#even though he’s not here to see it and he’s a dog so even if he was he wouldn’t understand it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwaasfairy · 2 days

Text

┌─ “ ! „ HEARTBEAT

tw. pseudocest, noncon, possessiveness, grooming?, age gap, blood, murder, a lot of trauma bonding

wordcount. 6k

a/n. thank yoUUUU rhi for betaing you are my favorite as alwaysssss I love you soooo much ♡♡

okkotsu yuuta x fem!reader

Blood is splattered on the ground of the dirty alley, and there’s another heavy thump when his kick once again lands on the kid’s skull and he moans in pain. He calls him a kid in his head because he’s got that shit-faced little attitude, and now an ugly gap where his front teeth used to sit, but he should be old enough to know better. As a couple passes by the narrow street, he shields things from view a little, before using the long edge of his sheathed sword to push the dumb, bloody face to the side. Because his eyes are starting to look like two overripe tomatoes from the impact, he couches down before the sandy brunet.

“You know what this is about?” Yuuta’s voice is hoarse. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s been a busy week cleaning up your messes. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind. If anything, it makes him feel sort of useful. You’re good and kind and don’t get into trouble on purpose — which is why he’s here late at night making sure things get handled. Niisan’s got it, after all. He doesn’t bother to clear his voice. “Hey.”

“Take my cash,” the young man below him now whistles through the missing teeth, teary eyes darting around as he pats his hand all over himself to look for a wallet.

Yuuta scoffs. “I don’t want your money. If I did, you think I’d waste my time beating your face in like you had it coming?” The anxious, almost nervous lilt to his own voice doesn’t escape him. If you could see him now, you’d probably say that he was enjoying this too much - and while he is, the idea of this getting back to you doesn’t escape his mind. It won’t though, logically speaking. The kid probably wouldn’t be able to see straight for a couple hours, and you will never find out. “I want to know why you’re hanging around Rika’s kid sister.”

“Kid? W- I don’t know any Rika!” He yelps when he tries to lift his head and gets the handle of the weapon hit hard onto the bridge of his nose again, adding more blood to the mess that’s running all over the bottom of his face. Yuuta really can’t see it, lifting his top lip in slight disgust. Handsome, where? Just as much as this boy isn’t really a kid anymore, neither are you. But you’re younger, and deserving of protection — is it really so bad he wants to imagine you as his baby sister for a bit longer before you start trying to escape from under his wings?

Not that you’re going to go anywhere.

“I don’t know a Rika,” the blond whines again now, hiding his face into his hands to drool and hiccup against the cold floor.

“Orimoto Rika, has a kid sister.” Yuuta bites back, patience running really thin.

“O-I- I kn- oh, we’re in the same uni prep class!” He gets up to close his eyes and focus all his attention on not just kicking against his skull until the answers fall out. He knows that, how else would he even know to ask? The head damage takes it a few seconds to make the guy continue, sniffling. “We’re friends- or- my friend knew her. I liked her so we hung out a few times.” Yuuta’s hand is cold around the worn handle.

He takes a slow breath, watches the cloud of air as he lets it out. The promise ring glints in the light of the street, and it’s all familiarity and instinct that makes him brush his thumb over it. “Were you serious with her? Or did you tell her whatever so you could fuck her? Hm? Did you fuck my little sister?” The brunet snivels and whines under him when his foot lands back right before his face, demanding attention.

“I won’t talk to her anymore, I swear! I swear I w-won’t even - it’ll be like I never existed. Please.” The pitiful whining he’s doing, groveling like a dog below him - sort of reminds him of a younger him. Someone who didn’t have a purpose yet, and was scared of everything for it. The heavy weight of the ring clings to his hand when he lifts it to unsheath the katana, seeming to wrap a comforting palm around his own. If he could, he'd tangle fingers with her.

“P-please, let me go home! I didn’t do- I wouldn’t touch your s-sister, I didn’t know.”

“I hate guys who aren’t serious with her.” He clicks his tongue, and has to spit out the nasty taste that this entire situation leaves on his tongue. The weight of the sword is barely an inconvenience when both hands wrap around the handle properly. He’s doing this for Rika and him. Always. “She deserves so much better.” A mean flash of possession crosses his thoughts - how no one except him will ever be good enough. But he pushes it back, because that has nothing to do with why he’s doing this. Nothing.

“Yuuta~” Her voice haunts when he closes his eyes.

He’s in the sandpit of the Children’s hospital, rocking back and forth softly on the edge of it as he waits. The sun makes the sand nice and toasty, it warms his feet when he plants them down. “Yuuta!” It’s instinctive, when he looks up at the familiar voice. Rika’s hair travels in a perfect arc behind her when she runs to make it catch the light like a halo. Pretty blue dress making the shine of her hair even brighter, cheeks rosy, and her eyes glittering diamonds when they find his and she crashes down next to him. Her scraped knee is proof that it’s too hard, but he can’t help but smile when her cheek touches his arm on the landing.

Something hits the floor with a loud thump.

Yuuta turns over his shoulder to watch. There’s a smaller child that’s chin down on the earth behind them two, thick crocodile tears threatening to spill when Rika gasps. “Rika neechan~ Wait.” You pout, straightening up quicker than you should to reach your hands out to her. The girl hurries over to dust your cheeks off and drag you along behind her. It’s such a nice day out, Yuuta’s sweater is just thick enough to make his entire body warm. He stares at your face a little too long, before glancing between you two.

You’re still rounder than she is, but it’s undeniably eerie. “Your sister?” He asks softly, and Rika grins wide. She gently maneuvers you by the hand to sit next to her, then pulls you into a hug.

Her lips are pretty pink when she licks them. “This is Yuuta. Say ‘hi Yuuta’.” You parrot your sister obediently, as she waves your hand around at him. “Me and Yuuta are going to get married. So you should be very nice to him, okay?” Her sweet cheeks are the exact same as yours, long lashes and big, knowing eyes that always have him staring. You just look absentmindedly at the grass when Rika holds you into her side, but nod.

He smiles softly when your big eyes find his again. And Rika giggles. “And she’s gonna be your sister one day, so you gotta protect her well. We’re gonna be one happy family, promise?” She extends her arm to hold out a pinky finger at him. “That’s what I want.”

His fingers are pressing indents into your arm. It’s unusual. Yuuta’s always gentle, he’s soft and cares, but today his hand is screwed almost protectively tight around your upper arm, and you can’t say that you hate the feeling. Maybe childishly, you want him to squeeze even harder - so you’ll have no reason to get out.

You don’t come here a lot. Not since the accident tore open the painful scarred memory of it, but even before then, it wasn’t exactly your favorite place. It’s at Yuuta’s gentle prompting that you even managed to dress, and now walk however slowly between the low stone walls. The rain taps impatiently on the umbrella above, as the older boy casts you a careful glance. Then slowly bends to sit on his ankles, and grabs your hand ever so softly, meeting your eyes. His hands, though big enough to dwarf yours now, are almost velvety when they clasp around yours. It feels like he’s exponentially grown, while you’ve stayed pretty much the same.

Partly the illness. Mostly the age.

“Think you can go on?” he softly asks, kind eyes sympathetically regarding you. Like he’s making a judgment call about whether to turn back after all - debating the long walk back to the hospital. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’ve already gone before, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds a bit accusatory, a bit pouty too. Can’t be helped. Yuuta could be a living saint and you’d still find it hard. He clearly doesn’t take it to heart, because he smiles. His one hand then moves up to ruffle your hair.

“It’s still hard for me too, though,” his lips quirk up in an almost smile, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. It’s sort of comforting to know that even someone like him feels it. Of course he would. Your neesan was family, but Yuuta probably knew her better than you ever could. He was beside her when she got out the two times, and was waiting when she had to get re-admitted. He was there when she got hit— there’s a comforting brush of your cheek when he stands back up and the umbrella gets so much higher. Yuuta blinks. “Come. I think you can do it.”

Your chubby cheeks flood with warmth, as you take his fingers into your hands with a nod. “Okay.”

It’s like this that you wind up at the headstone, stepping through dredged earth that’s been walked on too much. It seems to cling to the bottoms of your shoes with intent - you squeeze Yuuta nii’s hand tighter at the sight of the family grave. It now holds three of your kin in a warm embrace under the several bouquets of wilting flowers, and however morbidly, you think that maybe you’ll be joining soon. You’re young, but it’s not lost on you when the nurses send each other pitying looks.

