough words in the English language to describe the amount of love I have for Draco Malfoy. I’ve been reading these books and watching the movies since I was like 3 or 4 years old (I’m not even kidding). I always connected so deeply with Draco, I truly adore him. And while Tom Felton did an excellent job as Draco, it really is the character I’m in love with. 

Read Part 3 here!

Missed Part 1? Catch up here!

Nothing felt right, and you didn’t know why. Everything just felt, off. The looks you were getting from Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t help either. You tried to keep your focus on the parchment in front of you, but the look Hermione was giving you was starting to irritate you. 

“What?” You asked impatiently, looking up at her and thoroughly startling her. She quickly shook her head before you packed away all your things and pushed out of the common room. They all looked at you with pity or concern, and the fact that they’re worried isn’t what annoys you. It’s that you don’t know why they’re worried. You felt emotion swelling in your chest and you don’t know why. Dammit! What’s the matter with you? You furiously wipe away tears, desperately wishing you knew what was going on lately. You followed the direction your feet took you and found yourself nearing the top of the astronomy tower. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize anyone was here.” You mumbled uncomfortably when you noticed somebody leaning against the railing. He doesn’t answer, but by the glimpse of white blonde hair atop his head you know who it is. Draco Malfoy. 

You feel the urge to speak to him but you don’t know what to say. “It’s fine, I was just leaving.” He says gruffly, his face void of emotion as he turns to head to the stairs. You watch him go down the stairs and your feet are moving before you can stop them, “you don’t have to go. I don’t mind if you stay.” You say softly, a blush searing over your cheeks. Draco’s eyes flutter across your face before laughing bitterly. “I’d rather not, you’re nothing more than a filthy mudblood.” He spat, with something you couldn’t understand gleaming in his eyes. You flinched, recoiling from him before turning back up the stairs- wiping tears from your eyes. You don’t know how you let yourself forget how cruel he is, how unloving. You won’t make that mistake again. 

Draco turns down the stairs, his throat closing as he blinks hot tears from his eyes. You have no idea how badly he wants to hold you, to press his lips to yours and tell you how much he loves you. But he’s a Death Eater and you’re related to Harry Potter. Being with you, even in the same room as you, is too dangerous. Draco just feels numb, and he doesn’t want to feel anything anymore. 

Harry knows sooner or later he’s going to have to ask Malfoy what on Earth happened to you. One second you’re crying into Harry’s shoulder about how you feel like you’re losing Draco and then that evening you’re your usual bubbly self, laughing and doing your work and saying ‘Draco who?’ If Draco altered your memories like Harry feared he did, he wants to know why. The only reason Harry isn’t angry is because he knows how much you mean to Draco, so if Draco changed your memories then he must have thought doing so would keep you safe. 

You lean against the railing, feeling a weird sense of deja vu as you turn to press the railing to your back. Your hand curls around the cool metal railing, looking straight ahead of you at someone you feel should be standing there. It feels like an itch at the back of your head that you can’t scratch, just bugging you constantly. Something is wrong. You want to know what it is. You hear footsteps up the stairs and when you lock eyes with Blaise Zabini, surprised is an understatement. “Blaise?” Your voice comes out at a question, and he offers you a half-cocked smile. In truth he’s always had a thing for you, and now that you and Draco aren’t together anymore he assumes you’re fair game. 

“Nice night,” He comments off offhandedly. You nod with a slight blush, Blaise is cute. He’s certainly not the most attractive person in this school, annoyingly Draco is probably the best looking man in this school. Despite his cruel remarks. Blaise comes to stand next to you, slightly closer than you’re comfortable with. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you something, since you and Draco aren’t together anymore,” He starts and you furrow your eyebrows together. You and Draco? 

“There never was a me and Draco.” You correct, confusion in your tone. The confusion on Blaise’s face is unmistakable but he chooses not to say anything. 

“Right, so I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to got to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow.” Blaise asks, letting his eyes drift down your body briefly. In all honesty, you hadn’t ever given Blaise much thought all you knew was that he was part of Draco’s group of bullies. “Uh sure.” You answer uncertainly, it could be fun? You’d never been to Hogsmeade with anything except for that one time with Harry when the two of you sneaked into Hogsmeade through Honeydukes cellar. It would give you a chance to know Blaise better, maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. 

The portrait closed behind Blaise as he’d entered the common room, a look of smug victory strew on his face. “Hey Draco, I asked Y/N to Hogsmeade, hope you don’t mind.” Draco stiffened immediately. His eyebrows furrowed together and a pit formed in the bottom of his stomach, “what?” Draco’s voice was tense as he turned to look at Blaise. His first reaction was to lash out violently, but then Draco took a deep breath. As far as he knew, Blaise wasn’t a Death Eater and neither were his parents. Being with Blaise could keep you safe, so despite how every single cell in Draco’s body wanted to strangle the life out Blaise, he turned back in his chair. “Okay.” Is the only word Draco could manage, much to Blaise’s surprise. He wasn’t expecting Draco to be alright with it. 

His heart feels like it’s being squeezed in his chest, but Draco simply stands from the couch placed in front of the fireplace and heads up to his bed. He can’t bare the thought of Blaise’s hands or lips on you. 

The next afternoon you’re stood in the courtyard outside the main entrance waiting for Blaise. You regret agreeing to go, Blaise makes you feel a little uneasy. When you look up again, your eyes lock with Draco’s and you feel your entire body heat up. You can’t seem to look away as he strides past you with Pansy walking with him. You ignore the nausea in your stomach when you see her laugh and grab Draco’s arm, why did that bother you so much? Seeing them together never bothered you before a few weeks ago. You tried to clear your head when Blaise approaches you with a wide smile on his face before taking your hand to lead you down to the train station. 

Hogsmeade was beautiful during the winter, with all the snow falling upon the roofs and the cobblestone streets. You let your eyes drift over to Draco, who has his eyes pointed up at the sky and a small smile spread across his face. He looks deep in thought, almost as though he’s remembering something nobody else does. There is a tint of pink across his pale cheeks, and his nose is rosy from the cold. You snap your attention back to Blaise when you feel him tap on your shoulder, “look if you have a thing for Draco still...” He trails off and you vigorously shake your head. Still?

You might be able to make the mind forget things, but the heart will always remember. 

“S-Sorry.” You stammer nervously and a sigh escapes Blaise’s lips before he smiles again. He takes your hand and leads you away from Draco and Pansy, towards the Shrieking Shack. You take the snowy path down to the Shrieking Shack, the silence between you and Blaise awkward and uncomfortable. You stop at the fence, the Shrieking Shack actually looks quite beautiful against the snowy backdrop behind it. “Cold?” Blaise asks, lifting his arms to wrap them around you. You smile awkwardly, while you are cold you’d rather not have Blaise’s arms around you. You don’t know why you feel so repulsed by Blaise, he’s been nice and he’s good looking. It just feels so insanely wrong. 

Blaise wraps his arms around you before reaching over to turn your head towards him. You close your eyes and brace when you see him leaning in, and soon you feel his lips press against yours. Well this isn’t so bad. It doesn’t send tingles through your body or give you butterflies. It’s nice, not amazing and not bad. You wouldn’t willingly do it again though, but you doubt you’ll fight him if he chooses to kiss you again. As soon as the two of you part, you pull away from him with a nervous smile. Why do you feel so nauseous? It’s almost as though you feel guilty. 

Draco’s heart had fallen far beneath him and into the fiery pits of hell, he was sure of it. He watched Blaise press his lips to yours, and while you didn’t melt into Blaise the way you did with Draco, you still didn’t reject him. Draco leaned against one of the trees, feeling the onslaught of tears surging up his chest with little he could do to stop it. He slid down the tree to sit on the wet and snowy ground, bringing his knees to his chest he lowered his head and did his best to blink the tears away, but they just kept falling. Draco heard Pansy calling his name in the distance, he’d managed to shake her somewhere on the path. He couldn’t bring himself to move, he didn’t want to move. This was by far the most painful thing he’s ever had to do- watching you with Blaise didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the way you looked at Draco. 

You were the only person to truly see him, now nobody did. He’s never felt so alone.

You’d begun to see Blaise more often, and you actually kind of liked him. He was sweet, and per your request he stopped bringing up Draco. Although you’re confused as to why he brought Draco up in the first place. You’d spent a lot of time with him in the Library, helping him study for Arithmancy. Blaise had said his Father told him to take more advanced classes, and when it came to Arithmancy, he was clueless. You however were very good at Arithmancy, so you’ve been helping him study. You and Blaise will take evening walks along the Rickety Bridge, talking about how creepy he found Professor Binns to be. Blaise was nice, but despite the hand holding, the kissing, the fooling around he still felt like a friend at best. 

You have not slept with him yet, for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to go all the way with Blaise. You’d be kissing, taking off clothes, and then it’s like an alarm goes off in your head and you have to stop. You’ll feel tears building at the backs of your eyes, and every cell in your body would be screaming at you because of how wrong it is. You just wished you knew why it felt so wrong. 

You knew that’s how tonight was going to end. You sat by the edge of the Black Lake with Blaise, watching as the Lake monster dug around for gifts to give you. Blaise found your friendship with the Lake monster unsettling, and weird. You always rolled your eyes when he told you not to accept the things the monster gave you, but you found the Lake monster to be deeply misunderstood. Dennis Creevey had fallen into the Black Lake during his first year here, and the Lake monster carefully lifted him out of the water and placed him back inside the boat. Still Blaise refused to see it as anything other than a monster, which sort of bugged you. Oddly enough, the Lake monster didn’t seem to like Blaise either. Blaise leaned back against the truck of a large tree, with you leaning back against his chest in between his legs. 

Harry did not approve of your relationship with Blaise at all, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. You tend not to judge Slytherin’s as quickly as the others and sometimes you wondered if you really belonged in Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor. There were moments, like now, where you did not feel brave at all. Instead your kindness took over and you would often push down feelings of discomfort in order to please other people. You were feeling rather uncomfortable with the way that Blaise’s hand was slowly sliding lower down your abdomen, towards the hem of your skirt. You bit your bottom lip to avoid saying something, maybe if you just forced yourself to do it then you wouldn’t feel this way anymore. It would be your first time having sex, maybe that’s why you’re so nervous about it. 

So when Blaise dips his hand into your skirt, you don’t fight him. It’s easily the worst decision you’ve ever made. 

It was awful, it didn’t hurt but the entire time you were clinging to him and keeping your face pressed to his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears. You felt a horrible heavy feeling all over your entire body, your stomach was twisting. You felt as though you should drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness, but you didn’t know why. You felt such overwhelming guilt it felt like it was suffocating you, you have to break up with Blaise. Something is very wrong with you, and you can’t lead him on while constantly trying to avoid any physical contact with him. You didn’t even cum, you didn’t want to. 

When Blaise rolled off you, he smiled at you and you forced a smile back. “Thought you said you were a virgin?” He questioned and you nodded slowly, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“I am.” 

“Didn’t feel like it.” He shrugged and you only blinked at him before reaching for your clothes. You felt far too exposed. You didn’t want Blaise to see your naked body any longer than he had to. You refused to meet his eye, and when Blaise placed a hand on your shoulder you slowly turned to face him, exposing your tear stained cheeks. “Woah, baby what’s wrong?” He asked, his arms reaching to pull you close to him, but you shrugged him off. 

“Blaise I can’t do this anymore, I just can’t be with you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, you haven’t done anything I just want to be alone.” You gasped through tears, wanting more than anything to be left alone with your Lake friend. Blaise’s eyebrows pinched together in anger, scowling down at you. He quickly turned and began to pull his clothes on, “I can’t believe you Y/N. You’re just a stupid whore mudblood.” He seethed, and you flinched. You felt tears running down your cheeks as he stood. Blaise turned to look at you once more, but his eyes flickered behind you. You turned to follow his gaze and saw the Lake monster reaching out to you, with something curled in it’s tentacle. 

It was a small glass vial. It was whispering to you. 

“Do you hear that?” You ask Blaise, as if you hadn’t been fighting with him 30 seconds prior. He doesn’t respond but with a quick glance you see he’s still there, his eyes transfixed on the bottle. You reached your palm out, letting the Lake monster drop the vial in your open hand, listening as it sounded as though someone was whispering your name from inside the vial. Who was that? It sounded like Draco. “I don’t hear anything, just toss it back. It’s a weird bottle.” Blaise huffed, crossing his arms. You shook your head, bringing the bottle up to your ear. There was unmistakably whispering. 

“No, I can hear it. It’s calling out to me.” You say softly, your fingers reaching to un-stopper the vial. Shakily you reached up to take the stopper out, and the wispy blue liquid from inside flowed out into the open air before turning directly into your temple. It hit you like a train. A kaleidoscope of memories slammed into you at once. The steps, Hogsmeade, the Hospital bed, the Lake, Draco all of it came rushing back. The night he had taken your memories, the Dark Mark. It was like a dam broke open in your head, and the memories flowed back in like water. You gasped, stumbling back. Blaise immediately reached out to catch you, “D-Draco!” You stammered wildly, looking up at Blaise. All the moments over the last few weeks between you and Draco felt different now, and all the pieces fell into place. This is why being with Blaise felt so wrong, why everything felt wrong. You’re in love with Draco! 

Oh God you had sex with Blaise. 

“What did that stuff do to you? I think you need to see Madam Pomphrey.” Blaise began but you quickly shook your head, your palms trembling. You pulled away from Blaise, stumbling as you turned towards the castle. “No I need to see Draco.” You gasped, breaking out into a sprint as you headed for the castle. You heard Blaise calling your name but you ignored him, your feet pounding against the ground and the wind rushing in your ears. You felt tears flowing down your cheeks, you felt so many different emotions it felt like you were drowning in them. Draco has been alone this whole time, and you were forced to suffer you just didn’t know why you were suffering! You ran through the front doors of the castle into the main hall before turning right and sprinting down towards the dungeons, that’s where the Slytherin common room is. 

You slid to a stop in front of the portrait key, you don’t know the password. It’s late, Draco has to be inside the common room or in his dorms. You pace around outside, waiting for any Slytherin to come out or go in. You released a frustrated sob as you tugged at your hair, and after about 30 minutes of nobody coming, not even Blaise, you turned towards the portrait door. You began to knock on the portrait door, “Draco!” You called his name as loudly as you could, you doubt he could hear you but you didn’t know what else to do. You sat there, pounding against the very irritated painting, that refused to open for you when finally Blaise came around the corner. He rolled his eyes when he saw you. 

“Blaise, please can you get Draco?” You ask him but he laughs bitterly. He begins to stride to the portrait door but you stand in front of him, “why would I? You’re breaking up with me for him aren’t you?” He snaps, and you feel guilty as you look sheepishly up at him. 

“Either get Draco or I’m following you into the common room.” You threaten, pulling your wand out. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to see Draco right now. Blaise rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever, I just want you to leave me alone so fine.” Blaise snaps, whispering the password so that you wouldn’t hear before disappearing into the common room. You can only hope that he didn’t lie to you, and that he really will go get Draco. You pace around the hallway nervously, you’re not sure where you and Draco will go from here but all you know is that you need him right now. 

Draco sat on his bed, he rubs his temples as the door swings open to reveal a very irritated looking Blaise. “Y/N dumped me.” He snapped and Draco merely nods, while turning so that Blaise wouldn’t see his victorious smile. Of course you dumped him, Blaise is not the type of guy you’d go for at all. He’s too cocky, too full of himself. You admire personality, and Blaise is all about looks. How good he looks, how good his girlfriend looks. He’s too superficial for you. “And she’s outside the common room asking for you.” Blaise adds after a few minutes of silence and Draco cocked an eyebrow. Why on Earth would you be asking for him? Noticing the look of confusion on Draco’s face, Blaise turns to him. 

“We were down by the lake, and she found this weird bottle. As soon as she opened it she got all crazy and started saying your name.” Draco’s blood turns to ice in his veins as soon as the words leave Blaise’s mouth. You found your memories of him. Draco is trembling as he launches to his feet and nearly stumbles down the stairs. He’s trembling harder than he ever has as he pushes the portrait open, revealing you standing there. Wide eyed and teary as you lock eyes with him. You don’t even say anything, you launch yourself into his arms, crying softly against his shoulder. “Why- why?” You cry, you can barely speak and you’re grabbing him so tightly he’s worried you’ll break his ribs. The amount of relief that Draco feels having you here in his arms is surmountable to anything he’s felt before this, but the dread quickly follows behind. 

Draco pulls away from you, but you refuse to let him go. You keep your hands clung tightly to his arms, “Draco why?” You cry, looking up at him with watery eyes. Draco keeps you at arms length from him, how is he going to explain stealing your memories from you? He never thought you’d get them back, he thought they’d sink to the bottom of the Lake... the Lake monster. “I was trying to keep you safe-” Draco began shakily but you quickly shake your head. 

“Not that, your arm.” You gasp, looking down at the forearm that had the Dark Mark inked onto it. He fell silent, merely looking down at you, trembling and holding his hands as though he’d disappear if you let go. Suddenly you pressed yourself against him again, your lips finding his with desperate need. “Don’t care, right now I just need you Dray,” You gasped in between kisses. Your lips moved languidly with his and Draco’s arms wound around your waist, feeling as if he was home for the first time in weeks. Nodding quickly, Draco lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you off towards an abandoned classroom by the dungeons. Nobody comes down here, if only he’d discovered this earlier. You wouldn’t have had to have your first time by a Lake. 

Draco pushes into the classroom, the door swinging shut behind him as his lips move with yours. Your fingernails bite into his shoulders as you grasp him tightly, gasping when Draco drops you onto a table. He stands in between your legs, his hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. You whined against his lips, wriggling your hips closer to his. “Dray,” You begged, your hand sliding down his front to cup him through his pants. He groaned softly, his shaking hands quickly finding the bottom of your shirt and swiftly removing it. His pupils dilated upon seeing your bare breasts, his hands reaching up to cup the underside of each one. You throw your head back, your back arching into him as his lips wrap around one of your nipples. 

Your hand winds into his hair, pulling him more firmly against you. “Fuck baby,” You moaned, grinding your hips into his. Draco works your nipple to a peak before doing the same to the other, and his mouth feels heavenly against you. “I missed you so much,” Draco whispered, pressing kisses in between your breasts. You sighed softly as he kissed down your body, removing each layer of clothing between his mouth and your wonderful heat as he went. Your back ached and you collapsed back against the table when Draco’s lips found your clit and wrapped around it, sucking and biting softly. Your hand curls around his shoulder as he slides two fingers into you, pumping slowly. You feel that coil of pleasure building in your pelvis, winding tighter and tighter. You begin to pant as Draco brings you up to that edge and with one flick of his tongue you’re cumming hard against him. 

“Dray, I need you inside me. Now.” You gasp as you calm down, grabbing him to pull him back up to your lips. Draco nods frantically as his lips find yours, and his hands fumble with the button of his pants. Eventually the fabric is pushed down past his hips and Draco is lining himself up with your entrance before slowly pushing in. His eyebrows furrow when he notices you’re not as tight as he was expecting, but when you press your lips to his neck he gets lost in your body and begins to thrust into you at a steady pace. Your forehead presses against his, your hands holding his body close to yours as your lips find his once more. You kiss him sloppily, slowly, pouring all the emotion you felt bottled up these last few weeks. 

When you cum around him it feels like magic, it feels more perfect then anything else ever has. It feels right. 

Draco carries you back to your common room, ignoring snickers from people passing by. He kisses you sweetly, “I love you.” You whisper to him, Draco smiles. “I love you too.” He says, kissing you again and again before finally turning back to his common room. There are tears in his eyes, he had a plan b from the very start. This is going to be harder on you then it will be for him, and honestly he’s scared of the person he’s going to become because of this. It was you that made him a better person, if he never met you he shudders to think the kind of person he’d be today. Guess everyone is going to find out. 

Draco kneels in front of his bed, his wand in his hand, and a letter tied to his owls leg. The letter is addressed to you. Draco closes his eyes as he lifts the wand to his temple, and he concentrates on the memories he wants to remove. You underestimate just how far Draco would go to keep you safe, you really do need to stay away from him. Feeling a tear cascade down his cheek Draco takes one last shaky breath, letting himself remember you in a way he knows he never will again. 

With another breath, and a tremble in his palm Draco opens his eyes. 

“Obliviate.” 

*** @justmesadgirl​

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy smut #draco x reader #draco x you #harry potter #harry potter smut #hogwarts #bittersweet smut #happy ending #blaise zabini #blaise x you #plot twist #cliffhanger #sorry not even remotely sorry

[honeybomb4thebear]

if you’re still doing the NSFW alphabet can I get a-z for ryota mitarai? if you don’t wanna do all of them then you can just choose the ones you want to write! thanks! :)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA A RYOTA REQUEST!!! NONNIE I LOVES YOUUUUUUU <3 I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

Warning: N//F*W!!!