“Is this where neesan’s buried?” Your voice sounds pinched and small, and sort of pathetic. You imagine Yuuta nii cried when he came to the funeral, but he wouldn’t have whined. You’re whining. You don’t want Yuuta to get fed up with you. Not when he’s the last semblance of ‘family’ you have left. After a while of staring blankly at the stone, he nods, and turns over his shoulder to smile at you again, pulling you a little closer to him. Your arms loop around his waist, staring down at the pretty whites that shake under the rain. “Is this where I’ll be buried when I die?”

He freezes. You feel bad about the double take he does when his spine goes more straight, rigid limbs dropping by his side as a deep, uncomfortable breath makes its way out. Your hands wring together instead.

However long it takes for him to unlock his limbs is however long you breathe through your tears as they well up stubbornly along your lash line, before your head is pulled to his ribs into an embrace. He swallows back emotion himself. “That’s not- I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. I promise.”

“I’m sick-”

“No.” His eyes glint with something silvery when he takes your face between both hands and lets your childishness wash over him, clenching his jaw. “What happened to Rika was an accident- I- I couldn’t do anything then. But nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m here. I need- you to believe me.”

You don’t flinch when he uses your cheek to turn your face his way, but the urge still sits. His eyes study your face too intently, like he’s looking for something he can’t quite find. “I promised that I’d be a niichan that protects you.”

Rain splatters into a million glistening flecks as it meets the headstone.

“Okay,” you say.

It isn’t lost on you that his jaw is set too tight as he drags you back by the hand towards his bike, fist clenched around the umbrella. He breathes a tiny, ‘Later, Rika’ before turning on his heel. You don’t manage the same. Your voice gets stuck in your throat, even when he helps you up onto the bike rack in the back, pulling your face into his chest too tight- squeezes you to mold against him. He smells nice for a teen boy. The kiss he leaves on your crown is gentle, and leaves a soft warmth on your skin — You doubt it is really meant for you.

The door pushes open as you’re putting clips into your bangs, tongue trapped between your teeth. You cast Yuuta a glance through the mirror when he lingers at the door, and try to smile. “I’m almost ready.” You’re no longer too keen on fighting, the longer the silent treatment drags on. After a while of watching you with his arms crossed over his chest — he walks over to your bed to plop himself down and lets himself fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” the noiret sighs at nothing in particular, as you put on a necklace and after debating for a second, some perfume. The noise makes Yuuta look, studying you when you turn. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Yuuta didn’t have to stay with you, and he sure as hell didn’t have to give up a lot of his youth to take care of you like he does. Like your other family refuses to do when all the cards are on the table. He catches your stare. “You know I love you. I… worry when you’re not right here where I can see you. We stick together.”

“I know.” Your smile only barely makes your lips move, but you do mean it. You just wish realizations like this didn’t always have to come at the cost of fighting. “For what it’s worth, I’ll probably always forgive you.” You try to laugh, and brush your hair out of your eyes a final time before grabbing your bag. “I’m only going to be out for a few hours, max.”

Yuuta frowns when he sits up. His dark hair is brushed out of his face, damp and soft from the shower. “You’re still going?”

You blank. “Yeah, Himari and Shota are waiting for me. We’re going to see a movie.” He only has to let his eyes travel over your body and clothing once, for you to read what he’s thinking. You yank the edge of your skirt a bit lower, and pull your shoulders up. “What, what?! I can’t go out looking like this? It’s basically the same length as my uniform, what’s wrong with that?!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathes back, empty eyes regarding you with a static sort of- indifference, you guess.

“You don’t have to, niichan! God!” You turn to walk out the room, but Yuuta grabs your wrist when you pass by the bed. Sat down like he is, eyes tracing you like a lion- Yuuta no longer looks like the boy that used to draw stars on the ceiling of your hospital room for your amusement. Your cheeks heat when he basically glares straight at you for your attitude, and mulls the answer around in his mouth. Your anger subsides as you take a breath. This is the guy who makes you fresh apple juice in the morning, and calls you up between shifts. Because he cares. He just cares.

“Can I please go, Yuuta nii?”

After a few seconds, he clicks his tongue, staring at the edge of your skirt before tugging at it too, barely hiding a frown you can see dig between his brows. “You know I don’t like that Shota kid?”

Your lips jut out. “Yeah…” It’s getting awfully close to time to leave. You take a step back just to get his hands away from you. It’s distracting, and this is your brother you’re dealing with. “But he’s really nice. He started high school already but he used to be in my class the last three years, so… so you don’t have to worry. He knows I can’t do everything because I’m sick and he says—”

“Yeah, I’m sure he says everything you want to hear… You’re smarter than this. You don’t actually believe that.”

“He’s my friend.” A friend that makes your heart beat a bit faster when he smiles at you, but what’s it to him? “He doesn’t lie.”

Yuuta grimaces when you stare him down. “Don’t tell me about teenage boys, I used to be one.” He bristles before sitting up straighter, and though he’s technically below you, you still feel his energy tower as those big, dark eyes stay on your face. “Are you really ‘going to see a movie’? Or are you just going to sit in a boy’s room all night while I’m worried sick-”

You’re about ready to walk out, but his fingers are still looped around your wrist. “We are going to the movies! Himari and I! Just because a boy is there- ugh! Niichan, don’t make it weird!” The heat burns higher on your cheeks when you ball your fists, ignoring the pressure behind your eyes. This is so embarrassing. “I want to go.”

It’s quiet for much too long, making goosebumps appear all over your exposed skin. Then he breathes. “Come here.” His voice has more of an edge than it used to. You used to like the way your name fell from his lips. You’re not so sure you do anymore. Instead of storming out and forgetting all about him, you stare back at the sharpness in his eyes. When he pats his lap with familiarity, you jerk a brow. But you sit. His breath brushes along your neck too softly where he’s seated. It tickles on the way down.

It almost feels like… like he could wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you stopped struggling.

Yuuta nii wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

Fingers come to your necklace, undoing it, and it drops into your lap on the pretty, blue skirt. It’s suddenly much too cold in the room, and you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. It’s fine. You’re fine. Yuuta is family.

Still the untouched skin of your neck feels too exposed.

If he notices your rigid posture, he doesn’t bother fixing it. Just reaches, then pushes your head forward. The childishly familiar pink, bedazzled heart he holds up instead glints, swaying from where you left it on your side table for the night. “You get back at 9,” his lower voice sounds, “or else I’m driving out to wherever you are and dragging you back to my car.” When you don’t say anything in response, he brushes away your hair from your shoulders.

“Yuuta nii,” you start, clamming up when he drapes the dainty thing around your throat and does the closure for you. “I wasn’t going to wear that one tonight.” You don’t always want to wear whatever Rika left behind until infinity.

“I think you will,” he breathes back, and kisses your exposed shoulder. It’s less sweet, more something to punctuate his statement. If he wasn’t so familiar and soft, you’d immediately fight against the way his strong arms wind around your waist to anchor you in his lap. “Just wear it.” His hands stay against your skin, long after he’s finished. Too long, and after seconds of sitting in the tense silence, you jerk up off his lap to grab your discarded bag from the floor. The other necklace drops to the carpet somewhere, but you don’t care.

“Fine,” you bring out tightly, before giving him a last look. Your bottom lip trembles a slight bit, so you suck it into your mouth to make it stop. And tears sting at the corners despite yourself. “Later, then.”

“Tell Himari that niichan says hello. It’s been so long since she’s been here.” He gets up from your bed too, and you resist the urge to rush out the room before him when he steps around you. You can’t fight the feeling that somehow… you were just caught in your lie. Your phone beeps in your bag, as Yuuta nii disappears around the corner. Shota, probably.

Blood. The door creaks, swings against the wind.

Dead.

You hope he’s dead. Blood pools at the center of the showers, sinks down the drain too slowly. It sticks to the pretty porcelain tiles of the old school locker room before the water gurgles it down.

They’re dead.

You don’t have to question it before it’s confirmed. Before the heavy, silver cleaver is lodged into the side of the already ruined skull. All of them. All of the boys of the soccer team seem to be present, though you don’t want to try and count. Counting makes it real. This shouldn’t be. The heavy thump makes way for a gross squelch when he yanks the metal out, and keeps the body down with his foot.

The spatters on his face are still wet. You can’t help the way your voice comes out when you breathe in deep and try to keep the tears from spilling over. The cleaver’s red and sticky and so is his hand, up to his forearm, his forehead from wiping his hair away. All of it, ruined.

“Y-yuuta nii?”

The metal door of the locker slams closed with the wind and hits you in the back, sending you skittering forward a few steps before you force the air out of your lungs with a stuttered pant.

With a soft smile, he turns over his shoulder. “Shhh.” The blood’s crusted under his nails when he presses a finger to his lips, then waves you closer. “Help niichan out?” His eyes glint over, before his smile goes a little wider, and he whips the blood off the weapon onto the ground. “S’ your fault I had to do this after all. We can clean up together. Hm?”