RYOTA MITARAI N//F*W ALPHABET

A=Aftercare - What they do/act like after sex. ⦁ A tired yet happy baby. You'll be the one who have to do his aftercare, I mean that's no surprise since the boy can barely care for himself. Will cling onto you, as if to never ever let you go afterwards.

B=Bondage - Are they into BDSM, and how far they’ll go if they have a green light.

⦁ Oh he is. Not too much, but probably has a "daddy/mommy" kink (my gender neutral fellas out there, saying parent felt weird so pls tell me the gn thing for it. Parenty? IT SOUNDS FUNNY NOOOOO). It just feels nice to have someone take care of him and shower him with affection, he goes all gooey on you, clinging onto you and smiling whenever he sees you. He doesn't even notice how clingy he is getting, but he likes that stuff. I still can't imagine him saying "harder, daddy!" though...

C=Cum - pretty self explanatory. ⦁ Not a lot, tastes mildly sweet. He is also quick to cum. Which is good for a certain kink of his...

D=Dom - Are they dominant, submissive, a switch? ⦁ He is a BDSM dominatrix! Just kidding, he is such a sub it's adorable.

E=Edgeplay - Similar to ‘Kinks’ except it’s a lot riskier than usual kinks (knifeplay, breathplay, etc.). ⦁ No way lol!

F=Fantasy - A fantasy of theirs (ex: a teacher/student fantasy). ⦁ You sucking his dick while he is busy with the work. The said work isn't anything too important, though, but still he is pretty busy and stressed. So you decide to relieve his stress and sneak under his desk without your boyfriend who is absorbed in his work noticing. You then spread his legs and unzip his pants. He will notice you at that point and will look at you with the wide and beautiful eyes of his, needless to say a red face. So with a sinister smile, you pull his pants down and start to toy with his cock. Needless to say, he won't last long...

G=Got Caught - How they react when they get caught having sex. ⦁ He'd like... Hide behind his partner? Like, he would bury his face on their chest, or crouch down and hug them tight, while screaming at the other person to get out with a pathetic voice crack.

H=Hot Spots - A place that drives them crazy when stimulated (EX: neck). ⦁ Hmm... His mouth? French kisses will definetly do the trick for the animator boy, he'll be aching for more. He'll go especially crazy if you sit on his lap while dominating the kiss, more if you rub your private parts while doing so, be careful not to crush him though, he is so fragile...

I=Intimacy - How romantic they are, or can be, before, during, or after sex. ⦁ I feel like he'd be ashamed, but once he lets loose (which doesn't take much time since he is quick to cum) he won't be able to care and will be super lovey-dovey! He'll keep telling you how good you make him feel and how lucky he is to have you and will be smiling time to time.

J=Journey - Their ideal way of leading up to sex. ⦁ Right after finishing the anime that he made, you talk about of how much of a good job he did. You then usually decide to "reward" him. Praise him and his anime while making love to him, he will be over the moon.

K=Kinks - I’ll list a few of their kinks, be they the normalized ones or kinkier kinks. ⦁ Overstimulation! Receiving end, of course. Just the thought of you seeing him in that euphoric (yet painful) state, with his eyes rolled back and chest going up on down quickly excites him. ⦁ Maybe praise too? Perhaps dirty talk????

L=Location -  Where they like to have sex at, do they like risky locations, etc. ⦁ Don't stress him out pls ⦁ Ok maybe stress him out a little bit, maybe caress his cock a bit as he watches a movie he isn't interested in in a cinema salon? Nothing too much, do the rest at home.

M=Masturbation - How they are when they get themselves off, what they get themselves off to. ⦁ Sometimes he gets too stressed because of his work yet he doesn't do anything. But when you call him to check on him, he gets a sudden erection and starts to rub his cock to your voice. He tries to keep it a secret but unfortunately for him (and fortunately for you) it's pretty clear. It does relieve his stress, though.

N=NO - A few things that they will absolutely, under no circumstances, ever do. ⦁ Hmm, aside from all the stuff dominants would do, he wouldn't act like a brat. He is quite obedient and nice, good for you!

O=On’s - Their top turn on’s that they have (things that’ll get them super horny super quickly). ⦁ Getting teased. Not anything too serious or rude, just to be called "a pervert" in a light-hearted way. You are probably the most perverted one out of you two and he knows that as well, but he won't try to fight back. Instead, a blush will appear on his cute face. A blush that you know the meaning of too well.

P=Position -  Their favourite position to have sex in. ⦁ Missionary and cowgirl. Nothing too spicy.

Q=Quickie - Do they like it, do they prefer quickies over actual sex, etc. ⦁ Who prefers them over actual sex? Well, certainly not Ryota! It kind of stresses him out, since he lives his life between deadlines, so he'd rather take his time with you.

R=Rough - How rough they are, or get, when in bed. ⦁ Don't make me laugh... But, you don't have to hold back, y'know ;) He likes it rough time to time.

S=Stamina - How long they can go before they tap out. ⦁ If it was rough, he's out after first time! If it wasn't, maybe 3 times max? Things may change if you feed him well and make sure he sleeps though...

T=Toys - Do use toys, do they own them, what kind, etc. ⦁ He doesn't. He sometimes sees them in hentais and wants to buy them and use on you but he is actually too shy to do it.

U=Unfair - How much they tease you, how they tease you, etc. ⦁ Aaah, he doesn't. If you tease him, don't overdo it please he'll literally cry out of sexual frustration.

V=Volume - How loud they get when having sex, things they might say, etc. ⦁ C'mon, we both know that he is a total screamer. His moans are quite erotic and the face he makes is absolutely wonderful, and the stuff he'd say is even better. As I mentioned before, he'd definetly declare his love over and over for you and talk about how "if it's with you, he could do it forever" but you both know that the last part isn't true.

W=Wild Card - a random letter for the character of your choice. ⦁ As I mentioned it before, he watches hentai- because he is probably too embarrassed to watch actual porn. And also to study. Hentai is still pretty embarrassing (actually even more embarrassing)  but he tries to learn how actual sex is. Please tell him that hentai is NOT the right place for it.

X=X-Ray - How they look with their clothes off. ⦁ Skinny legend. Seriously, very skinny. If he were any skinnier, his ribcages would show. His dick is skinny yet beautiful too.

Y=Yearning - How often they need to have sex. ⦁ He is usually too busy to yearn. But it's easy usually to get him worked up if he's not busy.

Z=ZZZ - How quickly they fall asleep after having sex. ⦁ Watch him sleep like a baby right after you finish his aftercare. He will definetly hug you in his sleep after you're done with your aftercare too, and murmur something about how "he missed you".

#ryota mitarai #ryota mitarai x reader #dr3 #danganronpa #danganronpa x reader

[juniorfics]

Favorite color

mina x GN!reader

written by: R

word count: 1.8k

Warning!: one-sided pining, the word dude used as slang, slight angst, and just a wee bit of internalized homophobia (but only for like, a paragraph) ((also, mina might be slightly out of character, so..sorry about that :p))

y/n was distraught.

No, distraught wasn't the right word...conflicted maybe? Well, whatever the correct word is, they were feeling it.

Allow me to give a bit of context; you see, y/n was crushing on someone. Quite aggressively, actually. they couldn't stop thinking about them. the way they smiled, the way their hair bounced slightly when they walked, the way they could brighten a room so easily with only their presence. Yes, y/n was crushing, but that wasn't the issue. they've had many crushes before. So many, some would see it as a bit of a problem. No, the crushing itself wasn't a huge deal, rather, it was who the crush was on. The gender of the person, to be more specific.

y/n was always more attracted to guys, never finding herself attracted to females in any sort of romantic way. But ever since their first year of high school had begun, it seemed to them that that might not be the case anymore. All because of a certain pink-haired individual. Well, pink hair is a bit of an understatement. Everything about her is pink! Her hair, her skin, her personality, everything! And it suited her too, the color pink. She was a very bright and optimistic person, looking to the bright side of things as often as she could, making others happy by just simply being herself. Not to mention she was very pretty to look at, but that’s more of an opinion that can vary from person to person.

It's pretty safe to say that y/n was more than a bit confused when these feelings first emerged. they can practically pinpoint the moment it happened- when all this crushing began. It was during the school festival, back when they were all still first years. To be more precise, it was when 1-A was performing their concert. The two of them hadn't been in the same class at the time, in fact, y/n wasn't even planning on going to the concert at all, but their friend had convinced them that it would be fun, and they eventually caved, agreeing to go only if he would buy them a strawberry-banana crepe afterward. They had managed to get good seats near the front and patiently waited for the show to start. Then, the lights went out, the curtains opened, and a bunch of people, including their friend, began shouting out the name of one of the girls on stage. ‘Fanboys..’ they thought, waiting for the show to start. Then, before they knew it, the music started, and a bunch of dancers came out. That's when they saw her- Ashido. they had remembered her from the sports festival, as well as seeing her in the hallway a few times. they thought nothing of it and continued enjoying the show. But then, something happened that would change y/n’s perception of the world forever- Ashido had winked.

Granted, Ashido hadn't winked directly at her, rather to that general area of the audience, but y/n saw it nonetheless, and suddenly, their heart had started beating faster, their face steadily increasing in temperature, their hands went clammy and their mouth went dry. Why were they feeling like this? they had never reacted to anything as subtle as a wink this aggressively before. Plus, they had never developed a crush for someone this quickly before, ever! Even their fastest crush had taken a day to develop. ‘Wait, crush? No, I can't have a crush on her! That-that's impossible!’ they thought, shaking their head. they had tuned out the rest of the concert at this point. ‘I don’t like her! No, I can't like her! I like guys! Dudes! Men! people who portray as masculine! I don't like girls! Never have, never will!’ they thought, the words sounding like screams to them. 'And besides! The wink probably wasn't even for me. There's no way she could even see me among all these other people! Yeah, it was probably just to the crowd.’ that's what they told themself, but there was a small voice in the back of their mind that stayed with them for the rest of the day, once the concert was over, while they were eating the crepe they were promised, while they were lying in their bed in the middle of the night; “what if it was for me? What if she did see me? What if she winked at me?’

Over the next few months, they had come to terms with their emotions, accepting the fact that they did, indeed, have a crush on Ashido. Well, less of a crush, more of an obsession. But hey, this was how they always handled these things. their feelings were still a bit confusing, but they couldn't just ignore them. they promised themselves a long time ago that they would always acknowledge their feelings, no matter who they were for. So this has become y/n’s current dilemma. They were already halfway through their second year and they hadn't even made an attempt at confessing. However, a few weeks ago, they decided that they would confess on the last day of April.

Which just so happened to be today.

y/n was extremely nervous. they were gonna confess her feelings, of course they were nervous! But they told themself they would, and that's what they were gonna do.

~

The final bell rang, and school was officially over. y/n practically jumped out of their seat, speed walking out of the classroom, and into the hallway. This was it! they were gonna confess her feelings! they had to find Ashido first, though. Luckily, they had memorized Ashido’s schedule, and what hallways she normally took, so this wouldn't really be a problem. Yes, a bit stalkerish, but it came in handy for moments like this. Finally, they got to the hallway they needed to be at and waited for a moment. Soon enough, a bunch of footsteps, along with idle chatter, got closer and closer, and closer, until-

“Aghhh, today’s training was super tough today! I'm so soreee…”

“Right? I can barely feel my legs, it's like I'm walking on jello,”

“It doesn't help that midterms are coming up as well, my brain is just as sore,”

y/n watched as the friend group passed by, not even noticing them. Just when they were far enough so it didn't seem creepy, they walked out, clearing their throat.

“U-um...Ashido?”

The group turned around, signs of confusion on their faces. The girl in question stepped towards them slightly, a small bounce in her step.

“Hmm?”

y/n’s face tinted pink. they hoped it wasn't too noticeable. “U-uh, hi. I-i know you don't know me, b-but do you think I could talk to you for a sec? I-it won't take long, promise!” they blurted out, hands behind their back.

Ashido smiled, thinking it was probably a shy fan or something. “Yea, of course! What's up?”

There was a small silence.

“...a-alone?” y/n muttered, their face getting slightly redder.

Ashido blinked. “Oh, alright!-” she turned to her friends, making a small shooing motion with her hand.- “you guys go on ahead! I'll catch up later,”

“Well, okay. Just don't take too long, or we're gonna get boba tea without you!” the blonde one joked, waving behind him as the other two followed after him. Ashido stuck her tongue out at them, before chuckling and turning back to face y/n.

“So, what were you saying?” she said, smiling at them.

y/n almost had a heart attack. ‘So cute..’ they thought, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt. “W-well, I just wanted to-”

“Wait...you’re the crush dude, right?” Ashido questioned, snapping her fingers as if she had an ‘aha!’ moment.

y/n blinked. “...c-crush dude?”

“Yea! I've heard about you from some of the general student kids!”

“O-oh...well I just wanted to tell you that-”

“Wait, WAIT! Don't tell me...you like one of my friends, right?”

“H-huh? No, that's not-”

“Lemme guess, it's Denki, isn't it? Wait, no, you don't really seem like you’d be into him...what about Hanta? He's pretty cool, and you guys would look good together! Ooh, did you want me to tell him to you? Cause I can do that if you want-”

“ASHIDO!” y/n yelled, getting frustrated. Ashido froze, looking at y/n. She admits that she does have a tendency to talk over people, but she definitely didn't expect someone like y/n to flat out yell at her. y/n took a deep breath, looking back at Ashido.

“Look, i-I'm sorry I yelled, it's just- I have something really important I wanna tell you.” they looked at the ground, their blush getting darker. Ashido wasn't saying anything, so they began speaking again.

“I-i don't like any of your friends...I like you, Ashido. A-and I'm not entirely sure if you swing that way or anything, to be honest, I didn't think I did either, but here I am!” they chuckled nervously, staring at their shoes. “A-anyway, what I'm trying to say is, y-you don't have to reciprocate, I-i just thought you should know.”

they looked up, finally ready to see Ashido's reaction, and- blank. Her face was completely blank. y/n could feel tears welling up in their eyes. Had they said something wrong? Who were they kidding, of course they had. they had confessed to a girl. Ashido probably thought they were super weird. To make matters worse, they’ve never even spoken to each other before this! y/n had completely screwed up. If there was any sort of chance that they could've been friends, let alone romantic partners, it was all gone now. they sniffed, wiping their eyes. they turned around, not wanting to hear any of the comments they expected.

“Hey, wait!”

they froze, turning back around. Ashido was a few steps closer now, a look of concern on her face. She looked like she had to say something, but couldn't find the words to do so. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke, clearly nervous.

“Well, first of all, thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. And, um…” her face began getting pinker. “I...I wouldn't mind going on a date. A-as long as you’re comfortable with it, of course.” she smiled, rubbing the back of her neck.

A date? y/n couldn't believe it. they were speechless. they didn't think they were weird, or a freak, or anything? “You...you don't think I'm weird? We’ve never even talked..”

“Well, that may be true, but that's what dates are for, right? To get to know someone better! Plus, it would be nice being seen in public with someone as cute as you!” she winked, a huge grin on her face.

‘C-cute?!?!? She thinks I'm cute!! Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg-’ y/n’s face was practically as red as an apple, but so was Ashido's, so they felt a little bit better about it.

“Y-yeah, a date sounds wonderful,” they said, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt again. “I-i’m free on the 4th!”

“Alrighty then! Here, gimme your phone.”

They then traded numbers, and Ashido ran off to meet up with her friends again, promising to work out the details later. y/n smiled.

Yep, there was no denying it- pink was definitely their favorite color.

#Mina #Ashido #Mina Ashido #mina x reader #mina x y/n #y/n #favorite color #bnha #my hero academia #my hero x reader #mha #slight angst #just a tad bit of homophobia #please dont cancel me for this- #yuri #fanfiction #fanfic

[gamerwoo]

[The Pack Next Door] Mingi: Friends With Benefits (Part Three)

(photo edit courtesy of @songmingki​)

Characters: Mingi x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, friends to lovers au, a tiiiiiny bit of angst, smut (very awkward attempt at phone sex, masturbation, sorta kinda dom!mingi????)

Word count: 3,306

Summary: Growing up, you and Mingi were inseparable. You’d been friends your entire life and, as far as you knew, things were never any different. But what you don’t know is that Mingi imprinted on you when he was 15 and first turned into a werewolf, and he had been trying to keep it a secret ever since. And with the awful timing of mating season, he’s hoping he can somehow keep the facade up.

Tags: @sakura-uji​​ @xummie​​ @peachy-hoon​​ @psshwa​​ @uglyratlmao​​ @uwu-yifan​

Previous | Next | Friends With Benefits Masterlist

Mingi hardly slept that night because his body was rapidly heating up and his dick was straining in his boxers. All telltale signs of mating season starting. He was panting, sweaty, and his skin was extremely sensitive by the time the sun rose and his brothers woke up for classes and/or work. Hongjoong went to check on him, seeing Mingi sprawled out on his bed with nothing but boxers on, his bedding kicked off, and his eyes closed as he groaned out in discomfort.

“Yeah,” he sighed, angling his head so he could still look at Mingi, but his order would reach the curious pack behind him, “we’re keeping _____ away from him for the next week.”

Mingi let out a strangled groan, “Don’t say her name.”

Yunho let out a deep sigh, “I’ll go get the chains.”

-

Mingi was sick. That meant you were going to take it upon yourself to take care of him. He may have wanted you to stay away the other times he was sick, but you knew his friends were at school today, meaning there was nobody to care for him. But you didn’t want to just waltz into their house, so you tried texting him instead.

Normally, Mingi didn’t answer his phone when he was in rut. He couldn’t really focus on anything else except how hot and uncomfortable and needy he felt, so texting or calling anyone wasn’t really something he wanted to do. But he just so happened to be already looking in the direction of his nightstand, and he saw your name pop up, and that alone sent his heart into a frenzy.

_____💕: how ya feelin bud?

_____💕: i can come over if you need me to

God, just the thought alone of you coming over had Mingi biting his lip to stifle a moan. He absolutely knew that wasn’t a good idea, but he really wanted to tell you yes. He wasn’t going to, but he wanted to.

Mingi💜: it’s fine i’ll be okay

_____💕: do you need anything?

An idea popped into his head that might be very, very stupid. But you were texting him already and literally anything from you would be good for him. He just had to be not creepy about it.

Mingi💜: you could brighten up my day and send me a selfie :)

_____💕: wow ur a simp even when ur sick lmao

It wasn’t out of character for him to hype you up or anything. He always said cheesy things about how seeing you made his day better or missing you if he didn’t see you all weekend or something. So you really didn’t think anything of it, snapping a cute picture of yourself smiling with your tongue poking out before sending it to Mingi.

_____💕: feel better butthead 💕

There was absolutely nothing dirty or sexual about the photo sent to him -- well, other than just the hint of cleavage from your loose tank top you were wearing under your flannel -- but it still made Mingi somehow grow even harder than he was before which he didn’t think was possible. His ember eyes bored into his phone screen as he stared at you, whimpering because you were so fucking cute and he wanted you so badly but he couldn’t have you. He just had a selfie of you that he could get off to.

-

“Can I ask something...weird?” Jongho wondered as the two of you sat in the trunk of his car at the gas station, sipping your slushies together.

“Yeah, why not?” you shrugged.

“Have you and Mingi ever like...done anything?” he asked slowly, turning his head to look at you.

“You really won’t let that girlfriend/boyfriend thing go, huh?” you chuckled.

But he didn’t smile like you were, “I’m genuinely asking. You guys are so close and you’ve been friends since you were born. Haven’t you ever felt feelings toward him?”

“What, are you snooping for Mingi?”

“No, I wouldn’t tell him anything.”

“But he’s your friend.”

“So are you.”

For as long as you’d known Jongho, you knew he was trustworthy. He never snitched on anybody, he would just kind of stand by and watch madness ensue -- but Yeosang, on the other hand would snitch to make the madness move faster. So you knew that if Jongho said he wouldn’t tell anybody, he really wasn’t going to.

“We haven’t done anything, no,” you answered truthfully.

Noticing something in your tone, Jongho quirked an eyebrow, “I’m sensing a but in there.”

You let out a sigh before you took a sip from your slushie, “I guess I kinda...have liked him for a while...?”

“Really?”

Of course he knew that, he knew you felt the imprinting pull, too.

“But we’ve been friends for a long time so it would be weird,” you shrugged, mostly trying to reason with yourself for the hundredth time more than you were trying to convince Jongho.

“Ah, I doubt that,” he chuckled. “You’re pretty much the only girl Mingi even brings around.”

You snorted, “Really?”

“Why do you seem so shocked?”

“I mean...he’s a good looking dude, and he’s a sweetheart so I figured--”

Even though Jongho was well aware of the reason why Mingi never brought other girls back to their house, he scoffed and said, “You’re forgetting he’s a dumbass.”

“Okay,” you laughed in agreement, “he’s kind of a himbo sometimes.”

“Kind of?” Jongho asked. “Sometimes?”