Your breathing is so shallow that you can feel your heartbeat in between your ears. You aren’t sure why you nod. The guilt tastes bitter on the way down.

Rika was dead on impact. She didn’t have a chance, even after she fought so vehemently against what took your mom. You know that. Even if she didn’t get struck by misfortune then, she might’ve not lived past her teens.

Yuuta doesn’t seem to know. He also doesn't seem to consider the same for you either— letting you toy with the edge of his shirt where you’re curled into him in your too-small bed. The hospital wants you back for another check-up.

It’s true that you’ve already outlived your sister, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. Yuuta nii doesn’t want to hear it. As he brushes your hair with his fingers, you scratch the arm where the IV’s always get attached with an absent minded pout. Until Yuuta notices, pouting down at you. “Are you still feeling dizzy? I can make you some green tea if you’ll let go of me for a few minutes. Lots of honey like you like.” You quickly shake your head.

To him this is final, the worst you’ll ever get, and in reality that’s probably not the case. You don’t tell him though. His deep eyes stay on you a little too long. “What’s wrong?”

Sometimes you wake up and can’t open your eyes past a blurry sliver, your head tight enough to make your skull feel like it’s caving in. Times where you have to clasp your stomach painfully tight to hold yourself together — stumbling in tears into Yuuta’s room. Like you’ll disintegrate in his arms unless you lock him around yourself. This isn’t as bad, but you still feel bad.

Feverish and cold all at once, achy where your stomach goes up and down. You can’t mention the possibility of having to go back into urgent care without aniiki spiraling, so you keep your mouth shut. “I don’t like green tea,” you guiltily admit instead, and stare up at him when he holds a few knuckles to your head, studying you.

His expression scrutinizes you a little tighter, before he pets over your crown. He presses a soft kiss onto your lips. It’s Rika that loved it, you want to say, but for some reason you can’t make the words come out. He sighs, slightly put out, but then nods. “If you’re feeling better later, maybe you can help Yuuta nii with the curry. Okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile up at him, and you can see how the muscles in his jaw unclench.

His soft hands cup your face intently, staring down at you too intently. It starts sweet, until the feeling of his breath dust over your face and you watch as he flicks his eyes all over you. “You look so much like her. I can tell now that you’re getting older though,” his thumb smoothes over your soft cheek. “We should see if there’s something in Rika’s stuff you can still wear.”

“Won’t be able to fit it anymore, niichan.” Your voice comes out apologetic, though you don’t know why.

“Hm. You might be right.” His look goes more distant before he pulls you closer. Legs tangled, arms loosely looped around you. “You’re still smaller than me though. Luckily.” He takes a deep breath, before nuzzling his nose into your crown to breathe long and deep. His warm hands trail over yours before squeezing. “I love you, you know that? Always will.”

You stare at the wall of mementos past Yuuta’s shoulder. Suffocatingly cram packed. Her pictures. Her music poster. Her pre-teen bottle of perfume you wear only on special occasions. Your hands stop toying with the edge of his shirt to brush instead along his forearm until you meet something that isn’t skin. Yuuta’s quiet, but his breathing is slightly pinched— you don’t mean to.

You glance between you two to the plastic your finger hooks onto. The bracelet she made in the hospital care ward for Yuuta that he still wears despite the fact that the color has long peeled off of the cheap beads. “You loved neesan, right?” Your lashes almost brush when you look back at him, watch him trap his tongue between his teeth for a moment as pink sits on his cheeks. His hand wraps around yours to tangle fingers.

“I… did.”

He swallows. “She made the hospital seem a little less lonely.” The mementos seem to stare at you from across the room as he speaks, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach refuses to fade. If anything, it gets more painful. Tighter. “We’re going to be together forever though. And I,” he squeezes your hand, voice fading to barely a whisper, “I love you. Love you so much.”

There's a cold slid over your fingers when he moves. You allow him to slip off the band, gently, and almost as if he wants to give it to you without you noticing, his fingers slide the cursed thing onto your hand instead. His smile is gentle, makes those dark eyes look a little less pressing. “When you’re cleared from going back to the hospital, we can find me a matching one. We still have to get married, right?”

The room feels cold.

“... Okay.”

“Let’s kiss?”

It’s too late to be early when the shared bed gets crowded over on your side. “St- I’m going to sleep, Yuuta nii. Stop.” You don’t open your eyes to the touch, definitely not to the gentle brush of his fingers over your lips when he gets too close. Always too close- it’s suffocating. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Don’t be like that.” He sounds happy. He always sounds like that when it has to do with you, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to flutter open when the thumb instead pushes into your mouth. “If we get married, this will be normal. Don’t pull back.” He pushes onto your tongue to make you hold it in your mouth all heavy and tasting of him, then leans in to push his forehead to yours. Deep, possessive eyes pinning you in place.

“You don’t want to?” It almost sounds mocking. You know you brought this on yourself. You asked to go home early, you asked to invite friends. Maybe this is payback the way big brothers give it. There’s tears that spring up anyway when his other hand slips under your shirt and he squeezes your soft belly. As the spit he wipes on your lips gets kissed away by an impatient sigh. “I’ve wanted to for such a long time. You wouldn’t ask me to wait more.”

“Yuuta nii. We’re siblings, aren’t we?” The ring glitters. Your hand is clenched into the front of his shirt as warm hands grab down your body— hands you love. Hands you trusted.

“Of course we are. That’s why I’m doing this, silly girl.” Hands that push your underwear down your round hips despite you fighting to keep them up. He giggles when you burn with embarrassment, before pressing kisses to your temple. “I love you. I love you, I love you. Who better to kiss you than big brother?” You shake your head, try to push- he doesn’t budge. Just keeps your body in place under his with his weight.

“G-get off of me, Yuuta! Stop being so weird!” You cry, pushing until he grabs your wrist and forces it down beside your head. He’s still smiling though, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like you’re still a child acting out. It’s that which makes you squirm more, and the glare digs into your forehead when he gets on top of you. “Stop~ I don’t want to kiss.”

Instead he laces his fingers with your ring hand, as the other patiently flutters down to rub over your pussy. You don’t want to. You don’t. Yuuta just smiles when he tilts his head to regard you, and squeezes your fingers a little tighter. “Rika-chan asked me to take care of you. Don’t get so mad.”

It’s getting cooler and cooler and cooler the longer he stands. Pressed in the corner of the sterile, greenish blue atmosphere with white sheets draped over your body. He takes a long, deep breath until the nurse finishes up with the checks, taking freshly drawn blood away in a vial. “You’re the guardian?”

The red stands out against your complexion as your restless sleep drifts deeper— he shifts in his seat to lace his hands together. “Her big brother, yes.”

She doesn’t bother to pretend to care when tapping her clipboard, gives a distracted smile. “The doctor will be here within the next hour, okay? Please wait here until then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yuuta’s quick not to let the smile quirk up onto his mouth when she’s already walking out before he finishes. As soon as the door falls into lock he gets up from the uncomfortable chair to kneel by your bedside and grasp your hand.

Soft. Small.

He hates to admit that he could spend hours here by your side; but the truth is the truth. He could, and he has. And he will, until it is no longer necessary.

Yuuta kisses your hand with a gentle smile, feeling your heartbeat thump under his lips. You mumble, he swears he can hear his name. “I’m here. Niichan’s here.” He smiles a little more when the soft fingers wrap back around his hand and he watches your expression relax even in your sleep. He can’t help it, the soft thumping against his cheek makes his entire body warm.

You’re so alive, and so close- every cell in his body yearns to be beside you. He kisses the area between your thumb and pointer in an attempt to soothe the feeling of biting down entirely. Instead he clasps your hand with two of his before standing up. “You would have loved Rika.” His mouth tingles. “She would’ve hated you- but you would have loved her. I think she would have been a bit jealous though.”

He dips to press a soft kiss onto your lips, humming softly when your warm breath dusts over his cheeks. “You’re so cute.” A few years ago, you would’ve had visitors waiting for you. “I know you were looking forward to graduation, but I’m still here for you.” He places his hands on both sides of your face to hover over you instead of pulling back, can’t keep himself from it.

“You don’t want to leave your niichan, right?” It’s not your fault that everyone else wants you to move on. He’ll take you just as you are. He has to force himself to pull back before he kisses you again, so you don’t wake just yet. You will. And you’ll cry into his chest about missing your precious graduation, and about being stuck here again, just when you were getting better. He never much wanted you in uni anyway.

From his space sat on the edge of your bed, he can easily see how the blanket squirms. How the motion curls and wiggles until he easily pulls the sheet down your chest, then your stomach.

Two beady eyes stare up at him as he brings his face a little closer. The fly head is still clinging to your stomach, hasn’t moved from where he left it. By now it’s become an accessory every few months. It’s not strong enough to kill you— just barely enough to keep you believing you’re still sick, and that’s all he really needs. You need his care, need him. He resists the urge to pick the thing up at least until he can take you back home.

Instead he nudges it up a little higher, so he can place his palm onto your belly to stroke gentle circles in its place, feeling the heat through the gown. He can feel your heart bounce all the way down your body, it’s so cute. When the little fodder curse crawls onto your chest, lids shooting open as you gasp. “Yuuta nii-” Your eyes are lined red, and as soon as they find him you start bawling.

More than happy to let him hike you up from the bed and into his arms, where you bury your face into his neck. Your hiccups are so cute. It’s easy to kiss them quiet when you don’t have enough breath to ask him to stop. He’s sure this time he could slip his tongue into your mouth and you wouldn’t say a thing.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta x reader #jjk yuuta #yuuta smut #tw.pseudocest #tw.grooming #tw.noncon #tw.yandere #tw.dark content #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu yuuta #🍯.honeypot

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theoldsports · 2 days

Text

SOUR.

Art Donaldson x Reader (Patrick Zweig x Reader) | SORRY series | 4.2k words

it’s finally here by popular demand. Patrick has entered the plot. this is set before all of the prior chapters, two days before the Donaldson wedding. can be read as part of the SORRY SERIES (read more episodes of their lives here) or on its own. lemme know if you’d like to be on the taglist.

warnings: 18+. angst. it’s brutal angst. more than allusions to Patrick’s canonical use of hard drugs. rehab, allusion to an OD, mention of Art’s disordered eating patterns. they’re bad for each other in a good way. the Donaldsons have a friendly dog. coveting another man’s wife. discussion of niche sexual fantasies. making out. biting. tornados/extreme weather. running away from your problems.

“Art?”

“Nngh.”

“Artie, wake up.”

“‘M up. Fhhh… ‘m up. What’s the matter?” Art grumbled with half shut eyes. “Somethin’ wrong?” He whispered even though they were alone. It was nighttime which meant whispering to Art.

“I don’t like this storm.”

What a sign that storm should have been.

Art smirked. “We’re getting married in, like, three days and you’re worried about the weather?”

“There’s a tornado warning. Or watch. Whichever the worse one is. I saw it on the news.”

Art frowned. “You ever been through a tornado?”

“No.”

Art rolled over from his position in [Y/N]’s arms to face her nose to nose. “I have. A lot. Close your eyes,” he commanded softly. His arm slotted into the dip of her waist and pulled her closer. “Close ‘em for me. That’s it, that’s it.” He coaxed as she followed his directions.

“I don’t see what this has to do with—“

“Shh, listen,” they both got quiet. Rain pelted against the windows. Wind whistled. Branches cracked and crunched. Thunder boomed. [Y/N] could see the gleam of lightning even behind her eyelids. “Hear it?”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Congrats. Your ears are workin’ best as they can,” Art teased to try and get his fiancé to crack a smile. “Now, which one’s the loudest? Which of the sounds?”

“You breathing.”

“I’m flattered. Which one outside?”

[Y/N] listened. “Right now? The rain, I think.”

“We’re in the clear for now. Let me know when the wind’s louder. Like that real, real crazy whooshing, whistling sound. When it starts whipping like that, we’ll go in the bathroom and lock the doors, yeah? Hell, we can head in now if it would make you feel better?”

“What if I fall asleep before the weather gets worse?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay awake,” Art yawned. “How about I get you up if I notice a disturbance. I gotta take care of my wife, right?”

“I’m not your wife.”

Art sighed. “…I know. I’m just practicing.”

Fortunately, no tornado ever touched down. And Art was still there when [Y/N] woke up.

It always amazed her that Art was still there everyday. For every nasty thing she said to him that she didn’t mean, every argument where she told him Patrick was right, every tennis match won or lost, every natural disaster, every tear shed. Art was there for all of it. He liked the bad moments as much as the good ones because it meant simply more time spent by [Y/N]’s side. He wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

It was too much power, [Y/N] frequently thought, that she had over Art.

[Y/N] faced Art and brushed his strawberry blonde hair away from his forehead. Art often looked exhausted. He wore his tiredness on his face and shoulders. The exhaustion of constantly chasing, people-pleasing and being a professional athlete could destroy a kid. Art wore it like a Boy Scout badge. [Y/N] could watch him look relaxed forever. It was so rare he looked like that.

“Good morning, guard dog,” [Y/N] whispered. Art stirred. She could tell he was awake even though his eyes were shut due to that crease the reappeared between his eyebrows. It was never not there in his waking moments. Slowly, Art’s hand crept up and gently clutched [Y/N]’s wrist. Art used his grip to slide [Y/N]’s hand down his own drowsy face. He planted a kiss on her palm before tiredly looking at her. “Good morning.” She repeated to him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” [Y/N] replied. Gray sunlight filtered through the window. “You ready for today?” She smirked.

“What’s today?”

“Patrick’s in town.”

Art dramatically threw his arm over his face and groaned. “I thought he was in tomorrow… Everything was so peaceful… And quiet,” Art mumbled into his elbow. He couldn’t keep a straight face for long and resolved into a soft laugh. “Whose babysitting?” He asked, peering his blue and brown eyes over his arm.

“I’m picking up the cake today, so I figured I could use his strength.”

Art sat up a bit. “You’re getting it today?”

“In the later afternoon, yeah. Why?”

“It’s gonna be, like, stale.”

[Y/N] glanced over at Art. “If we had gotten cupcakes like I wanted, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re such a little jerk.” Art teased.

“Me!” [Y/N] gasped. “It doesn’t even matter because it’s not like you’re gonna eat it anyway because you don’t eat anything.”

“Little jerk!” Art said with his crooked smile widening. He leaned in, slotting an arm over her. “You heard me. You’re a little… troublemaking jerk.” Art’s nose almost pressed against hers.

“Oh yeah? Why are you marrying me then, hm?”

“…You’re pretty,” Art grinned almost timidly, bowing his head. His flat vocal timber sounded like the verbal equivalent of a blush. “Like, really, really pretty. Even if you suck.” Tenderly, Art leaned the rest of the way in to kiss [Y/N]. Once and then twice and then seven times. Maybe fourteen.

And they would have stayed like that all day.

They would have.

BANG BANG BANG.

Like gunshots.

Their lips parted and they held long eye contact. They paused. They sighed.

“Patrick.” They both said.

With a bend of his arms, the full weight of Art’s toned body collapsed on top of [Y/N]’s.

“Pretty baby!”

“No. ‘M pretending he’s not out there,” He laid flat on her, head on her chest. “Can’t go anywhere now.”

BANG BANG BANG on the front door again. Cheese, the couple’s Labrador mix barked at the sound from downstairs.

“Art!”

“Mhm-mm. Nope. Too bad. Sucks for Patrick.”

[Y/N] huffed. “You’re upsetting the dog.”

“He’s upsetting the dog,” Art started to laugh. “He showed up early. I’m just laying here. Hey, hey!” Art jeered as [Y/N] wiggled out from underneath him from backwards. She tried to inch away off the side of the bed. Her shoulders slumped against the carpet, while Art held her legs in place on the bed. [Y/N] dangled in a half on-half off sort of way. Her oversized Stanford t-shirt rolled up during the drama, exposing her breasts to Art. Unashamed, he stared.

[Y/N] twisted her foot into the side of Art’s face, causing a small cry of disgust from him. Just enough chaos for her to slip away. Without hesitation, she tossed the lightweight door open and skittered down the stairs with Art’s long gate keeping pace behind her. His arms reached out in an attempt to grab her. “He’s early! He can wait! He’s never been early in his whole fucking life!” Art laughed. Cheese jumped and barked at the hysteria.

The chase continued until [Y/N]’s hand hit the doorknob and chain. She unlocked it immediately. As [Y/N] ripped the door open, Art’s arm encircled her waist yanking her to the side with the force of his momentum, causing her to laugh with glee.

And on the other side of the door was Patrick Zweig.

Smiling impishly, Patrick took in the disheveled appearances of his two favorite people. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Nice boner.” Patrick smirked at Art, while he pulled [Y/N] into a side hug.

Art didn’t have a boner, or at least a proper one. But the comment was enough to get Art to look. He rolled his eyes and pulled Patrick in for a hug. Cheese ran over to the door for attention, when Art greeted Patrick.