‘Considering he’s such a big, clueless idiot that he hasn’t asked you out or told you the truth since he was 15,’ he wanted to add on, but he knew better than to do that.

“...He’s a himbo.”

Jongho nodded as he took a sip of his own slushie, “Absolutely.”

-

Mingi’s ringing phone didn’t necessarily break him out of his slumber, but he was trying really hard to sleep for a little bit. No matter how many times he jerked himself off, nothing was ever good enough. That’s how it always was. It might work for a few minutes if he was lucky, but he’d just get worked up again. He needed his mate. He was the only one in the pack who knew who his mate was, and because of that, he needed you to actually feel satisfied while he was going through rut. But how could he ask that of you?

With a groan, he lifted his head that was soaking his pillow with sweat to see who it was. He knew most of the pack had gone out to the movies, and Jongho was out with you for the afternoon and evening, so he had to make sure it wasn’t any one of them with some emergency.

But when your name was glowing on his screen, he scrambled with shaky hands to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” he rasped out before clearing his throat.

“Hey,” you replied casually, your phone on speaker as you made yourself a sandwich in your tiny apartment on campus, “I just wanted to check and make sure you were still alive.”

Mingi sighed as he threw his head back down into his pillow. Just hearing your voice affected him, and he struggled to keep any odd noises he might make inside.

“Uh huh,” he groaned softly.

“Yeah, sure sounds like it,” you joked with a chuckle. 

Mingi’s hand inched its way down to his boxers, his hardened member hardly having any sort of relief that day. But once his fingertips grazed the outline, he realized what he was subconsciously doing and stopped himself. He couldn’t just get himself off while talking to you on the phone. That wasn’t okay.

“It’s not too bad, is it?” your voice was softer this time when you spoke; it was more caring.

His lips pressed together in a thing line, trying to keep the moan bubbling in his throat from slipping out. Your voice just sounded so nice, and it wasn’t like you would know, right? If he was sneaky, it would be fine, right? 

“Just-- J-just a fever,” he stammered out, letting his hand slip into his boxers and wrap around his dick.

“Mingi, that doesn’t sound good,” you frowned, knowing sometimes a fever could be serious.

“You do, though,” he breathed out without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut. Even though he was still stuck using his own hand, your voice definitely helped.

“Huh?”

His eyes snapped open, “I, uh-- I-it’s cool, though. I-I’m fine. I feel okay, j-just--”

He let out a gasp, biting down on the side of his hand by his thumb before he could continue.

“J-just a fever. That’s all.”

“Are you positive?” you wondered, bringing your sandwich to your room along with your phone. “You sound like...weird.”

“Hard day,” he replied through clenched teeth.

If you knew what was really going on, you would’ve laughed at the unintentional pun.

“Wanna talk about it?” you offered, kicking your door shut softly.

“N-no, just--” the sigh he let out sounded more stressed to you, but it was actually sexual frustration. “Just need some kind of...r-release.”

“Could always fuck somebody,” you suggested with a shrug. “That’s what people do, right?”

Mingi almost choked on air hearing you say that, “W-what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you snorted. “Mingi, I’m well aware you’re not a virgin and there’s no way you don’t sleep with people. Look at you, dude!”

You believed that maybe Jongho had never seen Mingi bring any girls home, but there was no way he didn’t get around. Mingi was one of the best men on earth, hands down. Besides, his friends had already snitched on him before, telling you all the times he’d had flings or one-night-stands -- but they kept out the fact it was because he was desperate and couldn’t have you.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of f-female friends, _____,” he said in a breathy chuckle, “and I’m not in a good s-situation to go make any.”

“Just get a friends with benefits. I mean, you’re around your friends all the time and they’re single.”

His hand completely stopped as he whined your name in annoyance. His pack were the last people he wanted to think about right now.

“I don’t like guys, alright?” he huffed.

“What about your friends that aren’t guys?”

“That’s literally only you.”

You weren’t sure why you suddenly felt tingly...down there, but you tried to ignore it.

“I mean,” you began slowly around a mouthful of bread and meat, “I’d offer to assist you, bud, but--”

“Y-you would?” Mingi quickly asked.

Your chewing stopped, your entire body freezing as you looked at your phone. Were you really about to do this? If you replied how you wanted to, you might ruin your friendship forever.

Mingi heard your muffled voice like you were eating food quietly say, “Yeah.”

‘Don’t moan, don’t moan, don’t moan,’ was all he could think as he covered his mouth with his hand until the urge passed.

“But, I mean,” you spoke up after you swallowed your food, afraid that his silence meant he was weirded out by your statement, “only ‘cause we’re friends and like, I guess some friends help other friends out like that? But I can’t go there anyway because you’re sick and, like--”

“W-what if,” he cut you off, “we used our ph-phones...?”

You raised your eyebrows, “Have you done that before?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Haven’t you?”

The only times you’d ever done anything remotely like that was when you were seeing some college guy toward the end of your freshman year of college. He suggested the idea a few times and he’d get himself off on the phone while you sat on your couch and ate snacks and half-assed being into it and paying attention. In reality, you were watching Mulan while it was muted and with subtitles on because you really didn’t even want to be with the guy anymore but you wanted to tell him in person and he was out of town. So technically, no, you hadn’t. And it seemed awkward.

“I-I can guide you through it,” he promised before quickly adding on, “I-if you want to! Only if you w-want to.”

For once during one of these conversations, you actually put your food down and gave your phone your complete, undivided attention. Because it was Mingi.

“Y-yeah, sure,” you decided.

Mingi let out a breath of relief as his hand resumed its position around his length, and began moving up and down his shaft, “Okay, you have to take your jeans off.”

You weren’t sure how or why, but Mingi suddenly sounded much more assertive. He still sounded a bit strained and kind of tired, but he wasn’t stuttering anymore. He seemed more sure of his words.

You undid your jeans and shoved them very ungracefully off of yourself, kicking them onto the floor next to the couch, “Done.”

“Now, I want you to just tease yourself like you normally do,” he breathed. He wanted to just go easy on you since he knew you hadn’t done this before and he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so he figured doing something you were used to would be the best way to do that. “Whatever starts to get you more worked up.”

You suddenly blanked on every sexual thing you’d ever done. How did you normally masturbate? When was the last time you’d even done that? What even got you turned on? Yes, Mingi’s voice was making you feel some sort of heat in your lower region but you still felt a little weird and confused trying to do this.

Still you trailed a finger down to your clothed clit and started lightly rubbing circles. That was what he meant, right? God, were you actually questioning if you were doing phone sex correctly?

“Tell me how it feels,” Mingi groaned. “I wanna hear your voice.”

Had it been literally any other guy trying to do this with you, you wouldn’t even bother trying to pretend. You were the type to shut someone down and not even bother trying to humor them -- except that one time but you felt pity for the poor clueless idiot. But this was Mingi and you really wanted to help him out even if you couldn’t do anything for yourself.

“I’d rather it was you,” you huffed with more whine in your voice than you expected. And it wasn’t a lie, you really would prefer Mingi did this to you instead of yourself because you just felt awkward.

The moan he let out of your name had heat shoot straight through you, and you found yourself dragging two fingers up and down your clothed core, and it actually felt a little less weird now.

“I wish it were me, too,” he breathed, and you heard him shifting on his bed. “Pretend it’s me, okay? My hand sliding into your panties and my finger going into you.”

You did exactly as he said, putting your hand under the waistband of your underwear and inserting your index finger into your heat. Mingi heard the shaky breath leave your lips, and he let out another deep moan as his own hand sped up. 

“Your fingers are way longer than mine, though,” you chuckled lightly as you slowly pumped your finger in and out of yourself.

“Mm, so they’d fill you up even better.”

The quiet, involuntary moan you let out at his words almost made him cum right on the spot. It was one of the best sounds he’d ever heard, and he just wanted to hear it over and over again. He wished he could hear it in person.

“Say more stuff like that,” you requested as heat rushed to your cheeks.

His eyes closed as he imagined all the things he would want to do to you, and repeated it to you. How he wanted to fuck you with his fingers and his tongue until your legs were trembling and your thighs were squeezing around his head. How he wanted to work you up until you were begging him to properly fuck you. And the way he said all of that and the way he moaned between sentences and words had you adding a second finger and rubbing your clit as you rocked your hips and moaned out his name.

“Fuck, you sound so wet,” he whimpered, sounding so much more needy than he had while he was growling in his deep voice how hard he’d make you cum. “A-are you close?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice higher in pitch as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening more and more and more.

Mingi was struggling so hard to hold on but it was difficult to. He wanted to cum so badly but he didn’t want to until you did. Somehow, even in this situation he was in, he was more concerned about you getting off than he was about himself.

“Fuck, _____, I’m gonna cum,” he said in an airy moan, fucking into his fist.

“Cum for me, Mingi,” you told him, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to reach your release.

That was it for him. Hearing you tell him to cum had thick ropes of white covering his stomach, chest, and hand as he let out loud moans of your name, followed by loud panting once he’d come down from his high. But what you didn’t know was that his cock was still throbbing and hard in his hand, so he continued.

“I need you to cum, _____,” he whined, sounding like he hadn’t even gotten any relief from his orgasm. “Fuck, please cum for me. I want to hear you.”

“I-- I--” you struggled with words because while you were so close to the edge, you couldn’t quite get there and it was frustrating. “Shit, I’m gonna--”

“Be good for me, _____,” his voice was airy still, but it was deeper again. “Cum for me and say my name nice and loud.”

You clenched around your fingers as you came with a loud and high, “Oh god, Mingi,” that even had him cumming right then for a second time. Hearing your moans and whimpers of his name as you came was enough to throw him into his second orgasm, which somehow was even more satisfying than the first.

Satisfying enough to make his erection go down.

You relaxed back into your couch, slowly removing your fingers from yourself as you opened your eyes and looked at your phone as if you were expecting to share awkward glances with your best friend.

You didn’t feel awkward, though, and neither did he. The haze of the moment began to wash away, and you thought you’d be left feeling uncomfortable and unable to even stay on the phone. But you both felt...the same. You felt comfortable, like you were just having a regular conversation.

“You okay?” he asked, sounding much better than when you had first called -- definitely a little more tired, but better.

“Yeah,” you replied with a soft chuckle. “You?”

“Yeah.”

The silence was comfortable as you just looked at his name on your screen over and over again. You wondered if this would be a normal thing for you now. You wondered if you would actually do that in person. Actually...

“Y’know,” you spoke up with a light tone to your voice, “I don’t think phone sex is for me.”

Mingi was silent for a beat before asking, “You wanna come over tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you replied as if he asked if you wanted to go boarding on the beach.

“Cool,” he replied just as casually, but he was actually smiling like an idiot in his bed. “I should try to get some sleep then. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“‘Kay. Night, dude.”

“Night.”

#ateez #mingi #ateez au #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #ateez series #ateez smut #werewolf!ateez #ateez x reader #mingi au #mingi imagine #mingi scenario #mingi oneshot #mingi fanfic #mingi series #mingi smut #werewolf!mingi #mingi x reader #ateez aus #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshots #ateez fanfics #mingi aus #mingi imagines #mingi scenarios #mingi oneshots #mingi fanfics

[samwrights]

When You Wake

I literally cannot believe I wrote this. This was originally started to celebrate Yaku’s birthday (happy belated, my love), and to satisfy the requests for a Noya/Yaku threesome. Uh, don’t come for me. I couldn’t find inspiration in the normal hq world, so we’re making it weird. If y’all thought Between the Lines was long, this monstrosity is 13.2k words. 13,200 words, with a shameful, side amount that is smut. Literally, this is all just plot.

ear candy list is, surprisingly, on the smaller side. 

⤞ Revenga - System of A Down ⤞ Violent Pornography - System of A Down ⤞ Question! - System of A Down

pairing: Yaku/Reader/Noya

w a r n i n g s//TW: rape, murder, blood consumption, mentions of getting roofied, gore, blood from wounds, supernatural AU, revenge, temporarily mute reader, reader is converted to a vampire without consent, dubcon, death, spitroasting, dirty talk, senpai kink. PLEASE read through these warnings over and over until it is clear to you that this is not going to be an easy read. The reader literally goes on a revenge spree. ⤞ THIS. IS NOT. AN EASY. READ.

Now that you have been thoroughly warned, enjoy.

The way media and films and television glorified and romanticized college parties never could have prepared you for the fateful encounter in the alleyway on a muggy August evening. Primarily, college parties were depicted as fun—drunk nights on the weekends with your girlfriends, maybe hook up with that cute boy from chemistry that somehow ended up with you grinding on him on the dance floor. Though, in some genres, college parties end up with the protagonist roofied and raped and follows how the heroine spirals and recovers. But it only was supposed to happen in the movies, right?

It wasn’t supposed to end with you halfway to death, knocking on Hell’s door with blood pooling around your lifeless body in a barely lit, bleak alleyway. It wasn’t supposed to end with warbles of light fading in and out of your vision as cars passed you by, unknowing there was someone in the alleyway between a closed down butcher shop and a florist who had already gone home for the evening. You were only in your early twenties with only two more years of university to compete—it wasn’t supposed to end yet.

“We can’t just leave her here.”

“I think she’s too far gone, Yaku. We were too late.”

The voices swirling around you were unfamiliar, or at least from what you could gather. In your condition, it was impossible to discern them in the first place—were they even real voices? They sounded entirely too angelic from what you could process in your catatonic state. Maybe they weren’t; maybe death had taken you without your knowledge and the jury that decided whether or not your soul would ascend to heaven was passing their judgment on you.

“I can save her, Noya.” One of the voices, presumably this Yaku character snarls back with urgency. It is the last thing you hear before your limp body is pulled from the concrete. The movement, regardless of how delicate, causing more blood to rush from your open wounds and draining any ounce of consciousness from your mind. “You mind trying to collect the fallout?”

Nishinoya, though shaking his head, gives a subtle grin that cannot be seen in the dead of the night. He pulls out a large mason jar from the satchel he’s carrying and places the mouth of the jar where blood is pouring out profusely from a knife wound. The man collecting the blood knew entirely too well that once his mate sets his mind to something, there was no changing it. Not that it served as a recurring issue; if anything, Noya was grateful for Yaku’s stubbornness considering it was that exact trait of his that had given the former his second chance at life.

The two of them move swiftly, trying to make it back to their hidden mansion, that was quite a distance away, in secret. Yaku is doing all that he can to make sure not to disturb your body so as not to open any wounds further that could force you to bleed out and meet the grim reaper. He wasn’t a very pleasant creature, but that was a story for another day. At the same time, Nishinoya is almost fighting to keep the same steadfast pace while simultaneously holding the now half full mason jar just under the knife wound. The blood was beginning to thicken, turning from bright red to a deep crimson as it oxidizes.

The moment they enter their private garden, Nishinoya busts down the door to their home with expertise, alerting the other members of their clan. “Akaashi!” He screeches, his voice bellowing out in decibels that should not be used unless trying to project a voice in an amphitheater with no microphone. Thank omniscient beings for noise cancelling enchantments. “We need you!” An almost timid, young looking man enters the foyer where Noya is still collecting blood and Yaku is holding your limp body in his arms.

“So that’s where you two have been,” Akaashi deadpans, unfazed by the steadily decaying girl. “Bring her to my room. You can store what blood you’ve gathered there while I remove the knife and get her patched up.” Though calm, the three of them move at breakneck speeds, laying you face down on an operating table while Akaashi suits up. From what he can tell, this was going to be a real mess, considering how deep the knife is. The three of them knew what was to come and what their designated roles in this moment were—Nishinoya was to separate the blood he had gathered from your body and ration them into IV bags, while Yaku was provide suction in case of a bleed out.

“We can save her, can’t we?” Yaku asks quietly, tools in hand.

“That will depend on her will to fight,” Akaashi says quietly, half due to concentration, half because he genuinely does not have a valid answer. “You’ve done this time and time again, Yaku. If anyone is going to save her, it’s going to be you.”

Upon coming to, the only muscles in your body that can move are your eyelids. Peeling them back as much as you can muster, you notice the only light filtering into whatever room you are currently residing in is coming from the blaring moonlight through an open window. The shadows around you make up areas and shapes that you are entirely unfamiliar with, causing you to sit up impulsively to make sense of your surroundings. A mistake on your part, as you are immediately met with a searing pain in your ribs. With further inspection from your droopy eyes, you learn that your torso is entirely bare, save for the copious amounts of medical grade bandages and gauze around your breasts and stomach. Blood pooled somewhere along your left shoulder blade where the pain felt the worst.

“You shouldn’t try to sit up right now.” The same voice you faintly remember from the alley, the one that didn’t want to leave you, before blacking out calls out from across the bedroom. The room is quite large from what you could tell and his smooth voice seems to be leagues away. “Lay back down before you bleed out again—I’ll change your bandages.” From the shadows, a man whom you presume to be Yaku emerges before you, perfect pale skin and sandy brown locks nearly reflecting in the moonlight as he approaches. His face, while incredibly handsome, is blank and is strictly business as he saunters near. Even as he is gingerly tearing off the tight bindings around you with next to no effort, his face remains nonplussed. Even as he washes the dried, crusty blackened blood off your bare chest, nothing. “Do you remember anything?” Yaku’s voice is quiet and somber as he asks his question. He takes your silence as a no.

Your mind is a hazy smog, trying to recall any type of memory at all. Rather than actual imagery, you see a white light when you close your eyes—you see colors you don’t remember seeing before, you hear crying. You hear your name. Not just your first name or a nickname either, you hear your entire given name along with your birthday, even the time of birth.

Any attempt to recall memories is interrupted by a sharp pain. You suck in a breath as Yaku tries to lift your arm to wrap the fresh bandages around your torso, causing him to grimace ever so slightly. This task was a bit easier for him when you were still unconscious, but nonetheless he is glad you’re awake. When the pain subsides, you peel your eyelids back once again, staring at the man sitting at the edge of the bed in wonder. Why was he tending to your wounds? How did he fit into the story? “You needn’t worry about that right now, [name],” he murmurs quietly, reintroducing the same delicate tone you heard before blacking out in the alley. Yaku can tell you’re wondering how he knew what to respond with and how he knew your name but, after a small deliberation, he decides it’s best not to overwhelm you right now. “Get some rest, little one,” he speaks again, “I’ll be here when you wake.” Before you know it, you’re out like a light once again.

Yaku exits his and Noya’s shared bedroom to dispose of the sullied bandages, only to be greeted to the sight of his mate leaning against the bannister closest to their room. “How’s she doing?” Yaku’s lips tighten, the seam becoming a hard line as his grimace deepens.

“She doesn’t remember anything but when I asked her if she did...”

“What?” Noya presses, perturbed at the silence. Very few things in their lives rendered Yaku speechless.

“She started seeing memories of her birth.” The two shorter leaders of the clan meander their way down the grandiose staircase in silence, each step accompanied by the dramatic chimes of a grand piano coming from the foyer. The music stops when they reach the bottom of the staircase, Sugawara pausing his fingers and quirking a brow at the couple. It was a rare occurrence to see both of them, or Nishinoya in the very least, look so morose.

“What’s got you guys looking so down? You look like someone just died.” The musician muses. Sugawara Koushi always did have the most twisted sense of humor—that was partially the reason that Yaku had kept him around. The other primary reason was solely for bragging rights and an inside joke between the clan because no matter how many times Sugawara introduced himself as Beethoven or Bach, people assumed that they all just meant he was talented. Not that it was literal and Sugawara was just a name he’d adopted when he earned another century of life.

“Ha ha,” Nishinoya drawls satirically, for both himself and for Yaku. The latter excuses himself, parting ways because he knows he can’t handle conversation right now. “Come on, Suga, that’s not funny. Yaku’s already taking this really hard and if we lose her...”

“Humans die all the time, Nishi. A conversion isn’t a guaranteed shot at a second life and Yaku knows that so why is he—“

“Because she was found just like I was. Wrong place at the wrong time and it ended with...” the shorter of the two can no longer find the words to speak. It didn’t matter how many centuries old everyone in the clan was, it didn’t matter that they had watched plagues take countless lives or even bared witness to some of Jack the Ripper’s victims—it was a different monster entirely to genuinely watch a person become prey to another human. “I hope she makes it through, if only to rip out the guys throat that stabbed her.”

Three months had passed since you had first woken up. Strength is returning to you little by little, though not enough for you to hold consciousness for more than a few minutes a day. Regardless, Yaku is relieved to see you making some form of progress, to see that you’re somewhat handling the conversion well. The head of the clan was almost always present when you did awake, though there were instances in which his partner, Nishinoya, had been the one to greet you.

Nishinoya was much more boisterous than his other half—much more talkative and, considering you haven’t found the strength to speak quite yet, that was entirely okay with you. You learned that Yaku and Nishinoya had been together a very long time and Yaku had saved his life ages ago, as the latter phrased it. In admiration, Noya mentions his partner’s abundance of patience—a skill that he himself lacked—and determination to see justice being served had swayed the younger of the two to continuously stand alongside him. Through these little vignettes of their life, however, Noya makes it a point to acknowledge the fact that he was once almost too overbearing for his senior, often intimidating him with just how open and blunt he was. “Nishi, are you boring her with details of our mundane life?” Yaku asks bemusedly as he enters the room you’d been resting in.