Art closed the door. Patrick ducked down to greet the Labrador too. He liked Cheese, but wouldn’t necessarily choose to be around a dog in his free time the way that Art and [Y/N] did. Cheese really liked Patrick, much to his chagrin, so he pretended to be nice. While Patrick sat on the floor with the animal, he looked up at his best friends. “What’s with the clothes? You just get up?” Art with no shirt in just tube socks and boxers, and [Y/N] in Art’s old college shirt and underwear. They had all seen each other like this so many times growing up that no one particularly cared that the future Donaldsons looked so post coital. It was pretty normal. Patrick’s smirk sliced further across his unwashed face with the ghost of a laugh. “Were you guys fucking?” He said like a horny teenager.

[Y/N] laughed hard and kissed her lifelong best friend on top of the head on her way to make a pot of coffee in the kitchen. “No.” Art sighed in disappointment, flopping onto one of the barstools in the kitchen. This disappointment was either disappointment in Patrick for asking, or disappointment in the lack of sex due to Patrick’s arrival. It was Patrick’s fault either way.

When the dog got bored, Cheese wandered into the kitchen for nonexistent scraps. Patrick pulled up a chair next to Art and dropped his backpack on the floor. “How’s it going, man? You look good. Feeling ready?” He asked, leaning forward to tap Art across his bare knee.

Art nodded as if it say it’s a sure thing. “Thanks. We miss you. We appreciate you being here. It means a lot.”

“I appreciate you being here,” [Y/N] cut in. “Because you’re in my half of the wedding party.” She and Art were always in constant competition over who loved Patrick more. Art wanted him to be his best man. [Y/N] won out, though, having known him since the age of seven and Art only since age twelve.

“Ladies please. Not all at once.” Patrick said. He stood from his chair and wrapped his long arms around [Y/N] in a proper hug finally. Briefly, his chin rested on her head. He stopped before it went on too long.

“Good to see you, kid. How’s it going?” At two months older, [Y/N] had been calling Patrick ‘kid’ diminutively for almost two decades. It was cuter before he got so tall.

“I called you yesterday.” He replied dryly, stepping back to look at her. [Y/N] noted Patrick’s intimately familiar eyes. Too wide, pupils too dilated. Hm. He wore a long sleeved sweater and jeans. And dirty tennis shoes.

“You bring something nicer than this for Saturday?” She teased, pulling on one of his holey sleeves.

Art snorted at Patrick’s expense and cracked a smile. His freckled elbows leaned onto the counter. “Yeah, yeah. I’m here for two seconds, ‘n you’re already giving me tsuris?” Patrick quipped to [Y/N].

“Tsuris… Never thought I’d say it, but you sound like your mom, Patrick.” [Y/N] scoffed. Art snorted a laugh too.

Patrick frowned. “Guess I have to kill myself then.” He joked harshly to more laughter from the other two. M

“Yep. Have some coffee. Both of you. I’m going to put pants on.” [Y/N] turned away and moved to the stairs.

“Aw, do you have to?” Patrick called after her. [Y/N] tossed a middle finger up over her shoulder as she walked away. Art hissed at Patrick’s comment.

“Do you have to flirt with my wife?” Art sneered without malice.

Patrick smiled that boyish small, wicked, unassuming smile. “She’s not your wife yet.” He snapped back. Art smiled at him in return. The two held each other’s gaze adorned with sick grins for a moment before both of them dissolved into laughter. Everything was a competition, but it was only real if they brought it up.

Fast forward a few hours and Patrick and [Y/N] were in the car. Art had taken off for a haircut because his mom thought he looked like a messy little punk and wedding pictures were forever. [Y/N] drove because Patrick drove too fast and without mercy. He had a sports car once when he was in school and still spoke to his parents daily and had notably wrapped it around a telephone pole and walked out without nary a scratch. How’s that for nine lives?

[Y/N] had a sedan.

She and Patrick both held a cigarette out each of their respective windows as she drove.

“You should really quit, y’know.” She told Patrick.

He leaned over and blew smoke in her face. “Yeah, I’ll quit when you do.”

Patrick’s rude gesture didn’t bear acknowledging. “It’s different. You’re an athlete. I watch movies and review them for a living. It’s expected of me. You… you’re making your performance actively worse. You’re kneecapping yourself by choice.” [Y/N] explained.

“I’m good enough to take the hit.”

[Y/N] laughed and took a drag of her cigarette, asking it out the window. “And you’re arrogant enough to make that comment. Sometimes I look at you and you’re still thirteen. I swear to God. It’s fuckin’ funny,” she said. It was quiet for a moment. “Art, though. He doesn’t smoke anymore.”

“I don’t believe you,” Patrick replied immediately with a wild look in his eye. That was apparently a big surprise. “He’s totally lying to you. There’s no way—“

“Nope! Quit on his own too. He just decided he was done with it one day and got all pro-athlete about it.”

“Y-you’re wrong! You’re so wrong. He’s a liar. Last time I was in town, we—“

“No. No fucking way,” [Y/N] shook her head in manic disbelief. “When you came by to—“

“Mhm. Yep. On the patio. You didn’t notice?”

[Y/N] shook her head. “No sense of smell because of… I’m a smoker. I just… He’s such a shit.”

“A shit and a hypocrite!” They both laughed. When the glee dampened naturally and the cigarette butts were pitched out the window, Patrick looked over at [Y/N]. One good, long look. “You ready for Saturday?” Patrick asked because he was a masochist.

[Y/N] found herself often thinking back on this moment. Was this when it had gone wrong beyond repair?

[Y/N] sighed. She would only ever tell Patrick and maybe Art this. “Yes and no.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t say it like that. I have been ready to marry Art since I was, like, seventeen years old. It is unfathomable to me how much love I am capable of giving him, y’know? If he wanted the Mona Lisa, I’d be robbing the Louvre tomorrow. He’s it for me,” she said. Patrick faked a smile very convincingly and nodded for her to go on. “What I’m not looking forward to is everyone I know being in the same room at the same time. I don’t like other people except you and Art. And my editor. That’s about it.”

“You’re not at all worried about spending all that time married to someone?” Patrick tried to jab at her with his words while he scratched his right forearm.

“Not with Art.”

“Wow. That’s awfully grownup of you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a grownup. With a smokin’ hot fiancé. And he actually cares if I live or die. Isn’t that crazy? My parents weren’t like that with each other. It’s… Am I allowed to say how grateful I am to you for bringing him home for break that one time, or is that stupid?”

“It’s kinda stupid,” he agreed teasingly. In reality, he wanted more than anything to put himself out of his misery. My fault, my fault, my fault. The words looped in Patrick’s head on constant repeat. He wanted to rip his skin off for so many different reasons. He couldn’t take it and he was trapped. Fuck.

Patrick scratched his right forearm again.

“Truth or dare?” Patrick slurred. He was twenty-one and drunk for [Y/N]’s birthday. She, Art and Patrick sat on the disgusting archaic carpet in Art’s dorm room.

“Uh, truth.” [Y/N] said too soberly to sober.

“Boring!” Art said, putting his hand on [Y/N]’s thigh.

Patrick took a long swing of his beer while he thought. “Okay, okay. What’s your weirdest sexual fantasy?” He asked.

“Ew.” [Y/N] wrinkled her nose.

Art thought the question was epic, but wasn’t going to facilitate his girl’s discomfort. “Hey, it’s her birthday, she doesn’t have to—“

“Um, no. I’ll do it. This is an actual dream I had. I think about it kinda all the time. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. It so dumb. So, it’s Art and I’m sitting at the kitchen table with coffee or something. And Art… sings me Happy Birthday like Marilyn Monroe did for JFK. And he’s dressed like Marilyn, but like a boy. No dress, but like the boy version of that look. Then we fuck. That’s weirder than you wanted. That was weird, right?” [Y/N] rambled.

Art leaned in closer to her. They were all drunk as skunks and he couldn’t help bite his lip. His arm pulled her closer to him. Art was handsy when drunk, they were all learning.

“Whose Jackie O?” Patrick asked.

“No Jackie O. And I’m not JFK. He’s just Marilyn. Gentlewomen prefer blondes.” [Y/N] had laughed so hard at that while she tangled her fingers in Art’s sandy hair.

The car ride to get cake and the drive back was the last proper conversation [Y/N] and Patrick had. The pair got home. Nothing seemed unusual to [Y/N] at all. They talked the whole time without any dry spells. The cake, in pieces to be assembled, was carefully toted in and placed way out of the way from disaster. Patrick took his bag to the bathroom, claiming he was going to shower.

[Y/N] shouted after him. “You know where the towels are!”

Patrick looked back over his shoulder at her with a smirk and closed the bathroom door behind him.

And he went out through the bathroom window.

[Y/N] had no idea he had gone until she heard his car start. For a minute, she thought it was the neighbors. She walked halfway down her hallway and saw the bathroom door open. No running shower water, no half nude Patrick shaving or something. She ran back down the hall and glanced out the kitchen window and watched his new white SUV whip out of the driveway.

[Y/N] stood there for several minutes. Staring and staring and staring after him. Not a single effort to move. The first thing she did was pick up her blue slidephone from beside the sink. She called Art, not Patrick. Patrick made his choice.

[Y/N] hadn’t realized she was crying when Art picked up on the other line.

“Honey? Honey, you there? You buttdial me?” Art said. [Y/N] thinks he said shit like that for several moments before she spoke. She just faced the window and stared for what felt like ages.

“Patrick’s gone.”

“Hm?”

“Patrick’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone.”

“He climbed through the bathroom window and drove off. We-we didn’t have a fight. Or-or… He just left. Like it was nothing.”

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are.”

Art rushed back in his blue-black jeep wrangler. It ripped into the smooth driveway causing the tires to damn near squeal. When he got out of his car and bounded to the door, it was clear that about half of his hair had been cut instead of all of it. [Y/N] would have laughed in an ideal situation.

“Baby, hey, what happened?” Art said breathlessly as he unlocked the door. [Y/N] sat at the seldom used dining room table the two of them used to hold their junk mail, sitting straight up and looking through Art. Art was alarmed. She never sat at the table and rarely was her face so expressionless. She was always feeling, expressing, something. He couldn’t tell if she was crying or not, but her eyes were red.

“Patrick seems to have decided not to join us this weekend.” [Y/N] said clearly.

Art closed up the door behind him and walked over to [Y/N]. His scraggly hair and bewildered expression lessened into some devastated softness. He knelt, as he often did, in front of her and took her softer hands in his. “Can you tell me what happened?” Art asked quietly. He felt angry tears sting at the corner of his own traitorous eyes.

“We went out, got the cake, got smoothies, and came back. We… He didn’t say anything weird. Nothing happened.”

“Okay. And then?”

“No, I mean, nothing happened. Like, he was on his best behavior. Like, he was doing so well. He seemed okay. Really okay, y’know?” [Y/N]’s voice broke and finally betrayed her. She choked on her last words and the tears followed. Art’s right hand traveled up the side of [Y/N] face to rest there in comfort. “We talked about everything, like always. He was totally fine. I swear. Then we got home and he says I’m gonna take a shower, or something. And then I heard his car pull away. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna fucking murder him.” Art said, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. He stood from the floor and pulled his own phone out of his pocket. Art leaned against the table [Y/N] sat at. He called Patrick. Then he called him again. And another time. Up to what felt like twelve times or so. He left voicemail after voicemail.

“Hey, call me.”

“Hey, it’s Art. Call me.”

“Art again. Call me back. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry about the last one. Patrick, call me. Are you coming home?”

“Hey, man. Fuck you. Fuck off.”

“I’m sorry about the last one too. I’m… Understandably, I’m kinda… Fucking pissed at you. I don’t need to talk to you like that, though. Are you okay? Are you safe? What happened? You can talk to me.”

“You’re an asshole. I wish you could see the look on [Y/N]’s face right now.”

“Don’t come back.”

Eventually, the voicemail box was full.

[Y/N] reached wordlessly for Art’s hand. She could feel his rare anger climbing. He got this ridiculous blush across his cheeks when he got angry and she could see it against the sunset’s glow. “Art?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened,” He said, turning his eyes to her. “I’m so sorry, hon.”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize, pretty baby.”

“Yeah, but he’s my best friend. He’s your best friend,” He ranted. “That was a dick move to leave like that. I’m sorry that happened to you. He’s a piece of shit.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No! I do. I do mean that. For the last year, he’s treated us, especially you like trash. Do you not see how much more you deserve, [Y/N]? I don’t know what’s going on with him… Do you?”

“He’s…” [Y/N] looked down. “You think he’s using again?”

Art didn’t say anything, he just looked down. That was answer enough. [Y/N] buried her face in her hands with a shuddering sob. Art pulled her to her feet and into his chest. He buried his face in her hair, unable to hold his own tears back. Eventually, the pair landed on the sagging green couch. Art’s legs wrapped around [Y/N]’s middle. They kept the news on all night. In case he matched an accident description. They called hospitals and hunted for John Does that were over six feet with dark hair and stubble.

“What are we gonna do? He’s… He’s not coming back, is he?” [Y/N] whispered. Cheese rested his heavy beige head on her thigh. He obviously didn’t understand why Patrick had gone either.

“No, I don’t think he is,” Art replied, lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.

Pathetically, [Y/N] raised her head to Art. “I’m sorry too. I don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” He said. [Y/N] forced Art to lean back against the couch and she laid her head on his chest. Cheese circled for a new position where he could be touching them both at the same time.

[Y/N] knew it was a little bit her fault. She leaned up and kissed Art on the corner of his lips. “It’s my fault.”

“Then it’s both of our faults. You can’t talk about yourself like that. You’re the only you I’ve got, babe.” Art huffed tiredly.

[Y/N] dug her hands into Art’s hair the way he liked. “Can I fix your haircut? Haircut’s a generous way to describe it.”

“Damn, I was actually trying out this new thing. You don’t think it’s cool?”

“Yeah, it’s big for guys who blindly answer their wife’s phone calls, I hear.” [Y/N] said weakly.

Wife was all Art heard and he melted.

“I have never known someone I love as much as you,” Art said. “I’m all in with you. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do.” [Y/N] did know. She sunk her teeth into the freckled skin on Art’s right shoulder gently and he moaned. Over top of the spot, [Y/N] left a trail of kisses down Art’s bicep.

“I’m gonna call his mom.” He said once [Y/N]’s pace had slowed. Art’s stomach growled. When he got upset, he didn’t eat. [Y/N] told herself it was because he had forgotten to in stressful moments, but wondered if it was a punishment instead. She pretending she hadn’t heard the sound.

“They don’t talk.”

“I know. Just in case he turns up.”

Patrick did turn up. About ten hours later, wet and unconscious in the emergency room. Following a psych eval, Patrick went to a short stint in rehab. He had gone once prior at the age of twenty. Needless to say Patrick missed the wedding. It was too much money to up and cancel, according to Art’s piece of shit stepfather, Douglas. Patrick made no efforts to contact the Donaldsons since leaving, as he left or following rehab. Despite all of Art and [Y/N]’s tireless efforts to find him, all they had to show for it was his disconnected phone number and a crippling feeling of shame and loss. Patrick had vanished from their lives without giving either one of them a say.

Patrick was gone.

But Art was there for all of it.

TAGLIST:

@toxiclovergirl @basicallynotbreathing @miniemonie2001 @valentine333 @tremendoushorsepeachbanana-blog @athxnss @babyspice6 @diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @avylanchce @shysstuff @soberbabes @ysuftmikey @pussy-f41ry

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #sorry series #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig

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bird-inacage · 3 days

Text

Love Sea the Series: Trailer (Tongrak's Love Story with the Island and it's 'Ocean')

You know me, I'm back with another analysis. This time in response to the Love Sea trailer. As I was writing this, it led me to frame our two central characters' differing outlooks as follows. Let me explain.

Tongrak 'We're not a work of fiction, fairytales don't exist' Mahasamut 'We're not a work of fiction, life doesn't follow a script'

STRONGER THAN FICTION

"Didn't I tell you, I don't believe in love. I don't believe. It's not even real to me. Between us, there's nothing more than sex." What seems to fundamentally scare Tongrak is the very idea of love itself. A belief that prevents him from accepting that anyone could love him, or that he has the capacity to love anyone in return. Because love is a construct. A fantasy. A work of fiction. Love to Tongrak is just a fairytale, it's not rooted in reality. The passages of love in his novels could never truly imitate life.

So understandably he begins to feel shaken when his relationship with Mahasamut challenges everything he thought to be true. That what he's experiencing is in fact inspiring his writing. Because it surpasses fiction.

"Everything is up to you to decide. You can pay me as much as you want. But what you can't decide on paper, is that you can't make me stop loving you. You have no right to do that." Mut seems to insinuate that as an author, Tongrak is used to controlling the narrative. This is where he feels most safe, until Mut came along and threw that into jeopardy. Here, Mut seems to declare that he isn't just some character in Tongrak's story. Nor are his feelings. He has agency. Their feelings for one another aren't just lines on paper. Real life does not operate in this way, it veers off script. That's the beauty of living. Mut's life is one dictated by the elements. One that teaches you to be resilient, to take what life throws at you by embracing the curveballs. And love is no different.