“Hey, we aren’t boring. I’m not boring you, am I?” Noya looks to your face, your expression not giving much away save for the light in your barely live eyes. It was far from mundane—if anything, hearing the stories made you so curious considering from just barely glancing with the two, they seemed to be a strange couple.

“We are,” Yaku confirms, though as to what, you aren’t sure. You were certain you hadn’t said anything aloud, considering you practically can’t. “Let’s just say I can hear your thoughts. It’s how we’ve been communicating with you.” The head of clan saunters over casually, sitting at the edge of the mattress opposite to his partner. Both of their rich, golden irises are gazing at you, gauging a reaction from you as he shares this bit of information. Weird, was the only way for you to describe it. Though Yaku didn’t need to read your mind to know that; the slightly panicked look on your face gave away your thoughts.

“Don’t think we don’t know about those vivid wet dreams you have of us—“

“Yū, you weren’t supposed to tell her that!”

“What? We’re all adults here—“

“Nishi, get out,” Yaku covers his face in utter horror, even more so as his partner exits the room laughing as he does so. Shameless Noya. The door closes, leaving you and Yaku alone—were he able to go red out of embarrassment, he probably would have. “I-I am so sorry about him.” Testing out the information that the man beside you supplied moments ago, you reassure him that it’s fine—that you have no control over your dreams and that he probably doesn’t have a way to turn off this strange ability. For a moment, he’s relieved because you seem to be accepting everything with grace thus far; maybe telling you the truth wasn’t going to be the worst case scenario.

But the thought of the truth makes Yaku hesitate—there was no way you were ready to handle the entirety of the truth. At the moment, you could barely handle your weekly check-ups with Akaashi—the household doctor. After a formal introduction, you learned that Akaashi was the one who patched up your wounds when you were first brought to the little mansion. From what you gathered, he was quiet and direct, kind even, but you hated the weekly visits. Not only was Yaku carrying you rather painful, as you’re still recovering from your injuries, but Akaashi had to do regular blood transfusions because, according to the young doctor that you swore could not have already completed medical school and residency, you had lost a lot of blood during the incident.

An incident in which you still can’t recall.

“It’ll come to you,” Yaku says morosely, probably responding in accordance to your thought. The man beside you gets up from the bed, holding his arms open to you, silently asking for permission to pick you up. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more gentle.” His arms are cold as he lifts you up, but all you can focus on is the throbbing in your back as he moves you. A sharp intake of breath leaves your lungs as Yaku supports you physically, adding gentle words of encouragement because he can almost feel how much pain you’re in. Every step down the steep staircase adds another metaphorical bruise to your tender skin, a small groan leaving your throat each time. And while you’re not uncomfortable with the idea of being in Yaku’s arms, you’re grateful when you’re laid down in Akaashi’s office along the leather exam seat.

“How are you feeling today, [name]?” The young doctor asks as he preps you for your blood transfusion. Much to your surprise, you feel hungry—ravenous, even��like you hadn’t eaten a meal in months. Maybe you hadn’t; it wouldn’t be that ridiculous to consider since your memory was a little shoddy.

“You’ll feel better after the transfusion,” Yaku reassures from the chair he’s sitting in beside the exam bed, “we’ll get some food in your system before we start your physical therapy.” There’s an interesting intonation in the way he speaks this, you notice. Like there’s an underlying joke or hidden agenda that you don’t quite understand, but at the same time, the strange phrasing doesn’t trigger your fight-or-flight system in any capacity. If anything, it just seems that Yaku wants to help you regain strength as best you can.

Though, that was currently proving to be a challenge as well. While you weren’t entirely sure how long ago your injuries occurred, you knew a decent amount of time had to have passed. One of your first check-up appointments with Akaashi led to the explanation of the muscle atrophy in your legs from lack of use. Once you slowly became acclimated to being awake for more than just a few minutes a day, Daichi was introduced to you as your physical therapist. He was another enigma—entirely too young to be as experienced as he was in his field, but you decided against questioning it—temporarily mute or not.

Being mute was another issue that was taking much longer than you liked. You hated only being able to communicate through Yaku’s inexplicable talent of being able to read your mind. There were many occasions in which you wanted to ask Akaashi about your condition and how bad of a state you had been brought to him in; how you wanted to ask Sugawara how he’d learned to play such a vast variety of melodies so expertly; how you wanted to tell Nishinoya that every time he tried to feed you a soup or something, it tasted foul and metallic no matter how fresh it was.

You’d have to wait until you found your voice again.

After your check-in with Akaashi, Yaku brings you to Daichi’s office just down the hallway. “Hey, there’s our little fighter.” Daichi was probably the kindest out of everyone in the household. He had a warmth to him that seemed to contrast his icy fingers when he’d hold and guide you for your therapy sessions—a little uncanny that everyone in this mansion had freezing finger tips. Maybe everyone had poor blood circulation?

From the opposite end of the room, Yaku stifles a laugh by biting his cheek. Glad to know that your deconstructed concept of time hadn’t waned on your sense of humor. Meanwhile, Daichi lays you gingerly on a mat on the ground with you back flat as he wraps a resistance band around one of his ankles, as well as your own. “Alright, [name], I’m gonna help you get your leg up and I want to see you pull your leg up as high as you can go, understood?” Five didn’t seem like a very large number, but for now it was the goal. If you could at least lift your legs five times, it was progress considering the severe muscle atrophy in your legs.

Some days, it was difficult for Yaku to sit with you through therapy. He can see the way you wince in pain because you’re trying to relearn and rebuild your muscle groups; other times he just wanted someone, anyone, to blurt out the truth about the situation and hope that it inspires you to push yourself to heal. Some days, it was difficult because Yaku found himself just wanting to hold you in his bed that you’d taken over while the two of you plot out the revenge you didn’t even know you needed. But it wasn’t always bad. There were days, like today, where the progress on your therapy was going much better than anyone in the clan anticipated. There were days where Yaku would ask what you remembered about...anything, and you would have some form of answer for him.

On those days, Yaku began to realize that your memories were coming in chronological order. From the first time you sat up or crawled, to your first word even. In fact, Yaku’s favorite moment that he’s witnessed thus far was watching your father teach you to take your very first steps—it seemed to recur during your therapy sessions, as if subconsciously encouraging you to try to walk again. Maybe that’s why today, you were able to provide Daichi with double the repetitions that he asked for—a sure sign that strength and muscle were returning to your legs. But even with what progress you’ve made so far, Yaku makes it a point to carry you back to your room and lay you back in bed to rest. As always, Yaku tucked you in as he spoke, “get some sleep, little one. I’ll be here when you wake,”

For weeks on end, dreams stop becoming dreams. Per usual, Yaku awaits in the corner opposite of the bed where you rest, allowing your memories-turned-dreams to flood his mind. Each night, they’re progressively becoming more and more clear—you’re able to recall outfits that you’d worn twenty years ago with perfect detail, scars and scrapes that your friends had, even when that one sock was in the corner of your closet from when you were seven. But the clearer these chronological dreams became, the less frequently you were waking up and it was beginning to worry the head of the clan. While you were still obtaining your weekly blood transfusions to help sustain your life, it seemed to be that they were no longer providing you with enough energy to move past your current stage of recovery. “Yaku, she needs to start feeding,” Akaashi had instructed him during a consultation.

“I still haven’t told her—“

“Come on, man, it’s been almost eight months,” the house doctor groans. There was no reason to coddle you anymore as your life-threatening wounds had already healed for the most part. Sure, there was still discomfort from your broken ribs but even those had almost entirely healed over; your physical therapy sessions and rehabilitation with Daichi were going rather well but, at this point, if you didn’t start getting more substance in your body, this would be the end of the line for you. Akaashi had advised him this for weeks now, but Yaku still hesitated. “We’ve got to tell her.”

“I know, I know. I just—“ the sandy brunette ruffles his claws through his mussed locks in frustration, “I think her power is developing. And I’m afraid if we drop the bomb on her now, it’s going to halt or hinder that progress.”

“Either tell her or feed her,” Akaashi bites, “if you don’t, she’s not going to have any power because she’s going to starve to death.” With that, Akaashi walks away because he has nothing left to argue at this point. While he may be the youngest of the brood, this made Akaashi the most volatile of the group. More often than not, he was relatively kind and patient, timid even, as he was in his human life, but also very stern and strict—all of it coming from a place of love. And Yaku, knowing the tremendous amounts of emotional pain that the former had received, the leader of the clan dare not disrespect him.

Rather than making it an argument, Yaku roams around the lodge to grab a couple bags of O negative out of storage before heading back to his room. Much to his surprise, Nishinoya is sitting at the edge of the bed already, a slight look of panic washing over his features. “Yaku, I think something is wrong.” Without another word, the creature in question hands the bags of blood to his mate before resting his forehead against yours—a sure fire way to make sure that the mental images he picked up from you were pristine and uninterrupted as you dreamed—ignoring the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

You were at the Pike house. It was the first week of the new college semester and your roommates had convinced you to tag along to a frat party they were invited to. The night was going along exactly like a corny romantic comedy—you had locked eyes with a man from across the dance floor. He was sweet—much kinder than others you had met that night. He grabbed you drink after drink, but your memory begins to go fuzzy after that despite being able to recall memories of your own birth or the stupid girl that picked on you when you were twelve and even the small pimple on her temple that you figured was probably making her insecure. So if you were able to recall these memories, dreams, whatever they were, with such perfect clarity, why could you not remember leaving that party? Did that mean he had been drugging your drinks? It was entirely possible, considering Pike wasn’t exactly known for their hospitality. You vaguely remember the man holding your hand firmly as the two of you weave and bob around people and being met with the sweltering humidity of a muggy August night and your roommates, Yukie and Kaori, were nowhere to be found.

You were dragged into a dimly lit alleyway, stumbling with every step that the man had nearly carried you by your wrist alone, reeking of trash that had been long overdue for pick up and maybe even rotting carcasses. It was difficult to tell considering the drugs you assume that had been placed in your system and it was even more difficult to recall the memories. Bits and pieces of your memory were coming back in patches—though the face of the man that had brought you there was not one of them. Nor were any of his friends that had joined in, appearing at the opening of the alleyway. You remember the sound of tearing fabric, salacious laughter of the group of men surrounding your body. You remember feeling searing pain as one held a knife to your throat, warning you that he would slit your throat if you tried to scream.

The threat was replaced in the form of one of the frat boys ramming a half-hard cock down your throat, knife still in place along the jugular vein, while every orifice and inch of your skin had been violated. Vaguely, you remember trying to bite down on the cock in your mouth and run away. The one that threatened to kill you had missed your throat when you ran and threw the knife into your back instead. Foul screeches of demeaning slander left their mouths as they kicked your ribs in at full force, as if the knife deep in your back wasn’t bad enough.

You remember them leaving your bare, naked body in the alley for death to take you.

You remember their faces.

Awakening with a start, you sit up abruptly, only to fall back into the pillow with a resonant clacking noise followed by a dull throb to your forehead. Yaku recoils, mostly out of shock rather than pain—maybe laying his head on yours wasn’t his finest moment. “You remember,” he balks after he’s recovered from the impact. You’re trying to scream, no sound leaving your lungs while tears barreled out from your eyes. Remember? Why was that a memory? Why did it have to be a memory?

Nishinoya acts hastily, tearing open one of the O negative packs and draining half the contents into his mouth and holding it there as he shoves Yaku out of the way. The smaller of the two slats his lips over your silently screaming mouth, puncturing a small wound to the inside of your lip with his teeth and letting the blood trickle in the hole. It feels like pudding trying to push through a sieve, the flavor of copper and iron tampered out by an earthy, meat flavor—maybe venison? The desire to scream fades away as well, rather being over taken to have whatever nourishment Noya is giving you to enter you more and more. Out of necessity, you mold your lips over his, sucking hard on his lip while wrapping your arms around him because it just didn’t seem that he could get close enough in this moment. Despite the fingers you have threaded in Nishinoya’s gelled locks, he pulls away with a shit-eating grin, his tongue swiping away at the trail of red liquid dripping from the seam of his lips. “Careful, might make a guy a fall in love with that kinda kiss.”

“M-more,” you croak out, deflecting the younger one’s flirty comment all together. Yaku and Noya’s eyes go wide upon hearing your voice for the first time. The former acts on instinct, downing the remaining contents of the bag in his partner’s hand before reenacting the same gesture as the latter. Yaku’s lips are much softer than his partners—or maybe it’s the quelling of whatever hunger that hadn’t been satiated that eased the desire. With Yaku, his tongue laves against the wound that Noya had made, coaxing the fluid to enter at a much more steadfast, intimate pace. Even well after he was done feeding you, Yaku sucked on your tongue, encouraging you to reciprocate, so as to get every drop. “W-What was t-that?” You pant out brokenly as soon as the two of you break apart. The question startles the two sitting at the edge of the bed—now that you had your voice somewhat back, Yaku no longer needed to communicate for you. That also meant he couldn’t control the flow of responses to not overwhelm you.

“I think it’s time you finally got your answers,” Noya mumbles, treading carefully as he looks at his partner. It was a silent reassurance that, no matter how this scenario proceeded, he would be here to support Yaku. To make you more comfortable, he adjusts the pillows behind you so that your back can rest properly along the headboard.

“M-my d-d-dreams?” Having just rediscovered your voice, it still came out in sharp, staccato-like whimpers, but the boys weren’t going to discourage you from speaking. Much like everything else Yaku had done in his life, he had done with patience and your recovery and rehabilitation were no different. But your throat was still raw and it still hurt to speak—thankfully with your mind rushing like a bullet train, Yaku was able to grasp the entirety of your question.

“I think they’re more memories than dreams.” His words come out like a condemning nail in a coffin—like a doctor telling you you only have a few months left to live—because that means everything you recalled from Pike house, the drinks, the party, the alley, all of it was real. “Noya and I found you that night barely clinging to life. Naked, soaked in blood and semen. You died that night, [name].” As he speaks, his cold finger tips traced along your breast until you feel the throbbing mound of flesh—a scar of where the knife had been thrown into you from the back and exited out the front. “The knife had gone through your aorta. Akaashi spent a long time trying to repair it but was unable to.”

Your body begins to tremble as silent sobs wrack through your body. You died? “S-so how ‘mi h-here?” Yaku looks over at Noya in discernible worry—not because the head was afraid of telling the truth, no. He was afraid how you would react to the truth. His partner looks at him poignantly, mentally reminding him that this was eerily similar to how Noya had reacted when he had learned the truth as well. Yaku’s head bobs in agreement, swallowing his hesitance before speaking again.

“I made you like me. Like the rest of us.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, suspicion even, because there’s no way that he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But rather than offering a verbal response, Yaku holds his hand out towards Noya, in which he places the other bag of O Negative in his palm. While the original plan was to just feed you once again, the second Yaku tears open the bag, the hunger you thought had eased returned at full force. You rip the bag out of his cold hands, elongated claws scratched at you as you do so, before you down the contents like a shotgunned beer before you could realize what you were doing.

“T-This is a joke, right?” You balk, voice clear as day due to the strength returning to your body once again from freshly consumed sustenance. But the tensions have gone down significantly, to the point where Noya feels relief and excuses himself to feed, leaving you in Yaku’s solitary care. Once the two of you are left alone, Yaku can only shake his head as he continues to press on with the truth. This had to be a cruel, sick joke. But it wasn’t funny and you certainly weren’t laughing. Yet Yaku had no reason to lie to you and the snack you had just consumed moments ago was meant to serve as a final nail in the metaphorical coffin to make you understand that he was telling the truth.

“We have been alive for centuries—storytellers dubbing our kind as vampires—but originally, we were simply called the Damned.” Yaku proceeds to go through the history, much like he had with all the others before you, because he feels the need to share the truth, needs to tell you that your death isn’t the end of your life but rather the beginning like it had for all those in clan. The most recent addition to the family was Akaashi. He was less than a century old, compared to the others. Akaashi had been tied to a tree and shot repeatedly, only to watch his lover drown to death, who had been tossed into the ocean before shortly before with a thirty pound weight attached to his ankle with his last few breaths. Yaku and Sugawara were the ones to set his nearly lifeless body free with the head of the clan performing Akashi’s conversion. This lead to the newborn to coming back to slaughter the community that decided to his partner needed to die for being a man in love.

Each of their stories was nearly identical. Sugawara, who apparently has been every major known classical musician in history hiding under the guise of his shapeshifter ability, and Daichi were hanged together for being a homosexual couple after their village had carved unsavory words on their bodies to remind their reincarnations of their sins. Yaku and Noya had saved each of them respectively, and allowed the two of them to go on a rampage to annihilate their executioners.

Lastly, or rather firstly, was Nishinoya himself. As Yaku goes into detail about transforming his partner, he tears up ever so slightly. And as you listen actively with no interruptions, no questions even, as he tells you about how Nishi was wrongly imprisoned for theft and how the other prisoners constantly violated and sodomized his body because he was smaller than the rest; how he ended his own life by ingesting whatever toxic chemicals he could find and how Yaku broke him out of prison to start a new life together. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” the aforementioned prisoner re-enters the room, a fragile smile on his thin lips as he takes a seat beside his partner. “So you finally told her?”

“B-but why m-me? Why not just let me die?”

“Do you not want revenge against the assholes that killed you a year ago, [ name ]?” Noya bit before Yaku could jump in. “They’re still alive after what they did to you—how is that fair?!”

A year?

You had died a year ago. How did your family take the news? Your roommates and best friends? Nishi was right—it wasn’t fair at all. Yaku raises a hand towards his partner in attempts to get him to calm down before he got too riled up about the situation and before he could get out the most important question. “I have to know, [ name ], if you want to continue on with this lifestyle or not before we proceed with the real rehabilitation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You tilt your head to your newfound savior. He said it so nonchalantly, as if learning how to walk or learning that your diet was blood wasn’t rehabilitation.

“Well, we have to teach you how to feed properly so your strength gets back up—unless you just want us to feed you for the rest of your eternal life.” Noya jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively in what you’ve come to understand is his typical, joking demeanor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Noya, can you maybe save the flirting for later?” Yaku grits out—once again slightly mortified. It brings laughter to the man in question; it was like rewatching his own life all over again, seeing him get flustered at the smallest amounts of forward affection. It was endearing, if anything.

“Sure. Let’s get [ name ] healthy first then.”

After coming to terms with your transformation and feeding more regularly, still off of a supply stock that the mansion carried, you were able to attend therapy sessions with Daichi more frequently. And while you hadn’t entirely regained muscle or use of your legs, you were able to at least stay awake more often than not. Rather than being cooped up in the bedroom, you found yourself lounging near the entryway where Sugawara would entertain you with the countless pieces he had written over the years. It was soothing and peaceful and Sugawara’s jovial personality kept you from spiraling into a deeper hole knowing that you died. It was still an insane concept, but the five men in your new home had worked hard to keep you sane. “Ready for your session?” Yaku asks gently as he takes a seat beside you on the luxurious sofa. He’s not as uptight as he was now that you knew the truth, though he still did get flustered when you would openly show affection. Even if it was something as simple as leaning your head on his shoulder like you were now.

“I think so,” doing what you could, you scooted and clambered onto Yaku’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly while your weakened lower limbs splayed across his lap. He tucks one arm under your knees while the other supports your back, effectively scooping you up and brings you to the kitchen where the blood stock is kept. You quirk a brow at the creature carrying you, knowing you’ve already had at least three bags since you woke up.

“Gotta get your strength up so you can recover faster,” is all he responds with before he sets you down on a bar stool. Yaku tears open the bag of O Negative and, much to your shock, he drinks half the contents without swallowing before his lips are on yours. One of his fangs finds purchase on the inside of your lip, sinking down and creating an opening for the blood to flow in for quicker delivery. Usually, Yaku would only have to feed you like this when you were in a weaker state, so it felt a bit out of place for him to be doing it right now, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. While the blood trickles into the wound, Yaku’s tongue swirls with yours intimately, coating the cavern with the liquid and he doesn’t stop until every ounce is clear from both of your mouths.

“Not complaining,” you say slowly, “but is there a particular reason you wanted to feed me instead of just letting my chug the bag?” As you ask your question, Yaku is draining the rest of the contents of the bag into his mouth before pulling you towards him in another kiss. The question is repeating over and over in your head, he can hear it loud and clear, but the other thoughts are spurring him on further. The thoughts of how Yaku’s touch makes you crave more, makes you want to feel his lips along your skin and his large hands gripping your thighs tightly. Sometimes he’s unsure whether or not you conveniently forget that he can read your mind, sometimes he wonders if you let your salacious thoughts run wild on purpose. His chest is heaving, deep intakes of breath are plunging through his nostrils despite the blood being long gone. He doesn’t want to stop but centuries of control are begging him to.