A TRANSACTIONAL AGREEMENT

Tongrak offers to pay Mut initially as a means to get him off his back. "How much do I have to pay you, to stop you bugging me?" This is then used increasingly as 'a convenient excuse' that escalates as the plot ensues. I predict that Tongrak continues the guise of paying Mut as a pretence to spend time with him.

By doing so, Tongrak is creating a false of security that is twofold. One, that he's able to keep Mut by his side as long as he pays him. Two, convincing himself that Mut's motivations are driven by financial benefit. Framing this as a transactional relationship means Tongrak doesn't have to face what is developing beneath the surface. This also instils an illusion that he can procure the outcome he wants, which is to keep Mut by his side.

As Tongrak's feelings grow, this becomes an even flimsier front. "How much do I have to pay, if I want to take you to Bangkok with me?" You can hear how desperate he sounds. Whether it's a matter of pride or otherwise, Tongrak seems inclined to attach his request to an incentive. He may be too afraid to confront the possibility that Mut could willingly leave his life behind for him - because that would be out of love and not monetary gain. So Tongrak gives Mut a reason to do so. A reason he deems fit. One he can live with. I think Mut can see through this too, and plays into the whole charade, but ultimately all Tongrak would have to do is ask. "I'm willing to be your dog." (Just say the word).

"If someone who is not highly educated like me understands, between the two of us, there is nothing more than an agreement, right?" Even if Mut is very emotionally mature, and plays along to make things easier for Tongrak to swallow - Tongrak is still trying to deny feelings they share which have long gone past just an 'agreement'. (You do feel something for me though, right? This is just smoke and mirrors but you do care about me, right?)

THE FEAR OF DEPENDENCE

In the latter segments, Tongrak displays evident dependence on Mut. It's as if Mut's aid in his survival on the island has now imprinted on his life as a whole. Tongrak gradually embraces the guide that Mut is, to lead him on an adventure with no particular destination. There's every possibility that this is what Tongrak was afraid of. Of relinquishing control. Perhaps hesitant to do so in the hands of someone younger, more boisterous and seemingly carefree. Someone he wrote off as a "dumb kid" with little substance.

The diving scene could very well be a metaphor for this. Tongrak agrees to do something that requires trust in Mut's expertise, by putting his own safety in Mut's hands. And when he does run into trouble, Mut is there to literally bring him back to life. He begins to recognise that Mut is a man of responsibility, someone he can rely on.

There have been hints that Mahasamut is also going through his own battle with loneliness or isolation. Fort says "and now Tongrak is by your side, you are not alone." MAME also comments that "Mut is the guy who is as strong as a castle. The wind and waves can't hurt him. But Fort proved that a strong man can cry." I think that as Tongrak starts to realise how much comfort and reassurance Mut provides him, he'll want to return the favour. How can he be that same emotional support for Mut to lean on?

What we're about to see is not just Tongrak's love story with Mahasamut, or 'an island', but a whole other life he may have never lived, had they never met. Mut's interception into his life is rewriting the narrative he had consciously or unconsciously dictated for himself.

Note: As with any of my metas, I am basing my interpretations on what I have seen alone. I haven't heard any spoilers from the novel.

#love sea #love sea the series #love sea meta #rakmut #tongrak x mahasamut #tongrak #mahasamut #peat wasuthorn #fort thitipong #fortpeat #*clack clack* here she goes again #do i love reading into things too much?#YES #yes is the answer #ALWAYS

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littlemissferret · 3 days

Text

SERIES : BASTARDS IN MÜNCHEN

02 // malewife material - [ series masterlist : 01 ,, 03 ]

sypnosis: you made an observation on your fellow teammate

no prns used (reader). bm academy timeline. cw: delulu reader. angy ness.

“Yoohoo, over here!” You call for Ness by your locker. “There’s still small puddles of water here. Every second you ignore them, there’s a minuscule patch of mold starting to grow.”

The boy spares you a glare with his back turned the other way, his now-rigid movements become prominent as he shakily yells out, “That’s because your hair is still wet and dripping all over the place, you-!”

“Well, what can I do? I just got out of the shower.”

“Oh, well. You can, you know, DRY YOUR HAIR PROPERLY??”

“Paaaassss,” you sing, successfully pissing him off further. “It's less work for me to let it air dry. Besides, you’re the one on cleaning duty today, so you’re cleaning after me whether you like it or not. Got that?” Not even bothering to glance at the fuming boy, you start scrolling on your phone.

You must be sooo talented, having pissed off someone as patient and tolerant as Ness. Well, he can storm off to the hallway if he wants to. So why’s he still here, mopping the trail of water that you’ve brought in from the showers?

According to your genius- It must be because he, despite always nagging and yelling at you, is totally into you!

Yeah, it's the only reliable reason you can think of. You gave yourself a self-satisfied nod. He must be sooo hooked on you that he just can’t seem to leave you alone. He could be anywhere else right now but he’s in the locker rooms with you? Right when you’re fresh out of the showers? Oh, Ness, you sly dog.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be in here cleaning after your mess!” Ness complains, huffing and taking a small break, “I’m on bedroom cleaning duty! Kaiser just wanted to switch with me, that’s all.. Locker rooms are too dusty and stuffy for him to clean,” he continues, voice getting softer at the mention of his new friend. He then scowls at you and continues mopping the wet floor after a moment of silence.

“If I could leave the locker rooms unattended without getting him in trouble, I would’ve left the moment I saw you in here.”

Aww, and now he’s using Kaiser as an excuse to spend time with you. Well, luckily for him, you wouldn’t mind an adorably shy boy like him.

“I don’t understand how you always manage to be such a nuisance. You’re always out doing and saying things to inconvenience me, are you doing it on purpose!?”

Oh, now he’s saying that notices you and your efforts to spend time with him too! That’s cute, it shows that he pays great attention to you.

“-and, AND you always barge in Kaiser and I’s conversations like you’re part of it! Or anyone’s conversations for that matter! What’s worse is when you do, it’s always pure nonsense that you spout-”

He’s so scrunkly when he’s angrily rambling. Face scrunched up and brows furrowed so deeply that you think he might age 10 years after this.. small disagreement, ends.

“-HEY, are you even listening?”

You sigh lovingly(?) as you cross your arms and smile (eerily) at him. He shudders at the display.

“Seriously, cut that out. Wh.. What’s up with your face? Why’re you staring at me like that? Cut it out, you’re giving me the creeps.”

“Aww, am I giving you the heebie jeebies?” Your smile gets wider as you watch him back up further away from where you’re standing.

His face immediately twists into an ugly scowl at that, “Stop that! See, this is what I’m talking about- you never contribute anything relevant to our conversations, yet you’re so insistent on talking! Do you speak because you just like hearing your own voice, or what?”

You cock your head to the side and raise a brow at that, “Not at all. That’s definitely something Kaiser would love, though.”

“Why’s he even brought into this conversation!?” Ness asks, like the hypocrite he is. Apparently a forgetful one too, as he was the first to mention the currently-absent blond.

You’ll spare him that embarrassment, though. So you just shrug. Anything for your new pookie. Can't have him too angry at you now, can we?

He sighs at your nonchalance, and proceeds to continue his cleaning- now using a wet rag to clean the benches in the room. “You don’t make any sense, you know? I don’t get you at all.” What a weirdo you are. He can’t wait to get his cleaning done and go lie down on his bed to replenish all the wasted energy he spent on talking to you.

You only grin at the sight of him tirelessly cleaning and shining the bench.

“You’re so malewife material. Can you cook, too?”

Ness decides that he wouldn’t try to understand you even if he could.

i live for delusional men, but for this- i'll make reader the delulu one (inspired by one of my irl's behavior smh)

- love how kaiser is not even involved but gets mentioned anyways bcuz its (u &) ness - my blog kinda messy im still learning how 2 tumblr, sorry pookies

#- yu : writing ༊*·˚#alexis ness x reader #alexiss ness #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you

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luceafarul-de-dimineata · 15 hours

Note

Just the idea of Asmodeus just poping up in the human realm to visit his grandson ,eater,and ask how he is going

I'll be honest, I never played Love Unholyc that much, but the idea of it all is so silly to me, so here we go

Asmodeus visiting Eater in the human realm

Not only can Asmdeus teleport to the human realm, he can also do it silently

Eater was probably just minding his business when he turned around and got jumpscared by Asmodeus

Eater: 500 ml of milk... let me check th- DAD WHAT THE FUCK?!

Asmodeus: Hi son!

Eater just glares at him as he tries to calm down.

It's not common for his dad to come visit. The last time was... well, he can't even remember.

Eater: How did you enter my house?

Asmodeus: With my natural born talent and charisma.

Eater: Why weren't the dogs barking?