“We’re going somewhere today, after your PT,” Yaku pants out after he pulls away, tilting his head down because he can’t look at you right now—he’s afraid to. He needs to try to dampen whatever feral thoughts are running through your brain so that his own self-control doesn’t just get tossed out the window. “Noya and I are taking you out for your first hunt.”

“Uh, am I ready for that?” Shit, you can’t even walk in your own yet. Yaku laughs, grateful for the reprieve from your sexually charged thoughts when you point out the setback.

“That’s why the extra feeding tonight. I needed to make sure it was in your bloodstream so that you had enough strength for PT and the hunt,” Yaku adjusts you from barstool, scooping you into his arms once again to bring you to the mansion’s back garden. Daichi is standing a short distance away adorning a tight muscle tee and joggers, while Noya and Akaashi are sitting at the small table with cigars in hand. Yaku steadies you in front of Daichi, the latter holding onto your hands to make sure you don’t fall, before the former joins the rest the clan at the table. Sugawara emerges from inside the mansion as well, passing off a cigar to Yaku while lighting his own. It was uncomfortable in some capacity to have everybody watching—you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being critiqued on your performance.

“I’m going to be one step ahead of you, and I won’t let go, okay?” Daichi holds his arms out to give you space to take your first step. You take in a sharp breath, the scent of scent of cigars and pine trees overwhelming your nasal cavity. When did you sense of smell become that strong? With trembling limbs, you cling onto Daichi’s muscular forearms, praying to god you didn’t fall as you took a step forward.

“Hey, look!” Noya cheers from a distance, nudging Yaku in the stomach. “She took a step!” The excitement in his voice was evident because, after months of constant aid, Noya has come to have a soft spot for you almost as much as Yaku does. The two of them are watching, utterly enthralled with the way you’re only moving mere millimeters—but millimeters is better than nothing considering the muscle decay and atrophy that had taken place over the last year.

After the first few steps and curling your toes in blades of grass, your feet begin to relax as you tremble forward. Gripping Daichi with all the strength in your hands, you pick your right foot off the ground and place it forward. “That’s good, [ name ]! Gimme one more,” Daichi, a therapist in more ways than one, encourages you to continue moving, wanting to make sure both legs were receiving equal treatment. You repeat the motion with your left leg, taking two full steps. While not perfect, you kept moving forward with his guidance until his calves hit the stone wall of the garden fountain. Considering where you started, twenty five feet was a tremendous distance to cover. “You did amazing, [ name ].” The vampire holding onto you smiles big, pride swelling in chest like a father praising his daughter for taking first in a beauty pageant.

Yaku and Noya are by your side immediately in celebration, the latter much more overt with it as he’s hugging you and holding you up. “What do you think, Daichi? Is she strong enough to at least witness a hunt?” The former asks. Mentioning the “H” word again perks your ears up because a part of you almost wishes to not have to engage with whatever a hunt entails, but part of you also knows that this is your life now. Everything you thought you knew was no longer valid—this was your rebirth, your awakening.

“I think she’ll be okay if one of you carries her for it—“

“Ooh, I’ll do it!” Noya cheers almost too loudly in your ear as he’s still holding you. Without so much as a chance to offer a rebuttal, you’re swept up into his arms as he stands at full height before glancing at his mate. “Ready to go?” Yaku gives a nod, gripping tightly at the satchel over his shoulder before the three of you are off at breakneck speeds. They’re silent as they travel—perhaps because were they to open their mouths at this speed and velocity, they would be catching a whole lot of bugs in their mouths. To your surprise, the three of you end up outside ten-foot-tall brick walls and a chain link fence.

“This is a...”

“A prison,” Yaku answers simply, as if he were answering with what his favorite color was rather than his favorite meal, “considering our diet, we choose to collect our sustenance from those who do not deserve redemption.” There’s a malignant, dark twist in the headman’s words.

“Personally, I prefer going after the rapists and child molestors. Those bastards deserve to be drained of every ounce of blood.” Noya snarls—you could tell it was personal for him. But how could he tell? Surely it wasn’t just written on placards outside of prison cells.

“Easy. Walk in, ask them what they’re serving time for, and their minds fill in the blanks.” The foreboding you sensed from Yaku deepened even further; deepened to the point where it felt like a magnet drawing your eyes towards your savior. But he looked anything but. Yaku stood merely a few inches taller, his claws sharpening and turning black while red overtook the once golden hues of his irises. You look up at Noya curiously, wondering if he’ll undergo the same sort of transformation, but before you could even question it, the gold in his own eyes had already molded into crimson rings.

The three of you enter the building with ease, aiming for the top floor because, according to Nishi, that was where they kept the worst criminals. It played out exactly as Yaku said it would—ask them what they were imprisoned for and, if they were in captivity under the basis of rape, first or second degree murder, sexual assault, or anything involving a minor, he would sink his fangs into their jugular vein and drain them dry. Though he announces his satisfaction, he remains in this strange form that he has presented you with as Nishinoya passes you off into his arms.

The smaller of the two repeats the same process, taking down two prisoners of his own before taking the satchel off of his partner’s shoulder. Noya continues questioning prisoners, letting Yaku’s power of mind reading acting as the judgment call, before pulling out a small, sharp knife from the satchel and slitting each victim’s throat while holding them downcast like a gavel banging down the rule. As blood fountains from their necks, Nishinoya holds fresh IV bags over the openings to collect whatever comes out like rain. Was this how they ended up getting blood for you to feed over the past year. “Yes,” Yaku answers evenly, looking down at you with his crimson eyes, “but we were hoping to actually teach you how to feed tonight. Are you up for it?” Every nerve in your body seemed to scream no, like you shouldn’t be witnessing these events let alone doing it.

But your guts are telling you yes, yes this is now your way of survival. These men were horrid, their victims needed justice. You needed justice. Giving Yaku a small nod, he gives you instructions while the three of you search for your very first meal. Considering neither your fangs nor claws had grown in, as you were very much still a baby by all intents and purposes, Noya would have to incapacitate your prey for you while you bit the inside of your lip, reopening the same puncture wounds from earlier, to allow easier access for the nutrients to enter your body. Once they were out, Noya would puncture the jugular vein for you, while Yaku dipped you down far enough to feed.

Your lips latched on to the raw skin, hooking your own canines for leverage as you draw the blood from your dinner and the moment the warmth seeped into the opening, all doubts about what you were doing had flown out the window. You adjusted the way you’re sitting on your victim, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you continuously sucked every drop of life from him. “Did she just—“ Noya questions, not missing the fact that you had just moved your atrophied legs. And while Yaku is very aware of his mate’s balking, he can only focus on the way your lips mold against your meal’s neck or the muted slurping noises bubbling from your lungs like a woman starved. In a sense, that was quite literal. Noya looks over at his partner—silence wasn’t typical of Yaku when asked a question—but words are lost on him when he sees the way Yaku’s eyes are hungrily staring at your form and he’s unsure if its due to hunger or hunger. The moan that leaves your tongue when you finally pull away from the now empty body confirms the shorter one’s suspicions. “Not that seeing you turned on doesn’t turn me on, but you might wanna put that away, Morisuke.” Noya teases before walking towards you, the call of his given name causing Yaku to snap out of his stupor. Well fuck, he snarls bitterly in his head. He was gonna have to feed again, considering all the blood he had just consumed went straight to his cock.

You feel alive—more alive than you felt in ages. And despite your attempt being incredibly shaky, you managed to stand on your own two feet, using the wall to brace yourself. Noya rushes over to your side to try to hold you steady, asking if you’re alright. “I’m more than alright, Nishi, holy shit.” He has an arm under you, carefully bringing you back towards Yaku, though for the most part, you’re walking entirely on your own.

“So what, have you guys just been giving me snacks this whole time?” You sneer teasingly, though Yaku looks away because your accusation because it isn’t entirely wrong. The blood packs were indeed “snacks” but were usually only used to stave off hunts, that way they didn’t just decimate the prison on an every other day basis, but were also used as post coitus replenishments.

“One more?” Yaku coughs out, as if choking on his own spit. “We can do this one together, if you like.” He’s trying to be polite, despite the feral look in his eyes while also trying to calm down the lust and adrenaline running rampant in his system.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” As opposed to carrying you this time, Yaku flanks to your empty side, helping you walk between him and Noya until you came upon your next victim. This one was larger than the last few—stocky and skin marred with stories of a brutal past. No matter which way you looked at him, he looked bitter, and after asking him what he was in for, you figure he was a perfect candidate. After all, intentionally murdering his wife and three children was heinous by definition. Yaku approaches the much taller man, crouching ever so slightly in the event your meal tried to escape; not that he could even if he wanted to. The leader of the Damned was behind him in seconds, snapping his neck to disarm the threat that was his build.

To everyone’s surprise, you made your way over slowly to the now lifeless, six-foot-three prisoner while Yaku punctured holes on both sides of the victim’s neck, allowing the both of you to feed. It was oddly intimate, being so close to someone while sucking the literal life out of somebody. The lapping, sucking noises brought back salacious thoughts to the man beside you, and he’s doing all that he can just to avoid trading sustenance for an erection again. Meanwhile, Noya is watching both of you in amusement. Does his partner realize that he’s gingerly scraping his claws along your spine? Is it out of encouragement, or interest? Yu can’t quite tell, but he finds it entertaining nonetheless. Even more so when Yaku squirms at the throaty moan leaving your lungs when you pull away, lips plump with a bead of leftovers dripping from the seam of you mouth.

Either way, Nishinoya knows it won’t be long now until Yaku cracks. Despite the great amount of self-control he tends to exercise, Yaku is but a simple creature that cannot stave off his desires and Noya is no different. They were going to give way to their desires sooner rather than later, but they made a vow eons ago that revenge must always come first.

One year, three months, one week, and four days. That was how long it had been since you died in the alleyway. Today was the day those boys were going to die for what they did.

By now, you were fully functioning; walking on your own, feeding on your own. The only difference between you and the others was that you still slept, though not very much anymore, and according to Akaashi, it would be a trait that you would grow out of maybe two decades after your first century. That was actually the sole reason there was even a bed in the house—Nishinoya still slept merely because he enjoyed it. He wasn’t like the others who had found a passion project that kept him up around the clock, so more often than not, he would join you in bed. After all, it was originally his bed.

And more often than not, Yaku would sit in the spacious window sill while Noya wrapped his arms around you protectively in your shared slumber, as if to abide by the repeated mantra he had said over the last year—he’ll be there when you wake.

Your dreams are no longer memories, as you’ve got caught up to current events thanks to the playback speed that they paced themselves at. Now, you’re able to recall on every single event of your life that you’ve witnessed thus far with perfect detail—including the faces of your five murderers. Each of them belonged to your university Pike fraternity; two of them were a year older than you, two the same age, and the one who had the knife to your neck was a freshman not yet old enough to drink legally, but apparently old enough to to pull the metaphorical trigger and throw the knife that had gone through your entire body, severing your aorta in your heart.

After researching in the form of disguise, you learned that tonight Pi Kappa Epsilon would be holding their annual holiday gala; fancy words for a giant frat party for those who chose not to return to their hometowns for Christmas. Knowing how these events tend to function—it was relatively easy to sneak in, even with Nishinoya and Yaku flanking your sides. You flashed the doorman a crisp fifty, knowing males always had to pay a fee for entry while women always got in for free. The bouncer grins upon seeing you in a tight, red body-con dress, but the grin is immediately displaced when his eyes land on the two men beside you. Giving your best, most flirtatious smile, you grab both of their wrists before heading inside. “Don’t lose me, okay?” You yell over the pounding music.

“We won’t,” they say in unison. Noya gives you a reassuring smile, hand pressed against Yaku’s back gently, while the latter purses his lips together in discomfort. “Just keep talking to me through here,” he adds, pressing his cold lips to your forehead chastely, “and I’ll find you.” You give him a confident nod before you throw yourself into the throng of people to find your targets. It proved a bit of a challenge, considering the strobe lighting and the myriad of people—all of the men looked the same on top of that. But once your eyes narrowed in on the man you first lured you, it was game over.

Like a tiger ready to pounce, you sauntered over to him, pushing aside whomever he was with at the moment before wrapping your arms lewdly around his neck. He looks down at you skeptically, but otherwise pleased with the bold actions. From a short distance away, Yaku and Noya are hiding like wallflowers, listening to the resounding chant happening in your head that screamed to kill him. “You know,” Noya chimes in lowly, distracting Yaku from the way your hips are grinding and gyrating against the strange man’s, “we could just kill the entire fraternity.” Yaku shakes his head—Noya was always fond of the idea of revenge against all who were guilty by association. While the others in the clan gave into his persuasion, Yaku never found it amusing.

“What if they had no idea that their brother killed someone?”

“They probably bragged about it,” Noya grumbles. From his own experience, the shorter of the two liked to think that he knew how these people tended to operate.

“It’s go time.” Yaku says abruptly, eyes locked onto your retreating form as you pull one of your rapists by the tie and lead him out the frat house. The two Damned maneuver their way towards the quietest space, hunting for a window they can exit out of to follow you without garnering too much attention towards the situation. When they end up on the sidewalk outside of the Pike house, they see you parading—brokenly, complete with fake stumbles to allude to you being drugged again—the man by the tie until he shoves you into the same alleyway.

Close behind were four others, all built and stocky as they traveled in their pack and making their way towards the alley. You were cornered amongst trash and dead rats, the five of them trying to zero in on you, yet you showed no fear. Instead, you stood at full height with the addition of your stilettos, as your body transitioned into it’s more predatory form. “Remember me?” You ask sweetly, cracking your knuckles nonchalantly. Your hair that’s covering the ugly mound of flesh scarred over from your injury is swept over the opposite shoulder, giving them full view as your short, blackened claws graze over the skin. “Over a year ago, the five of you brought a woman to this alley, raped her and you,” a feral snarl leaves your lips as you point to the youngest fraternity brother, “threw a knife into her back that went all the way through her heart and killed her.”

The five of them begin looking over at each other, wondering who ratted out who considering they had never spoken of the night since it occurred. It was easy to avoid, considering the body was never found. There was never any evidence. “W-who are you?” The youngest one squawks out.

“Don’t remember?” Your head snaps in the direction to one of the older members. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.” There’s no more room for talking, no room for rebuttal. Instead, you grab the same man you lured into the alley by the tie, bringing him close enough to snap his neck. When he was neither moving nor breathing, the remaining four began to back up.

“Yo, this bitch is crazy, let’s get out of here—“

“You think you’re just gonna get away?” Noya laughs dryly as it crescendoed into full volume, shaking the walls and mimicking an earthquake that did not expand beyond the walls of the alley. The remaining four fall to the ground, not prepared for such loud noises let alone a trembling earth to accompany the sound. Yaku shakes his head in utter disgust before the crimson ring in his eyes locks with the prey.

“Done eating, love?” He calls out, causing the four other frat boys to look over in horror at the “e” word. Once again, you’re standing at full height, the back of your hand wiping away the blood that had escaped from your mouth from your feeding.

“Not quite yet,” With every step you took, they trembled back, only to be met with your two saviors blocking their only exit. The youngest one is hiding all the way in the back, trepidation causing his bones to rattle within his skin as his back hits Yaku’s calf. “I’m still hungry.” Noya lets out a snort at this—he truly did love your sense of humor.

“You’re next.” Yaku looks down at the young boy, only nineteen-years-old, who had been your executioner. That same boy looks at the leader of the clan in horror, eyes wide because he never in a million years saw this as his end. Effortlessly, Yaku picks him up by the collar of his shirt before tossing him in your direction. Rather than catching him, you gathered your claws together to form a single point, driving the makeshift lance through the stomach of the one who had ended your life. Without verbalizing it, you gave the boys permission to feed on the other two—so long as it wasn’t the one that you had tried to bite down on when he rammed his cock in your mouth.

You had plans for him.

In the mean time, you pull the now lifeless body off of your bloodied hand, drinking down whatever was dripping down your arm before tossing him off to the side; you had one more pressing matter to deal with. The last of the boys—the dessert to your meal was pressed against the wall as he tried to run from this situation, watching in mortification as Yaku and Noya beheaded the other two brothers with their bare hands, feasting on their prey. “Like I said,” you sneered as you approached the last one, ripping off his pants and boxers much like he had when he violated your mouth. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.”

And so you did.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Yaku muses, having finished his meal, gawking at the way you had just left the last one along the wall with his penis bitten off all the way down to the base while you returned to the youngest member again, draining your murderer for all he was worth.

“I dunno, it’s kinda hot, babe.” Noya jokes, watching in amusement as well.

“I’m actually kinda full,” You shrug, having drained the stabber entirely—that put your body count to two full bodies. “D’you guys wanna have the last one? I got all I wanted from him.” At sound of your permission, Yaku approaches the last one with a predatory glare, not daring to break eye contact as he asked you one more question.

“[ name ], do you feel that justice been served?” With a nonplussed grimace, you gave a shrug.

“If anything, these assholes got the short end of the stick. They murder a girl they raped so she comes back from the dead and kills them all with two beautiful men by her side? Yeah, I’m happy with that.”

By the time you returned home, you were an entirely different creature. You felt...free. Like there was nothing else anchoring your dead heart, like you no longer had a tether to this world. Like you had no purpose.

So now what?

Silently you meander back to your shared bedroom to further contemplate your existence, the boys you left behind glancing at each other in concern. “Want me to talk to her? I might be able to better sympathize.” Noya asks quietly so that your now heightened hearing can’t quite pick up on the conversation. Regardless, Yaku shakes his head. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling and not just because of his ability to read minds.

“I’ve got a few things I want to say to her anyway.” Noya presses a tender kiss to his mates cheek before he flits away to hang out with Daichi as he normally does when he’s not with Yaku, while the head of the clan makes his way to the room. You’re lying in bed already, the dress and stilettos shed and traded for bare feet and a slip. Despite your back turned towards him, you feel the bed dip as he lays beside you, something atypical of Yaku. “How do you feel?” His voice is merely a whisper as he cautiously wraps an arm around your waist.

“Shouldn’t you know the answer?” You retort, but Yaku doesn’t recoil because he knows. He knows the sort of limbo you feel you’re placed in now that your postmortem mission had been carried out. What were you supposed to do for the rest of eternity besides act as an impromptu executioner, feeding off of the worst criminals within a hundred mile radius?

“Is that all you see us as?”

“No,” You say quietly. These Damned men had accomplished great things, from what you knew of them, in their lifetimes. Sugawara has continued composing even well after his other alias’ deaths, Akaashi has been working on a research piece for decades regarding cancer in the form of preventative measures rather than a cure, in addition to a cure. Daichi had participated in the Olympics a number of times, Yaku was once a politician in multiple countries and Nishinoya had worked closely with electronic developers over the years including Microsoft and Linux. “You guys have accomplished so much in your lifetimes, I just don’t want to be some sort of disappointment—“

“[ name ], we never knew were going to do those things. We just kept pushing on, finding out things we were passionate about and since we have unlimited time, we’ve had time to hone and perfect those skills.”

“What if I never do anything that great?” Yaku lets out a sigh, turning your now fully restored body around to face him and pressing his face into your neck. Over the duration of your rehabilitation process, he’d become so over protective of you, wanting what’s best for you in any capacity yet never fully being honest with himself.

“You have time to figure it out,” he mumbles into your own icy skin, lips tickling your veins. “Until then, just stay? With me?”

“Yaku...” he had never fully outright asked you to stay—only alluding to it in the past with talks of the future.

“I-I want you,” he whispers almost uncharacteristically. Being a diplomat, stuttering was not a thing that Yaku did very often. “To stay with us forever. To stay with me forever.” This is it, he figures. It’s now or never. Yaku can’t stand the idea of you leaving the clan, leaving him when he hadn’t yet had a taste of you, had you in any other form than a few mere kisses for feeding or in fantasies. Pulling away, Yaku shifts once again so that his arms are holding his weight above you, his lips ghosting intimately over yours.

Both of you are overly aware of the attraction that’s there—you knew of the daydreams you’d had of him throughout the year and with his ability, he was unwillingly subjected to them. Reaching up slightly, your lips press against his hungrily, your tongue immediately dancing along the seam of his lips, begging for permission to enter. Yaku doesn’t waste a second dropping the support from his arms in favor to press his body fully into yours because he’s been waiting for this moment. It’s evident in his fervent kiss, it’s evident in his ever present erection. A mewl warbles in your throat as you feel him grind against you.

Why the hell had you waited so long for this? Why did he wait so long for this?

There was no more waiting.

Breaking a part for a moment, you pull the slip off your torso hastily while Yaku unbuckles his belt and frees his lower half. Impatience floods you as you tear off the thin Henley he’s wearing, leaving the two of you entirely bare in front of each other. The large scar on your bosom that had made you self conscious for months suddenly felt dull in comparison as you’re met with the varying marks that marred Yaku’s skin. From what you could tell, they looked like whiplashes. “I need you now,” he pleads, ignoring your wandering thoughts as he hungrily pulls you in for another kiss. Though rather short lived, your overwhelmed with warmth and pulsing in your core as his fangs run along your neck before sucking lovingly at your collarbone.

“O-oh,” you moan out wantonly, clutching at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. With no preparation, not that you needed any, Yaku slowly sheaths his member inside of you, the girth stretching you deliciously. For a moment, the two of you remain still to bask in the reprieve you both felt, unaware of the third party member watching pleased in the lounge chair across from the bed. “Fuck,” you hiss out between your teeth as he’s pushing in inch after inch.

“You’re doing so good, princess,” for a moment, he’s impressed—taking eleven inches with little to no preparation can be torturous, and he knew that from experience. “Come on, baby take the last of it—oh fuck yeah,” Yaku groans out as soon as he’s balls deep within you. The two of you are still, enjoying the moment of togetherness before he bottoms out entirely in your sweet little hole. His hips move almost languidly so as not to hurt you but good lord for all that is unholy, is he holding back.

Soft whimpers leave your lungs each time his hips snap back into yours—why the hell hadn’t you fucked Yaku sooner?! A throaty chuckle grumbles in his chest at the thought. Even with him slamming his cock in you at half-force, his mind is intertwined with yours to the point where your thoughts feel like his own. “I had to take care of you princess, wanted to make sure you could handle me fucking you.”

“Then fuck me harder, ass-hat.”

“He likes it better when you call him senpai.” Nishinoya calls out from the opposite corner of the room, as if he wasn’t just leisurely watching his partner ream himself into your core. You let out a scream and at this point, you aren’t sure if it’s because Yaku have a particularly hard thrust with the head of his dick meeting with the edge of your womb or if Nishinoya’s presence surprised you. Even more so to see that he was stark naked, stroking his cock that he’s presenting to your mouth.

“Suck off your senpai, princess.” Yaku whispers devilishly in your ear, holding his cock still within you as he does so. Tentatively, you give a kitten lick to the head before you, testing out Nishinoya’s reaction to the motion before deeming him worthy. A soft grunt escapes him, his body more than welcoming of the sensation—but it just wasn’t enough for you.

“I need a better reaction than that, Nishi,” You joke.

A poor plan on your part.

The shorter of the two looks down at you curiously, a wicked twist of his lip displayed for you as he briefly tosses an amused look towards Yaku, to which the latter lets out a chuckle in addition to the shake of his head before he starts to withdraw his cock from within you. “How’s this for reaction?” Noya chirps before deftly wrapping his claws in your hair, slamming his engorged member down your throat while Yaku simultaneously thrusts back inside you. The carnal desires that had run rampant through your mind on occasion had built to this moment, built up the needy desire that the boys finally had the chance to release with you. “Yeah, you take that cock in your throat, baby. Show us how much you’ve wanted us from the start.”

Nishinoya is absolutely relentless as he repeatedly withdraws and replaces his erection in your mouth, pulling so far back as to have his tip tease and smear pre-cum along your lips, all the while chanting praise and how much he loves you; how much he’s dreamed of having you between him and Yaku. The latter can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips as he unabashedly strokes his member along your walls, the tip of dick all but moving into your womb. “Yeah, princess, take your senpais cocks so fucking good, yeah? You want us to fill all your holes with our fucking cum, don’t you?” You can only wail out around Nishinoya in your mouth in response, clenching and squeezing your pussy tightly around Yaku inside you. The clan head lets out a very audible groan at the abrupt friction. “Oh, fuck yeah. Fuck yeah, senpai’s gonna cum so fucking hard inside you, yeah yeah yeah.” Yaku is absolutely wrecking and ravaging your lower half while all the foul, salacious words leaving him were only serving to turn on his partner even more until the both of them hold still to empty their first loads inside you.

After a momentary reprieve, the two of them withdraw from you, the smallest whine leaving your lips at the distinct emptiness. Between pants, both of the males look to each other before letting out a laugh. “Princess,” Noya calls out from your left, golden eyes light and airy as they gaze at you, “did you think we were going to let you cum?”

“Y-yes?” Why wouldn’t they? Wasn’t that just normal, sex etiquette between partners?

“Oh no, love,” Yaku adds, “We’re gonna show you just how much we love you, gotta coat every inch of your skin in our fluids before you can even think about cumming.” Before you can blink, the boys are up again with Nishinoya taking his position with the tip of his still hardened member teasing the outer lips of your pussy. Meanwhile, Yaku makes it a point to slap your cheek with his own erection, making sure to keep your attention and focus on him. Simultaneously, they thrust into their respective orifices that they’ve traded—Yaku treating you much more delicately versus Noya who shoves his entire mast inside your depths.

“Oh damn, babe, you’re so fucking tight!” The latter howls, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Despite having identical lengths, Nishinoya was much more rough and rigid, your walls acclimating to every vein out of necessity before relentlessly pounding away at your insides. At his pace, your pussy doesn’t even have a chance to miss the feeling of fullness. Your voice is no longer coming out in moans or screams due to the damning pace—only in a broken staccato of warbles from the speed that Noya’s fucking you. “Yeah, baby? Gonna stay here with us forever and get dicked down every night? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

But with the almost tender, loving way Yaku is holding your throat while repeatedly sliding his cock in from tip to base, there is no actual way you can reply. Instead, you let out grunts and cries of affirmation because you would stupid not to welcome the way these two were screwing you. It’s also more than just that.

These two, as well as the rest of the brood, had taken you in being inches from death, presented you with another opportunity for life that served as an opportunity for you to seek revenge, while caring for you and almost...loving you.

“We do,” Yaku bites, withdrawing his cock from your lips offended at the thought of almost, “love you, that is.” The hand that is cupping your throat moves to brush the backs of his claws along your jaw before pulling your chin and torso up so that Yaku can kiss you fully. There is no lust or wanton desire in this kiss—it’s love through and through that is simultaneously cold yet warm.

“You’ve been dreaming about us for a long time, princess,” Noya grits out, his peak approaching all too quickly with the way you’re clenching around him with no relief. He’s panting heavily, no longer caring about his need to assert his dominance in any capacity; all he can think about is cumming deep inside you while you cum around his thick cock. “We want to make your dreams come true.”

Yaku pulls away from the kiss in time to hear your cries—a delicacy he had never had the pleasure of knowing in a past life—as you cum with Noya. The latter is holding still for a brief moment before withdrawing, his spent body collapsing beside you. You’re sensitive, you realize, as Yaku slides back in to reclaim his space. Your walls are still trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm, but Yaku is much more gentle this time around. Pressing his body flush against yours, he wraps both his arms around you with one cradling your head, the other around your lower back to pull you as close as possible. His shallow moving thrusts in accompaniment to his pulsing girth are enough to trigger yet another orgasm in direct succession, and coercing his own orgasm. “Please stay, [ name ].” He mumbles into your hair as he feels his seed spurting within you. Though you supply no answer due to trying to catch your breath, you only nod in response. Yaku remains still inside you, so as if to seal both his and his partner’s emission within you with his own softening cock, smiling at the simple fact that you had nodded in response. “Get some rest, little one,” He adds, adjusting so that he’s on the opposite side of you and a now sleeping Noya. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

#haikyuu took over my life #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! #vampire!au #supernatural!au #vampire!Yaku #vampire!Noya #vampire!reader #vampire!Daichi #vampire!Akaashi #vampire!Sugawara #yaku morisuke #yaku x reader #i love yaku #hq yaku #haikyuu yaku #happy birthday Yaku #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya imagine #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya scenarios #implied Daichi x Sugawara #haikyu

[meangirlsx]

I saw Beetlejuice for the second time recently, and like I shared some things about Mean Girls with you all after I saw it, here are some thoughts and notes and fun facts about Beetlejuice:

Toward the beginning of the show, Beej has a joke where he says he feels invisible and powerless, like a gay republican

It takes people a second, but the audience bursts out into laughter

And then he nods, like he’s saying, “Yep, I said it” and everyone breaks out laughing again

And he does the nod again and gets another break of laughter

And once more, and you can already tell the audience is like in the palm of his hand

He also makes a joke that seems self-deprecating and then deflects it onto an audience member in the front by saying, “This guy knows what I’m talking about!”

He does that a few times throughout the show

And at the end of the show, he makes a joke at the guy one final time and then switches out of his Beetlejuice voice and back into Alex just long enough to say, “Thanks for being here!” to the guy

Dana was on for Lydia and y’all she is so incredible

I feel like with Sophia’s Lydia, you get that the character was always strange and unusual and got more so and darker after her mom died, but at least to me, I get the impression that it wasn’t a far leap for her as a character

Dana’s Lydia has a sweeter, softer, higher voice just by virtue of it being Dana

But she also plays her a little softer and more innocent and more like you really get the feeling that she was a good deal different when her mom was alive

Both are totally valid and fantastic interpretations, so it was fun to see this other version

It also felt a little less shocking then when Lydia thinks Adam’s ultimate dad joke is really funny and says she likes the Maitlands

It really gut punches you that she just wants a healthy, happy, stable family

In Ready Set, Not Yet when Barbara goes, “Look at these jugs!” Beej whips around with wide eyes, realizes she’s talking about actual pottery and not her boobs, makes a disappointed face, and no one processes it until he walks off and then they’re just dying laughing

Then at the end of the song, when Barbara says they’re maybe 80% ready and Adam says 78% instead, she nods like she’s totally in agreement

In Fright of Their Lives, when Adam tells Barbara her first “best primal scream” is brilliant, Beej turns him around to face away from her

Adam looks like he’s trying to be good and make Beej happy by not interacting with Barbara in that moment but as soon as she tries again, it’s like he can’t contain himself from loving and supporting his wife with everything in him

David’s Adam is just really freaking adorable, guys

He really embraces the whole “I’m a huge dork and madly in love with my wife and that pretty much sums me up” personality

Also someone posted on here a while back that they think the severed head that pops out of the trunk looks like Nic Cage and I was pretty close to the stage and I still back this

During Beej’s soliloquy, on the album he doesn’t go all operatic until, “I know that beggars can’t be choosers” but at this performance he did it right away from “I want freedom” and it was so overdramatic it was amazing

Once the Maitlands fight with him and he storms out of the attic, they start getting so angry together, and Adam gets all worked up like he’s going to yell something insulting but instead just yells that Beetlejuice needs therapy and he hopes that he gets it

Like they’re so nice and pure they can’t even be mad without hoping for good to come to the person they’re mad at

In “No Reason” when Delia says, “life coaching, nailing it,” she bops her little hair bun

I’m also fairly certain she tries to dab at some point during the song

And at another point in the song, she does that Fornite dance where you pump your arm and leg on the same side while like hopping?

Tbh a lot of her little quirks are her trying to be cool and relatable and just not fully understanding the current culture or the fact that Lydia is very much not into it

In Say My Name, he shouts, “Fake cartwheel!” and then twirls behind Lydia like he’s pretending to do a cartwheel but wouldn’t land it if he actually tried

Then when he yells “assassinate,” he pulls the top part of his wig back to reveal a brain, and he doesn’t cover it back up until a good moment after Lydia says, “No!”

At the start of Day-O, when Delia calls Charles an “amazing, amazing man,” she straight up starts crying

So now we’re into Act II

Presley comes out for Girl Scout and the entire audience just cheers because who doesn’t love Presley

The first time she turns her back to the audience, you see that her backpack is just O V E R F L O W I N G with Thin Mints

When the music changes for a few seconds after “they had my back if anything went wrong with me,” she’s like freaking out and breathing heavy and trying to calm herself down

And then she jumps RIGHT back into her happy place when she hits “jamboree, soda pop” and everyone in the audience like lost it over that

In the transition between outside and inside the house, Sky says it’s so dark and pulls out her flashlight because she’s always prepared

She holds it beneath her face and says “boo” and then “just kidding, hope I didn’t scare you”

And then something scares her and she starts breathing and counting and Lydia just goes, “You’re fun”

It takes Sky exactly 0 seconds to reply, “I like you, too”

I can’t remember if Dana does this as Sky, too – she probably does

But when Alex sings “clean, white shorts turning brown” Presley spins on the landing of the stairs like she’d been trying to get to a bathroom and just couldn’t make it and wow it’s funny but your heart goes out to her in that moment even though you know it’s not real

Also for anyone who’s been curious or concerned, Sky is totally fine by the time she leaves – she doesn’t die or get hurt or anything

Lydia pays her for some Thin Mints and she leaves, like honestly the girl’s got some steel bravery

Presley and Dana are just so cute onstage together, like you can tell they’re loving it

Later, in “What I Know Now,” Presley is back as the Dead Rider and in a moment where everyone is watching Leslie as everyone has sort of crowded around Lydia, Presley reached out and held onto Dana’s arm for a minute

Then she turned it into her character moving Lydia because the ensemble members move her around in that part of the song

They’re so supportive and proud of each other

Right after Charles proposes to Delia, Lydia comes running in trying to tell him that the house is haunted

So Delia hides under the covers instead of in the bathroom or closet or whatever and takes her vape with her

And Lydia tells her dad to grab everything so they can get out and she pulls the sheet off the bed and sees Delia and after a long pause, Delia says, “Hey” and sooooo much smoke comes out of her mouth and her voice is all deep

Back in “Barbara 2.0,” when Kerry first sings “Say hello to Barbara 2.0,” she leans one leg on a box and flexes her arms down in front of her stomach and it’s adorable

Then when Adam sings, “the old one’s fertilizer,” Barbara just totally giggles

They’re so in love

Kerry and David have a slightly different vibe than Kerry and Rob but they’re already such great scene partners and so sweet together

Toward the end, when they’re all trying to trick Beej and Adam yells for everything to stop because he has something to say to him, the entire audience gets so excited and then so quiet, waiting for him to own Beej

And when he starts by saying that Beej has been harassing him the entire show and pauses at, “And I gotta tell you”, you can tell everyone thinks we’re about to get a comment on sexual harassment

And Adam finishes by saying, “It. Has worked.” and EVERYONE goes insane

And then he’s full-on making out with Beej and Beej is just in AWE and the audience can barely breathe

Barabara tries to do it, too, but she leans in and she just can’t bring herself to do it

During “Creepy Old Guy,” Alex gives Beej the most innocent, hopeful look that makes you almost happy for him and almost forget that all of this is Very, Very Wrong

It looks like Adam is Beej’s best man and Barbara is Lydia’s maid of honor and like Delia is probably like a bridesmaid

They get to the “I do” and you can feel that everyone kind of can’t believe it actually happened and it’s like this creepy, shocked feeling that settles over everyone but then immediately all the tech goes crazy because Beej is becoming alive

As a very briefly alive Beetlejuice, he goes on this total anxiety/emotional spiral from “the world is so beautiful” to “what if I’m never happy again” to “we don’t teach men to process our anger and that’s a sad truth that indicts all of us” to “so maybe, maybe I’ll just try murder”

Tbh the entire show is an impressive showcase for Alex but that moment is a rollercoaster and a mini masterclass in portraying different emotions and making social commentary and maintaining the humor all at the same time

He puts on this ENTIRE persona for the entire show, which is obviously very common for most characters/actors but like this is a whole other level, I think

The way he moves, of course the way he talks and sings, the way his eyes look, literally everything is different and it’s so, so clear that he put SO much work into creating this character

Okay that’s my Alex Brightman stan rant now back to your previously scheduled programming

At the start of his goodbyes, Beej mentions a possible future “vision quest” to find his dad and just goes, “Sequel?” and then does his puppet hand like he did for the Handbook for the Recently Deceased and in “Say My Name” and makes a “squa squa squa” noise like those horns people play from their phones to back up their own joke (I’m so sorry I don’t know a better way to explain it or if there’s a real term for it because y’all it slays the audience)

At the curtain call, everyone in the audience is of course screaming for Dana and the entire cast is just so proud of her and they’re doing everything they can to show it

Alex, especially, just fucking bows to her and claps like he’s in awe of her

And the last note I took down is a tech thing so if you don’t want to know how they do the lifts of Barbara and Lydia, just stop reading here

I didn’t catch it when they lifted Barbara up the wall for the exorcism

But I caught it when they lifted Lydia up the stairs and I’m guessing it’s the same mechanism for both

There’s like this black seat attached to the wall beneath the railing

I only noticed it because I was up close and on the side and looking for it but like you really don’t notice it

So she can like casually straddle this thing and rest herself on it and it will lift her up safely

I’m sure there’s more to it than that to make it totally safe, and also she can bring her legs and feet pretty close together while she’s up in the air so there has to be some explanation for that, too, since that would be difficult if she were sitting and she’s also clearly standing and not sitting

But it’s awesome

And Adam has been hanging out near there with a mop and mop bucket, cleaning up little things onstage, which is totally on-brand for him and you don’t question it for a second

But then when Lydia comes down and steps away from the stairs, Adam just dances right over to the seat, stands in front of it, and knocks it into the bucket with the mop

Again, I was looking for it

They do a really great job covering that kind of stuff

Guys this show and the entire team that puts it on is just so, so incredible

If anyone has any questions about the show that I didn’t address here, feel free to ask

And if I don’t know the answer at first, I’m seeing the show at least one more time and can pay attention to something more specifically to get you an answer

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #Alex brightman #dana steingold #Presley ryan #kerry butler #Leslie kritzer #David josefsberg #Sophia anne caruso

[buck-nialled]

Empty Pages - R. Mendes (4)

NOTE: thank you to everybody who is liking and supporting this series so far! I know this next chapter took a bit to post and some of you were curious but I’m happy to say it’s here and I hope you like it!

PROLOGUE // PART ONE // PART TWO��// PART THREE

Isabella Núñez, while loquacious in school gossip, voiced little about herself compared to the character Lily had made the girl out to be in her mind. In actuality, Lily does not recall ever participating in a conversation with her. But what Lily is aware of, is that she was a major reason as to why Connor and Raul avoid one another’s eyes in the hall to this day, and also why Raul is—somehow—still infatuated with the girl. The guilt began rising inside of Lily midway to her waltz towards the lunch table, but she pushed it down for the sake of saving her grade, and possibly her entire school year. It still caught her off guard to mull over in her head—how Raul Mendes would replace the shadowed figure she dreamt spilling gossip over a table of colleagues with a wine glass in her hand, and labeling him the one who made showing up to school a “living hell”. But if he distorted his morals as quickly as his fashion over the summer break and felt so little care to play the dishonesty card, Lily would be damned to let the opportunity of reciprocation slip by her.

“Hey, Isabella.” She began, sliding into the empty seat across from the girl and setting the tray of food down onto the table with a reasonable THUMP. The headband which held the girl’s dark strands back allowed Lily to observe the perk of her ears. The hairpin curve of Isabella’s lips tightened as she turned away from Connor, who was seated to her left and looked less than delighted at their conversation being interrupted.

“Hi…” The girl turns, greeting Lily slowly. She does not miss the flick of Isabella’s eyes as they gaze her figure up and down as if deducing the price of her outfit with a few blinks. “Do I know you?”

Lily’s lips parted, slightly appalled by the response. “Lily…Lily Mirray? We’ve been in the same classes for, like, eight years now.” She is met with a slow nod and squinting eyes from Isabella.

“Right…well, did you need help with something?” Her classmate quirks a brow at her from across the table and Lily could already feel her lips peeling open to present a malicious grin.

“Actually…” Lily chuckles, before Isabella’s nonchalant voice cuts in. “Don’t worry,” she waves one of her manicured hand and flicks her eyes to the side momentarily, “I already know what it is.”

“You-you do?” The girl inquires, her self-confidence dwindling by the second as Isabella’s focused gaze scans her up and down. Her heartbeat quickened rapidly to a stuttering tempo and she felt flush beneath the stern watch.

“Of course!” She cheers with a smile and further adds to Lily’s perplexity. “And I’m so glad you could come to me for a second opinion on your fashion.”

Lily blinks momentarily stunned by the conclusion. “I’m sorry…my w-what?” She is left unanswered as Isabella’s form begins leaning over the table to tower her. A hand grabs at the scarf draped around Lily’s neck and gently tugs the cloth to leave the skin bare to the frigid temperatures both inside and outside of the school building.

“Alright, first things first: this has got to go. It’s so last year.” Isabella announces in a tone more condescending than Lily would prefer. Her comment earns a few chuckles from Connor and the girls sitting nearby.

“But I like that scarf.” Lily murmurs with a pout when it is snatched off her body. Isabella lays a hand against her chest and mimics Lily’s pout.

“Oh honey, we’ve all been there. I mean, I liked the Prada sandals my parents got me last summer. Does that mean I’m going to wear them until I just ‘grow out of them’?” The girl replies with a small scoff towards the end of her extremely rhetoric question. Lily’s eyes flick back and forth, unsure of how often she wore the scarf was something worth admitting.

“Alright, next!” Isabella claps her hands together and sticks out her two pointer fingers, aiming them directly at Lily’s torso. It was cloaked with one of her many graphic tee-shirts today and would most likely be donned in a different one tomorrow. The last time she wore something otherwise was a dress her mother practically forced her body into because her middle school was throwing a cotillion. Nothing from that night was particularly noteworthy other than the constant thoughts of how uncomfortable she felt being scolded for picking up the wrong sized fork or placing her elbows onto the table. She remembers being seated with a few others but never really spoke to any of them—save for when she had to reply to the courteous icebreakers her school required the tables to discuss. “That top…”

Lily glances down to the shirt upon its mention. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too loose…” Isabella’s features curled down and her nose scrunched in a visible distaste for the top. “It doesn’t show off your body shape or anything. Do you own any bodysuits?” Her voice rises in hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could morph Lily’s wardrobe into something worth wearing.

“A what?” Lily asks, visibly shattering Isabella’s visions for a much-needed change. She brings a hand to the middle of her forehead and begins rubbing soothing circles into the tight skin.

“Oh boy…okay. Um, how about a crop top?” Her hand motions to the top she was currently wearing, which revealed a scant brick of skin in between the shirt’s ending and her mini skirt’s beginning. The hand then proceeds to lay on her hip as she cocks it to the side with a gleeful smile. It falls when Lily’s eyes meet hers, looking less than impressed by the option.

“Considering we live in a city that reaches temperatures below freezing, I think I’ll pass.” She takes notice of Isabella’s lack of jacket or tights beneath the skirt and recalls the weatherman’s prediction of the low temperatures that day. “How are you not cold, right now?”

“Please,” Isabella rolls her eyes and waves her hand about, “fashion is about trading comfort for cuteness.” Not wanting to proceed further into this conversation, Lily shakes her head in objection to Isabella’s statement and tries focusing on her initial reason for joining the girl for lunch.

“Look, I need to talk to you about Raul Mendes.” Isabella sucks in a short breath at the mention of the triplet’s name and furrows her brows.

“Raul Mendes?” She questions, before leaning closer to Lily across the table and quietly murmuring, “why would you want to dress like him?” She inquires in a hushed voice, as though it were a secret, but Connor was close enough to listen in. His ears seem to perk up at the familiar name and his head snaps over to Lily and Isabella.

“Mendes is a dweeb. What do you want with him?” His expression now matches Isabella’s, who leans back comfortably in her seat and Connor’s arm around her naked middle.

“Lily, trust me, I’m happy to hear that you at least know black goes with anything,” Lily’s eyes must anchor themselves on Isabella’s relieved figure to keep from rolling impossibly high, “but you are not the leather jacket, lip piercing type.” She shrugs, unabashedly giving Lily’s appearance a once-over yet again.

This was not the path Lily anticipated their conversation to go, but now, she was more concerned about what Isabella thought of her more than Raul.

“Well, neither was Raul, but—”

“It’s for attention.” Connor intercepts, sending a harsh narrowing of his eyes to what must have been the topic of conversation across the cafeteria. “He wants people to think differently of him like he’s changed. But once he sees he is the same nerd he was last year, and the year before that…” Connor trails off with a slow shake of his head and delivers continuous pierces to his food with the plastic fork tight in his grip, “he’ll stop.” Lily turns her attention back to Isabella, who was nodding in support of her boyfriend’s statement. It cues Lily to twist her body in her seat and catch sight of Raul laughing obnoxiously and spewing the occasional swear word to his brothers and other friends seated at the table with him.

She turns back to face the couple, raising her brows in suspicion. “You think?” And though she asked, the two affirming nods Lily received as an answer did little to quell her nerves.

“Okay, thanks…I guess.” She picks up her tray of untouched food and sends a nod to the girl. “I’ll see you in Anatomy.” Isabella tilts her head to the side and squints at Lily in inquisitiveness.

“We have anatomy together?”

“Um…yeah. We literally sit right besi—” Lily releases a large breath of irritation and sticks with a small, “never mind.” Before retreating to her usual seat away from her other classmates. Upon taking her seat and delving into the “mystery meat” splattered onto the lunch tray, her eyes flick up towards the figure introducing itself across from her.

“Hey,” Peter greets with a wave and sheepish smile. Furrowing her brows, Lily scans her surroundings, ensuring that the triplet was indeed, speaking to her. She catches Raul’s gaze from the table both him and Shawn were inhabiting with a few other boys from their grade. There was an empty seat near Shawn’s, which was most likely Peter’s. When Lily’s stare is caught by Raul’s, she feels her stomach turn in discomfort at the wink he shoots her.

“Hi, Peter…” she responds slowly. “What’s up?” She does not return the congenial smile or polite act. The boy brings his elbows up onto the table and begins wringing his hands, avoiding Lily’s interrogative gaze for as long as possible.

“Um…Raul just wanted me to come over and let you know he’s sorry…and that he hopes there are no hard feelings.” Peter breathes out, clearing his throat. It takes seconds for Lily to process the words of Raul’s brother before she was clenching her jaw impossibly agitated. “Well, I should—”

“I’m sorry…he said what?” Lily snaps, making the younger flinch from across the table.

“He’s s-sorry. And says no hard feelings.” Peter repeats, fidgeting with his hands more aggressively than before. In pure disbelief, Lily releases a scoff.

“Huh…did he say what he was sorry for?” Her eyes narrow in a challenging manner, and Peter swears he could feel the sweat building up on his hairline.

“N-not really. He just said it’d be better if I sent the message.” Lily huffs, chest bouncing up and down with heavy breaths of fury. No hard feelings, the words echo in her head and ignores the tight feeling her jaw was beginning to emanate.

“Well, you tell Raul this,” she hisses, the fire in her eyes never sizzling out as they bore into Peter’s threatened pupils, “I don’t accept his apology. And he is going to need to give me an explanation himself or else he’s going to regret it.” The hunger building in her stomach that day had dissipated and left her to pick up her tray and stomp to the nearest garbage can to rid of all that was put on the tray. When she pivoted to pass her table once more, Peter’s curious eyes followed her fuming body as it exited the cafeteria and called out.

“Are the hard feelings still there, then?”

TAGLIST; @lonelyreputation​ @fanficshawn​ @shawnmendez​ @fan-of-many-bands​ @now-that-i-saw-u​

#Shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #Shawn Mendes blurb #shawn mendes angst #Shawn Mendes oneshot #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes x oc #raul mendes #raul mendes imagine #peter mendes #Peter Mendes imagine #mendes triplets #mendes triplet au #mendes triplets au

[movienotesbyzawmer]

October 31: Strangers on a Train

After suffering through more Friday the 13th movies than anyone deserves, I’m rewarding myself on the evening of October 31 with a viewing of what I've often said is my favorite Hitchcock movie. I put it that way because I don't remember a ton about it, or even how long it's been since I've seen it. It seems unlikely that it's my favorite Hitchcock movie. How could I make such a claim when Rear Window is, like, RIGHT THERE.

This came out in 1951. Hitchcock was already a big star director by then, but most of his most well-known movies were still to come. I'm not familiar with any of the actors in this movie. Okay, let's take another look!

(SPOILERS AHEAD, of course. I'm going to describe the movie as I'm watching it.)

Farley Granger is top billed. You'd think with a name like that he'd be more famous. That's probably the whole reason he's named that in the first place. Fail!

Pretty highfalutin writing credits - Raymond Chandler wrote this screenplay based on a Patricia Highsmith novel.

It starts with this "cinematic vision" that almost feels like marketing - we see legs of people getting out of cabs with luggage, heading into a station. It's all nothin-but-legs for a minute or two until two Actual Strangers on a Train strike up a conversation.

The strangers are Bruno and Guy; Guy is a famous tennis player that Bruno recognizes. I remember enough about this movie to know that we are not wrong to find Bruno irritatingly forward as he brings up Guy's personal information that he's read about in the society section of the paper. Between this and The Talented Mr. Ripley, it seems like Ms. Highsmith had a knack for making drama out of uncomfortably doting dudes.

Eight and a half minutes in and Bruno is already starting to propose a murder of Guy's wife. It seems hasty for this conversation to have gone down this road, but it's cool that we get to this movie's cool idea so quickly. Bruno proposes killing Guy's wife in exchange for Guy killing Bruno's father. They'd both be killing strangers so it would be super hard for detectives to figure it out. Guy clearly doesn't take Bruno seriously.

For 1951, it seems surprising that these characters are so casual about the breakup of a marriage because they both have new lovers and the wife is already pregnant from her new man. I think of early fifties American culture as way too stuffy to be okay with that in a mainstream movie, but that is this movie's storyline.

Guy's wife... her appearance is kind of curious. I wonder if it looked more dislikeable at the time, but she looks like a harmless librarian. But her dialogue about blackmailing Guy to stay with her makes her unambiguously villainous.

Guy and his wife are in a heated argument in the shop where she works, and he is grabbing her and shaking her, and she looks scared! A man nearby notices and interrupts them by saying, "this isn't the place for a family quarrel!" Now THAT'S the early fifties American culture I've come to know and love.

Bruno and his mother. They are having tea or something. They are clearly tight, maybe to a dysfunctional degree. What is this household? Swanky. Bruno is wearing a silk robe. I do not understand. There's this weird thing about a painting his mother made; he delights about how it looks just like Father, and then we see it and it is some kind of abstract monster. Odd. I think it means he's nuts.

That scene ends with Bruno having a short phone conversation with Guy; Guy hangs up on him but we gather that Bruno knows that Guy's wife won't let them divorce.

So now begins what has always, for me, been the most memorable sequence. Bruno clearly thinks it is his duty to murder Guy's wife, so he follows her with two flirty young dudes to a carnival at night. I like how the lights at night look in this black & white cinematography.

Bruno is not even hiding the fact that he's following her! He just tags along behind the three of them, very visibly, and sort of smirks playfully every time she notices him, and it looks like she kind of likes the attention. Things were different in 1951.

After remaining behind her and her fellas for a couple carnival attractions, he follows them onto a Tunnel of Love boat ride. They all drive little boats along a route through the water, into and out of a cave, and to a more secluded area. There is shadow imagery in the cave that ends in a fakeout. Then there is a moment where she is alone at the secluded area and he strangles her.

There's a thing about a lighter. When Guy and Bruno were chatting on the train, Bruno noticed Guy's lighter. I didn't catch how Bruno ended up with it, but they made it very clear that Bruno has it now. And the imagery of the murder includes the lighter, as well as a stylish closeup of her glasses on the ground reflecting the murder.

0:30:50 - Bruno has shown up at Guy's pad to show him the glasses and let him know the deed is done so now it's Guy's turn. Guy is shocked, but Bruno is effectively guilt-tripping him. Guy's behavior is still pretty rational. But he's still holding onto Dead Wife's glasses. That seems like a dumb move.

Guy is now at his girlfriend's place; their chemistry is steamy, and it now seems to me like the look of Dead Wife was meant to contrast with his sultry girlfriend.

The police are investigating, and the plot kind of thickens because Guy's alibi during the murder is just a drunk guy on the train. Seems like there's enough information that he should still be okay, though, right? Hm, doesn’t look like the cops are satisfied.

More importantly, Bruno is starting to be a shadowy figure dogging Guy. One must wonder what is gonna happen… Bruno did seem to have an easy time killing that woman… has he done this before? I'm actually asking; I don't remember.

0:48:00 - Ha, Bruno went so far as to send Guy a diagram of his father's house and a key!

The next scene is cool - a relatively quiet tennis match, and the whole audience is following back and forth with their heads, but one head is not moving! It's Bruno who is just staring down Guy from the other side of the court!

Anne is Guy's girlfriend, and she is not only more glamorous than Guy's dead wife, and not only is her voice ever so sexy with its smoky alto, but she's smart enough to immediately notice that something is up with this Bruno guy, as well as with Guy's behavior w/r/t Bruno.

Oh, and then there is this strange scene - so Bruno has decided he has to insinuate himself into Anne's family's circle, which is where Anne starts to notice things. But then there is Anne's sister, who has more of a librarian look, not unlike Dead Wife… and Hitch's bold direction makes it very clear that Bruno also notices the resemblance between Dead Wife and Anne's Sister! Very strange. I don't know where it's going. I can't tell what either of them are thinking, but it's made to seem very important.

Bruno has totally created a new character for himself and is frankly being very Talented Mr. Ripley at a party where Anne's family and a bunch of fancy people are being fancy. But that goes in a strange direction… Bruno started chatting with a lady about murder, and he starts to demonstrate strangulation, but Anne's sister sees him, and they both have freakout looks on their faces, then Bruno passes out plus also he has been actually strangling that lady. I’m just reporting what I’m seeing here, folks.

Aha, we're starting to get that much-needed explanation… when Bruno and Anne's Sister noticed each other, Bruno was flashing back to killing Dead Wife because of the resemblance. And Sister noticed that he seemed to be strangling her in his mind, and she's totally right.

And Anne is such a smart cookie that she noticed the whole thing and thinks, correctly, that Bruno was flashbacking to killing Dead Wife while he was pretend-strangling the lady and seeing Sister. This one's a keeper, Guy, as long as she'll keep you.

1:04:20 - Guy and Anne seem to have an idea of how to unfuck this situation, so Guy calls Bruno and says, yeah, okay, I'll do the thing, what do I do. He doesn't really intend to do the murder, does he? I don't think the movie is actually trying to get us to think that. But I must say, I'm super glad that I don't remember how this turns out.

Oh, it's coming back to me as it's unfolding. Guy sneaks in and, in darkness and shadows, approaches Bruno's Father's bed just as if he's gonna do it, but just like we're thinking we'd do, he starts to tell the father about what's going on. But then it turns out it's actually Bruno in the bed! It's tense for a bit, but Bruno lets Guy leave, but says he's going to think of a clever way to get him back for breaking their deal. A bit anti-climactic.

Anne is endlessly proactive, I must say; just like that, she is paying a call to Bruno's mother to warn him about Bruno. But Bruno's mother is clueless. And now, before Anne leaves, here's Bruno, back in that Liberace robe. He's unloading a bunch of bullshit on Anne, trying to convince her that Guy actually did it. But come on, we have seen how smart Anne is, she's not gonna fall for that, right? Bruno references the lighter; he says something about "Guy wanted me to go back for the lighter but I couldn't do it". So yeah, the lighter stuff is coming together.

Okay, now it's going to get all tennis-y because Guy has a tennis match before a very large crowd. He and Anne have an idea about dealing with the lighter, I think, but Guy has to play the match or it will be suspicious to the cops who are constantly observing him. Oh, if only he could win the match quickly! We're watching them try for that. This is a sports drama. Do you think this movie inspired Rudy?

I think they think the lighter is actually at the murder scene, right?

WHO will WIN the TENNIS MATCH?! And HOW QUICKLY?!

1:21:20 - Wait, what was that about garments in the cab? Sister had to go get the cab ready so they could amscray right after the match, and they showed some folded clothes in the back seat. A red herring? A Maguffin? A proverbial damning lighter?

Meanwhile Bruno is lurking around, and he accidentally drops the lighter into a sewer drain! And he gets some people to help get it out, but he keeps calling it his cigarette case. Not lighter, “cigarette case”. Is that part of it? Our minds reel… the lighter! The garments! The cigarette case! The glasses? The tennis match! THE TENNIS MATCH! Oh what a tangled web.

I mock, but it is suspenseful.

You guys. Bruno got the lighter back out of the sewer. And guess who won the tennis match. Why, it was our hero, Guy! But the cops who are tailing Guy will be suspicious if he hustles away from the match to go get a clue from the murder scene, so Sister does some distracting. Also, the garments were something for Guy to change into so that the cops might not recognize him later. Now I get it. Only NOW do I get it.

None of that worked, though; the cops easily figured out that Guy is going to the murder scene.

Bruno is already there, though, at the carnival, but he wants to plant the lighter after dark. He asks a carnie what time it gets dark around here. What the carnie should have said was "dude, you're from close enough to here, why do you think you need to demand this information from a carnie?" The carnie doesn't say that, but at least he is pretty rude to Bruno so it's okay.

Is Bruno planning on tipping the police to the presence of the lighter? Not exactly sure what his scheme is.

Ooh! Bruno is spotted by someone who remembered him getting off a boat after the murder! Busted!

Oh, I don't think that's how carousels work… okay so after people started pointing at Bruno, he freaked out and fired his gun… and shot the nearby carousel attendant, whose death-collapse makes the carousel go way too fast! You know, because he slumps on the lever and the carousel thinks that means GoTooFast! And Guy is on there with Bruno! They tussle! They tussle! Fast carousel!

A heroic old carnie says he can make the carousel not spin so fast… he then goes fully prone and crawls under the runaway carousel! Why in tarnation is THAT the solution! He is an old, old carnie! Maybe it is the same one who was rude to Bruno. That means we really love this brave fool.

Bruno and Guy are still rasslin' on the carousel, plus a kid got injured. It's all so terribly dangerous, and suspenseful!

Whoa, the carnie accomplished his mission of getting to the middle area to pull the carousel lever and it totally borks the fast-spinning carousel; all kinds of damage is done, people and plastic horses and wood things go flying everywhere and it is a super bad disaster. But everything is ever so close to being resolved. Guy just has to convince the cops that Bruno, who is pinned under a pile of broken carousel components, has the lighter with him. It's kind of hard but eventually they see it in his hand. It's all over! Everything is okay.

The denouement is that Guy and Anne are on a train ride feeling terribly relieved that everything is okay, and a stranger wants to chat so they leave in a funny huff.

So that was just fine, but certainly not "the best Alfred Hitchcock movie". Definitely a really good one, though! Bruno is a unique and compelling villain, and they kept the suspense going very consistently.

Using the tools of the Age of Information has uncovered some other interesting nuggets… Bruno is played by Robert Walker, who died at age 32 shortly after this came out! He had struggled with alcoholism and mental health issues, having actually been an asylum patient at one point. He had also been married to, and divorced from, no less than Jennifer Jones. Another interesting cast member is Patricia Hitchcock, Albert's daughter; she plays Sister. Much is made of Hitch's sly, maybe-vain cameos in his movies but also sometimes his daughter had actual speaking roles. She is still alive at age 92 as I type this.

One more note is that I’m pretty sure that I saw Throw Momma from the Train before I saw this, when it was in theaters even maybe, but even then I knew it was kind of a comedy sorta-version of this, obviously referencing it but also being very much its own thing. Now I find myself probably needing to see that again.

#strangers on a train #hitchcock

[achieveandhunt]

live typing extra life 2019

warning: this a fucking LONG post. if you plan on reading it all, godspeed.

i typed all of this as it was happening on stream so this gets progressively less coherent as i grow more sleep deprived. prepare yourselves. i may or may not go off topic at some points

larry vehemently vomiting pure malic acid. we’re off to a great start

what the fuck the soggy ass popcorn in that ranch jesus christ

lindsay in the song from AH the musical. i love her so much

jeremy going YAAAAAAY after someone eats a cursed oreo

matt getting AGGRESSIVELY kissed by larry

“this kiss this kiss” before geoff and jack kiss

geoff “i’m from alabama” ramsey

THIS FUCKING RANCH SEGMENT HAS ME GAGGING

jeremy “the alcohol demon the whiskey goblin” dooley

alfredo “you wont believe what the white people did today” diaz

DUSK BOYS DUSK BOYS DUSK BOYS GET THAT DICK ESSENCE

wait why does it sound like wonderwall

they look like characters from the matrix

the speaking parts. make my teeth hurt

in conclusion: they weren’t kidding abt the tight pants 

okay everyone get ready for eric soundboard spamming YEAH BABEY

“hi i’m from broadcast and i don’t want to be here” they represent themselves well

also, let’s take a second to appreciate broadcast here!! they have a really tough job and don’t get a ton of credit. lots of love to all of broadcast!!! you guys are awesome

i am: foreseeing problems with this eric sound board

which one is eric?? will the real eric please stand up?? was the real eric the one we found along the way??

“i’m... just really worried that i won’t ever find love-” “i really don’t care”

WHY DO THEY HAVE THAT ON THE SOUNDBOARD (what does that apply to? whatever it is you’re thinking of, but mostly “daddy wants some”)

ooh someone’s about to get a fReE tongue piercing from a pineapple

god dammit i went to the bathroom for thirty seconds and now they’re eating chad’s chest hair

owie the shock collar and belly slap look painful, but drinking natty light from a shoe? that’s a true punishment

“and this roast was brought to you by meundies”

ah yes what better way is there to end a segment than people throwing up

“man action” oh no

THROBERT MULVEINY

K A R B is blind in T W O of her eyes

“my last name is cottagecheese”

I HAVE A PIECE OF METAL SHOVED UP MY A S S 

chris has somehow managed to lose 23 years of age and roughly 412 pounds

“just open throat like baby bird” who the fuck is writing this and why is it jeremy

jon. jon you’re breathing in adam’s ass fumes

a summary of this segment: ass and cottage cheese

BARB IS HERE I REPEAT BARB IS HERE

“to fitness” -starts choking-

final fitness coach: tad, here to workout your issues so they can beat you into submission

“will you buy my wet” well i don’t see that on the raffle items

we’re back folks & i’m loving this walk around segment

moonball wall and gavin&michael will soon be reunited can we get an F in the chat

jeremy getting a borderlands tattoo is very on brand

what’s extra life without a little satan

“starvation army, putting lead back into paint, increasing childhood obesity” people in chat: TAKE MY MONEY

chris “i’m doing a different hole” demarais

ah yes. the game we all play in hell: twister

nobody edit chris getting mustard shot down his throat. i’m scarred enough from the original clip

oh fuck. oh god. the mayo. oh god what the fuck is up with the misuse of condiments this year

this just in: a human soul costs roughly $12,700

D̷̯͑̆̈́͝Õ̸̲͎̥̬͈̬̙͕̲G̸̢̧̠͉͚̙̲̙̓̔̀̇S̷̥̀́͆̈́̇̀ ̶̣̞̗͚̬̭̖̦͇̈́̎̈́̿̓̈́͆̒̋D̷��̙̟̩̫͉̺̊̚Ö̶̥́̋́̓ͅĜ̵̞̌͋̏̉̌̕͝͝S̵̤̹̣̫̮̻͛̍̑̕͝͝ ̷̧̨̞̙̥̟̜͍̉̍̑̏̇̀̾D̴̻̮̩̯͓͉̖͎̘͐̒͋̓̉͝ͅỎ̶̰͓̳̥͑̅͛͊̒͐͊͘̚G̵̩̻̦̥̠̃̔Ş̶̹͚̩̱͖̀͆͘ ̸̢̢͇̻͔̗̺̼͖̱̏̾̔̚D̴̨̨̫̙̃̾̋̾̆̓̓Ớ̷̡͓͎͊G̶̱̣̣̰̝̖̰̗̓͐̐̊͋̀͊̀̕͝Ş̷̩̺̬̖͙̺̟͗̈́͒͗̀̑́́̕͠ ̷̡͈̼̲͈̳̫̺̝̈́̋͌͗̒ͅD̸̨̬̞̪̗̘̄̑͆̿̈́͘͠͝O̸̡̡͇͕̻͎͍͉̅̌͗̄͌̑̉̔͂̎Ḡ̸͙̟̪̞̬̬͕͐̈̏S̶̝̪̼̮̠̜̭̳͖̘̑

urine: to help with aerodynamics

jon: maya, speak! maya: *the smallest arwoo*

today’s mvp: any dog. pick one. no matter which you pick, you’re right

how the fuck did blaine change back from satan so quickly

barb as a cat is... my new sleep paralysis demon

blaine: barbara speak! barbara: climate change is real

#dogsforkids

this just in: extra life killed my wifi

we’re back & kdin is in the business of killing people with spice. she is the spice queen

queue six thousand well-timed 1337 donations

HOLY SHIT THAT’S COLIN FROM WHOSE LINE IS IT ANYWAY

hmm “questionable liquids” is very... questionable

trevor: oh there’s four of them! we all get to join in the Fuckkkk

“what’s your favorite kind of candy” “any meat”

i like pickles and i would rather rip my eyebrows off than drink the juice so i feel for trevor

the only thing worse than drinking apple cider vinegar is shooting it out of your nose

“can you feel the love tonight” “i used to and that’s the problem”

“flubs every word man” damn, really missed the chance to say captain hair

jeremy not being able to intentionally flub his words is so fucking funny

OK BOOMER 

wow i can feel my blood pressure spike just watching these shots

Xavier Woods is here and he wants to know if it’s Christmas

miles doesn’t know what a question is

WHERE’S YOUR HAIR

oh no. oh no helping hands is next. everyone clear a splash zone

CHEF MIKE CHEF MIKE CHEF MIKE

miles bossing around chef mike is priceless

“you leave that fucking dough on the floor”

“you wanna slam your hands down on the table” *pizza sauce goes flying everywhere*

HOEDOWN HOEDOWN HOEDOWN jesus why do i keep doing that

“If Colin Mochrie is listening, I’ll see you here next year” OH FUCK YEAH

--- this is when i take a break so my soul can return to my body (aka i have work to turn in. college will never not be a pain in my ass) ---

oh god dammit i missed all of Always Open. fuck college who needs a medical degree

so... we have some very interesting things happening in family feud and i’m not sure if i like any of them

hmm. is now the time to get drunk

oily twist feels very... ominous

what do you mean you don’t remember gandalf having a taser in lord of the rings?

someone in the chat said “big stupid sleeping thing is what my parents called me in high school”

i think i’m blacking out what’s going on i don’t remember the past two hours

ah yes. voldemort and snape having a talk show together sounds exactly like something J.K. Rowling would make a spinoff book or show or porno of

can we just talk about how much shit chris has been doing this year? what a guy. what a dude

“coldy with voldy” actually means getting knocked the fuck out cold because you only got three hours of sleep last night and you don’t want to miss chef mike and lindsay cooking

this snape poem is summarized by one phrase: “that was terrible sit the fuck down” (sorry chris)

“let’s destroy a weasley” enter chad

fucking called it

“you smell poor” i need a caffeine drip

heh the wheel spins are at 69 heh nice

i’m a grown ass woman

welcome to a section called: we torture chad for your entertainment

“who wants us to kill weasley?” *massive cheers from the audience*

“wait weasley step away from the wideshot so i can masturbate to this later”

“i’m not gonna rub my eye mom”

oh they’re really gonna kill chad on stream huh

i felt that chest slap in my soul

i think i felt my own ribs crack

oh fucking

tumblr deleted my thoughts on the fanfic section

alright. fine. brief summary: my teeth are burning

my mom lindsay is on next and i’m so excited but i’m nearing the point of loopiness so things will go downhill dramatically from here

this is my fucking fourth extra life, you would think i’d be smart enough to sleep the night before

LINDSAY LINDSAY LINDSAY THAT’S MY MOM

JEREMY JEREMY JERE- wait a second... did jeremy get taller

oH CHEF MIKE CHEF MIKE CHEF MIKE

i hope Xavier comes back next year because he’s funny as fuck

m y a t t

oh god the mcdonald’s shade i’m rolling

lindsay “who’s the chef here” jones

chef mike mentioned mayo and i involuntarily gagged

chef mike clowning the big mac. i’m crying

he made the right choice with ryan bc i’ve seen his cooking stream(s) and it’s nothing if not great content

i heARD A MICHAEL JONES

“lindsay you haven’t done anything but warm up cookies so far” “yeah and?? you’re welcome”

you know that classic snack. slightly warm oreos

JEREMY THE LIQUOR GOBLIN DOOLEY IS BACK

oh god him screeching across set is making me cry laughing

why does it remind me of trevor’s voice cracks in the one minecraft ep where they’re singing the lion king

the biggest spoon for the smallest shot glass

i just realized we’re not even halfway through yet and i’m scared for the length of this list i’m gonna end up falling asleep involuntarily at some point

lindsay no your teeth are going to errode from that shot in your mouth

well timed leet donation #1829495

this gorden ramsey bit is so fucking good

jack: what do you think of the arugala? matt: i don’t even know what you said

iT’s NoT jUsT tWo CoOkIeS miCHeAL

jeremy and michael just chillin amidst the choas is exactly my demeanor at any party i’ve ever been to

lindsay scores: ryan = 7 because diet coke, matt = still eating lindsay’s meal so it’s a 10, xavier = also still eating it so it’s an 8. total: 25

“deep fry everything but a remote control”

chef mike scores: ryan = 9 for no death, matt = greens are present, words were said, score is 8. xavier = Gourmet Mcdonald’s, food is edible, score is 8. total: 25

oh fuck it’s a tie

now they fight to the death. death = doing as many shots as possible

i think we’re all going to need liver transplants after tonight

no jesus please don’t vomit oh goD oh fUc k please- oh thank god

okay i’m making a part two this is too much

#extra life 2019 #i’m going for full 24 hours this year #rooster teeth #achievement hunter #jeremy dooley #michael jones #lindsay jones #jack pattillo #geoff ramsey #gavin free #ryan haywood #matt bragg #alfredo diaz #trevor collins #fiona nova #i regret everything in my life that has led to this moment

[mars-barssss]

you aren’t alone anymore: Virgil P.2 (5/6)

Chapters

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Trigger warnings: Deceit Appearance/Mention, Facades, Mentions of arguments/fight, Low self-worth, Possession, Snakes

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Deceit

Pairings: Platonic LAMP; Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 1.8k Words.

Summary: Virgil’s need to protect others goes beyond physical protection. He does a good job of looking after each of the others in his famILY, but he doesn’t have the time to take care of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got someone looking after him too. More than one actually, to his surprise.

_ _ _

Virgil’s been possessed by Deceit. Everyone tries to fix it.

…

Virgil’s form grew heavy, his head facing down, almost limp. The feeling was familiar, extremely familiar actually. It was this sickly sweet feeling, almost like swimming through honey. His mind grew hazy, as his eyelids drooped slightly. The whites of his eyes began to glow amber, a small aura of light surrounded them.

He could barely think straight as he tried to focus on the ground. This feeling dug into his skin, making it tingle a bit on his arms. He vaguely recognized the feeling of a snake slithering around to his other arm. Lifting his head up, he heard voices, panicked and angry, but all of them sounded like he was deep underwater. None of the words really made any sense to him, anyways.

A hand caressed his cheek, turning his head to the right. The only clear thing in the entire room was now in front of him. His mind, while struggling on who the other blurs were, knew exactly who this was.

Deceit.

The snake slithered once again around, and went onto Deceit’s shoulder.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright. You took quite a massive tumble there. Is your head alright?” Deceit’s smile was struggling to remain under the lie of concern. His whispers ended in hisses in Virgil’s ear.

“... I can’t see, wha-?” Virgil felt almost sedated as he looked around the room. Something, a deep instinct, told him to back away. But something new and sickening was comforting him standing here. “What… is going on?”

One of the other distant voices suddenly became much louder. Virgil’s head turned so sharply, only to see a blur with a red mark approaching them quickly.

“That is enough, Roman.” The cool voice of Deceit echoed deeper into Virgil’s brain. It almost gave him a headache. Light-headed was a close enough description though.

Gold blurs… gold lines… gold… somethings. Something else was slithering towards them, surrounding them.

“I can help you, Vee. What do you want to believe?” His smile grew even larger, his eyes piercing into his head. “One snake bite, and you’ll be happy! Like the past, okay? You just need to tell me what you want.”

Virgil felt power tingling at his fingertips, that was slowly draining. Or he at least thought it was draining?

“Look at them, Virge.” Deceit turned his head towards the three sides, suddenly becoming so much clearer. Their names still escaped him, yet he could see one curled up on a piece of furniture, another standing between the first one and said terrifying thing, and one who has a sword drawn. “They’ve called you a monster all the time since your manifestation. And yet you still want them over us, over me? You need to see the truth for once. You’re lying to yourself.”

With a gesture of his hand, Virgil saw something new in place of the three previous sides. They seem almost surrounded in gray clouds, before their outfits changed slightly, although messily. They were no longer concerned with whatever they were scared of. They were all staring at Virgil. These glares, they pierced into him, like knives. He slowly felt the hand guiding his face disappear, leaving him by himself with the sides.

Then all of a sudden, his mind grew into surprisingly clarity. He knew exactly who each of them were, what they were saying, everything.

“To offer his mopey, dopey input? I- I don’t like him.”

Roman was facing away from him, seemingly whispering among the rest of them.

“I don’t like him.”

The other two briefly began to fade, as Virgil slowly approached the side, nervously. Roman suddenly turns around, his face stern. His eyes remained stuck on Virgil. A few more steps, and Roman was looking down on him, surprisingly taller than normal.

“How could you do this to us?” The words were quiet, but they struck Virgil with a knife. “How?”

“W-What? What did I do?” Virgil shrank under his words. His body seemingly shrinking into his own hoodie.

“What?! How could you not know! You ruined everything!” A sudden shove landed Virgil on the floor, with a sword aimed at his throat. 

“I-I… I thought I could trust you! You were doing better, but you still kept secrets from us!” Tears dropped onto Virgil from Roman’s eyes.

“Everyone always told me, that I was being too harsh! That I can’t say anything bad about you! And, oh, did I LISTEN-!” Roman turned slightly away, gesturing largely. “Well look now, everyone! The anxious one was the one at fault! And you’ve wrongly accused this prince! Welcome everyone, the true monster!”

“R-Roman, please I-”

“...I can’t believe we let a dastardly beast like you here, with us. You-!” Roman turned back down, his face breaking slightly. “You’re one of them.”

“-I… please. Roman, they never, I wanted to-” Virgil tightly shut his eyes together, expecting a stab to happen any moment now.

“When did you think you would tell us?”

When he next opened his eyes, someone new was above him. Looking away, at a faded version of Patton, but talking to Virgil. It was no longer the prince, but now Logan.

“It’s a question, Anxiety.” Logan was glaring deeply, like a frustrated teacher. His hands folded nicely together, and stiff shoulders. “Sure, I see how deeply difficult it is to answer, but, even I'm not a defeatist.”

Virgil struggles, but manages to stand. The darkness that now began to become even worse shrouded them. The room didn’t even look like his own anymore. His eyes grew a brighter amber as he stumbled towards the logical side. “I… I was going to tell you! I promise, Lo-”

As if not hearing him, Logan continued. “Indecisive, aren’t you. Look, Anxiety, as that’s what I should call you, I’m impartial. While I find it problematic that you have halted Thomas’s progress with… this… It’s quite easy to resolve. It’s a simple rule, light sides reside above, and dark sides are beneath. Please, do get going on your way.” Logan was now facing him completely, his body was no longer towards the faded version of Patton.

“Logan, please… don’t tell Patton…” Virgil didn’t know why those specific words fell out of his voice, he dug his hands into his hoodie. Which he didn’t deserve.

“I already know, kiddo.”

Virgil stumbled back, as Logan faded away right in front of him. Leaving the last side, Patton, to become slowly more real. His cardigan was slightly falling off of his shoulder, and his emotion was unreadable.

“Patton, please, hear me out, please please-”

Again, it fell right onto deaf ears. “Kiddo.” The look that was being thrust upon him was much more like a disappointed parent, rather than straight anger. “I-I thought… I don’t know anymore. I tried, Virge. I’m sorry.”

Those words were the last thing Virgil expected from the figure. Patton slowly approached Virgil, a tear dropped down his face, and his smile was broken.

“I didn’t… I wanted to let you in, I didn’t know about you. What you were, or uh, are. And how’d they react. But… Why did you not tell us sooner? Maybe… It could’ve worked out. I was your best friend! You said that to me, w-was that a lie…?” Patton wiped his tears, tightening his cardigan. 

“I’m sorry I pitied you. Maybe it’s best if you don’t come back. It’d be like old times, and I know… I know you don’t want it kiddo, but…” Patton just let a few more tears fall, before looking away.

“Maybe it’s for the best Thomas doesn’t have anxiety.”

“Patton, no, wait-! I-”

Virgil was alone, but was that any different from he was normally?

Again, his mind heard muffled voices once more. Like he was still deeply submerged in water. One, shouting towards him. Another, trying to get things under control. Lastly, crying?

And suddenly, the darkness around him shook, some of the gray haze faded slightly. The walls of darkness he felt himself in were cracking. But along with the shaking of where he was, he heard a voice yell, before being cut off.

The other two voices also cut off, frantic mumbles coming through.

Slowly, the gray haze faded slightly, as tears fell down his cheeks, although he didn’t know why. Just a bit in front of him, Roman’s sword was laying there, abandoned. 

His breathing stilled at the appearance of it, causing him to stumble back. Every moment felt blind, and every moment felt like someone was convincing him to do something still. It was a blend of control that gripped onto Virgil tightly.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, still echoing through the dense feeling of water around him, no longer so sweet of a feeling.

“-rgil-! Don’t, wake up I-”

In blind fear, Virgil sent out a wave of magic in front of him. Another thud sounded, and the darkness shook around him. The voice of whoever he just hurt cut off in a groan. The darkness was swirling stronger now, but extended far enough to see Logan’s glasses on the floor now. Tears were now falling and falling down. His breathing was erratic, and he sobbed into his hands, as he stumbled back, falling onto the ground. The gray haze was now swirling threateningly, like a hurricane.

So loud, that Virgil barely heard the last voice still in the room.

“N-Not today. I can-”

Suddenly, the torrents of the gray swirl picked up, Virgil was curled up one the floor, his power being strained into a weapon of terror. His amber eyes were wavering with the onslaught of tears.

Through his tears and wind, he looked up in fear as the last figure placed a hand on his knee.

His arm reached up, extra power reserved to defend himself against this intruder-! When-

A body collided with him, and he flailed, scared he was getting attacked or hurt, or if he was going to be taken away to the dark sides again! But slowly, his mind cleared enough when he felt a sob against his shoulder. When he felt two arms gripping for life against his hoodie.

Something felt so, so familiar. Something like home.

The winds of his magic slowed and slowed, as his breathing stifled and soon slowed.

He was so, so tired.

He felt his hand reach up and grip tightly onto Patton’s cat hoodie as he let his tears fall. As everything went black again, Virgil felt safe.

The last thing he heard echoed in his mind.

“I’m okay. They’re okay. You’re okay. Don’t leave m-”

…

Taglist: @i-am-overly-complicated @mferge7

I’m sorry for how late this is! I’ll keep a better schedule from now on, I promise! I hope you all like it! The next chapter will be all fluff.

#platonic lamp #lamp #sandersides #sanders sides #virgil #patton #logan #roman #deceit #anxiet

[reddeaddamnation]

I just finished playing AC IV: Black Flag and Charles Vane stole my heart. Could you make dirty A-Z headcanon with him plz?

NGL he’s a real snacc <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He isn’t the affectionate type, I’ll be honest here. After sex, he would most likely just fall asleep but don’t let that make you think he doesn’t love you. He just has his own way of showing it, like in the morning, he will hold you to his chest, kiss you on the lips, cheek, neck...

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This is a man who loves the sound of his own voice. Literally. He loves how he can turn you on with just his voice and all the filthy words that come out of his mouth and trust me, he knows how to use it. In you, he is very fond of your butt. He always likes to grope and fondle it, be it during sex or not.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

When he cums, he does so anywhere actually. He doesn’t have a special preference where exactly to cum, but he does love watching you swallow it when you give him a blowjob.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His biggest secret is that he actually likes to be dominated. He never refuses to dominate you, of course, but he does enjoy some feisty behavior coming out of you like a fight for dominance first and he would let you win because he finds this side of you to be amusing.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

The only experience he really has is with ladies of the evening, therefore so far he has been used to focusing on his own pleasure, rather than a partner’s. In a romantic perspective, he isn’t very experienced but he tries his best.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position would be one where he would have a clear view of your butt, because like said before, he absolutely adores it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

The goofiest he will ever be will be when he is in a mood for teasing you. But overall he isn’t the type to crack jokes during sex or something like that.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, but he has never bothered to groom himself, but if you want him to, he will oblige.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Keeping it real, he isn’t romantic. There are times when you two would fuck each other like you hate each other, but he is just a rough fellow.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He avoids it usually, but if you are somewhere far and he misses you, he would then do it. Or if he is feeling freaky, he would do it in front of you to tease you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

It’s no surprise that he is real freaky in bed. There isn’t anything he isn’t willing to try. He isn’t scared of the unknown and the new things. After all, how will you know if you’re into something if you don’t try it? His favorites are anal and roleplaying. A game of Naughty pirate and the lusty officer anyone? 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere is fine as long as you have privacy. That’s the most important to him. He will always remember the broken leg and bloody nose he gave a drunk voyeur who dared stare at you two in a tavern one time. Since then, he never does anything too sexual with you in any place that is remotely public.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It’s quite easy to turn him on because he simply can’t get enough of you. Just say the right things and he’ll be all over you in seconds.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like mentioned before he isn’t into doing sexual stuff in public and also, he would never be okay with threesomes and such.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He likes giving and is pretty good at it, even though he doesn’t have much experience with it and of course, he loves receiving. He keeps it equal - when you give, he returns it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be very very very rough as long as you can handle it.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He wouldn’t say no, but doesn’t prefer it to proper sex. Still, he would suggest it quite often.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Risk and experiment is his middle name. He is always down for experimenting, but it really depends what the risk is.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can go for up to two rounds, the first of which lasts about twenty or so  minutes and after the second one, he is completely spent and wants nothing more than to sleep

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any, but if you have, he is more than willing to use them on you. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When he is in such a mood, he is a huge tease. He can go very far with his teasing until you can’t say anything else but beg for him. On an every day basis, he isn’t one for teasing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not too loud. Lets out groans at the most.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He would never admit, but he loves when you play with his hair while he is laying his head in your lap or pull it during sex.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

18cm, has a couple of rather prominent veins that are visible when he is close to climax.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high especially if you haven’t seen each other in a long time.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Like said before, he falls asleep really quickly