Asmodeus: Let's just say that humans aren't the only creatures I can charm.

When Asmodeus finds out that Eater is pursuing someone romanticly, he'd go full dad mode

He'll give him pointers on how to seduce woman

Eater: Are you sure this outfit will attract them?

Asmodeus: It's fine, Mir loves clowns. You already have the personality of one, you just need the look and you're done!

Eater: WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME?!

Asmodeus: huhuhu, you got your temper from your mother, I see. She always used to scold me when I teased her. Ah... those were the good days.

Asmodeus will intensify Eater's charm to make sure his boy gets the girl.

When Asmo sees Mir though, he lowers himself to Eater's level and whispers

Asmodeus: Are you sure that's not your sister?

Eater: Why would you ask that question now?

Asmodeus: I have a lot of kids, I just need to make sure you're not banging my daughter.

Hear me out, Dantalian and Eater meeting would be so funny. Dog and Cat due but the dog wants to get hit by a car and the cat is stuck with the dumpass

Asmodeus: Dantalian, please say hello to your brother, Eater.

Dantalian: When did you make this one?

Asmodeus: While you weren't looking. Go on kids, introduce yourselves.

Dantalian: I'm Dantalian and I'm just a wittle boy with no protection. It would be soooo bad if a big bad older brother were to try and smother me UwU

Eater: ...did you say UwU unironicly?

Overall, Asmodeus gets a 10/10 for being a perfect dilf and a caring father.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb asmodeus #whb dantalian #love unholyc #love unholyc eater #lu eater

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tiredfox64 · 9 hours

Note

Hello :) your writing is so good and I like how you write the Lin Kuei bros so much.

I was wondering if I could request a Bi-han x Werewolf!reader, I have been playing Skyrim alongside Mk1 and realized there isn’t any kind of werewolves type of stuff in mk when there is vampires like Nitara. So I was thinking maybe the reader was a fighter recruited by Liu Kang along with Johnny, Lao, Raiden, and Kenshi. Bi-Han doesn’t understand why Liu Kang recruited the reader as there for one their fighting style lacks cordnation and they fight like an animal. And even worse the reader doesn’t have a lot of displine and doesn’t any care for the titles he has. It’s not until they see them turn into their werewolf form in battle that he understands.

An American Werewolf in China

Prior notes: o(^▽^)o thank you! The werewolves in Skyrim look awesome! You work the same way as me where you combine two things you are dealing with at the same time.

Pairing: Bi-Han x Werewolf! Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Awooo

“That insufferable, mischievous, uncoordinated, delinquent is going to fail Earthrealm. This was the best Liu Kang could do?” Bi-Han gritted his teeth.

He was staring at you as you practiced with some of the monks at the Wu Shi academy. Your moves angered him. You were as capable of a fighter as an aggravated wolf. You go around baring your teeth that he saw as unkept with how jagged they looked. So were your nails. It looks like you purposely make them that sharp by rubbing them against rough rocks.

“I trust that Liu Kang made the right decisions. You doubted Johnny Cage yet he still beat us.” Kuai Liang reminded him.

Bi-Han groaned at that reminder. At least Johnny was more coordinated and acted like a human. But you…geez.

Even the first time you guys encountered each other he was infuriated by you. Him, Kuai Liang, and Liu Kang walked into the establishment you worked at. The smell of drunkards wafted in the air since you worked in a pub. Liu Kang’s proposal sounded like the ramblings of someone who was drunk so you ignored him. It wasn’t until Bi-Han tried to grab you that you finally acted.

That beat down was the most humiliating thing he had endured. You leaped on his back and tried choking him out. Kuai Liang tried to rip you off but you were latched on tightly. You even bit down on his shoulder. Though it didn’t pierce through his skin it did leave a large bruise. All the people in the pub payed little mind as if this was the usual.

When Kuai Liang finally managed to tear you off his brother he threw you into the tables nearby. Bi-Han was a mess with his low bun unraveled and scratch marks on his biceps.

“You little—do you know who you are dealing with? I am the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster! You should have more respect!” He yelled

“I don’t give a single fuck! Don’t come in here and fucking touch me!” You snarled back.

“Enough!” Liu Kang yelled out as he bursted into flames.

There was a silence and everyone in the pub scattered out. Can’t be going up in flames in a pub that’s stupid.

After that little incident you saw Liu Kang was telling the truth. You agreed to serve Earthrealm when it came to the Mortal Kombat tournament. But your vicious attack left Bi-Han with a bad taste in his mouth.

You don’t listen. You only listen to certain people. Liu Kang, sure, he’s god you’re not gonna disobey god. Raiden, understandable he is respectable. Tomas? Why him? Bi-Han is the one with the title, show him respect!

If anyone tried to tell you what to do, even something simple like grab some water, you’d be hesitant to obey. Someone told you to move? You gave them a side eye while not moving an inch. You’re acting like a disobedient dog.

That counts for your fighting as well. Like a rogue pitbull latching onto a slab of meat. Sometimes Bi-Han noticed that when you were low to the ground you looked to be moving on all fours. Weird. You leap at your opponents as well.

“They are incompetent. I have not seen them improve at all. Everyone has improved while they grow more wild.” He criticized you.

“Perhaps that’s just what they prefer. Not everyone is capable of the same fighting style.” Kuai Liang was really trying to defend you but even he was unsure of your fighting style.

“This is no fighting style. This is random slashes and hoping they land.”

Bi-Han was about to say more but you seemed to be getting frustrated. You were getting angry even though your opponent was already losing to you. You started shaking and huffing before letting out a yell. A yell that soon turned into a howl. The sound of cracking bones rang out from your body as you started to change before everyone’s eyes.

Your canines grew larger while the front of your face started to protrude into a snout. Your hair grew longer till it became a coat of fur. Your clothes, no matter how many times you tried to keep them on, could not handle the change and ripped again. Perky wolf ears and a bushy tail popped out. Your arms and legs were longer which was the reason the sound of cracking bones was heard. Your eyes that were once human were animalistic with an amber glow to them. By the elder gods! You’re a werewolf.

It basically answers all of Bi-Han’s questions and critiques. You are an animal, half animal actually. As a boy he has heard tales about creatures like you, he thought them tall ones. But here you were standing before him with your ragged coat of fur and glowing amber eyes. This conclusion would be a second guess for him. He would think you were a feral child before guessing you were a werewolf.

You were one pissed off werewolf.

You were growling not at your opponent but Bi-Han. You were staring him down but before you could do anything Liu Kang came running up to you and asked what was wrong. You just whined and pointed your snout at Bi-Han like a pointer dog. You bared your teeth while your ears were pointed back. You’re not happy which means Liu Kang isn’t happy. He walked up to Bi-Han with urgency.

“Stop talking badly about them. They have heard everything. They know they fight like an animal. It still works well.” Liu Kang was not playing.

“If you would have disclosed with me about the fact that they are a werewolf I would have watched my mouth.”

So it’s Liu Kang’s fault that Bi-Han was caught talking behind your back. Alright, his logic is mysterious in nature.

Some of the monks were trying to calm you down. But with the insult from Bi-Han, Johnny and Kenshi fighting again, and Kung Lao saying he will handle you cause he is the best you are just overwhelmed. You started leaping at everyone. You weren’t trying to hurt them but you still are getting used to fighting in your werewolf form. Johnny went flying in one direction and Kenshi went diving to avoid your tackle. Kung Lao leapt onto your back and tried to grab the back of your neck but you started thrashing around like a rodeo bull which knocked him off.

Even Kuai Liang was trying to get a hold of you with his rope but he met a similar fate. Can’t fight a dog with some rope, that’s a challenge. Now he is playing tug-a-war with you and once you let go he flung back hard.

You turned your attention towards Bi-Han before crawling towards him. You towered over him, forcing him to look up at you. Alright, he gets it, he’s wrong. You can stop throwing people around. He doesn’t want a round two with you in this form.

“I take back what I said. It is understandable now.”

It’s not an apology but it’s close. He really doesn’t want to deal with your rage right now so in an effort to douse the fire in your belly he started rubbing behind your ear. It surprisingly worked since your ears went from being pointed back to pointing up to the sky. You stopped showing your teeth and licked up your drool. You stared at Bi-Han for a few more seconds before huffing in his face. It’s the equivalent of sneezing in his face if you were in human form. It’s just unpleasant but he deserved it.

“Alright, enough, go to the zen garden to cool off. We will discuss your fit later on in the day.” Liu Kang addressed you.

You crawled away to the zen gardens to meditate the rage away. All that was left were many men on the ground and Bi-Han wiping his face off.

You turned into quite an interesting case to Bi-Han. He’ll be careful with his mouth now. You proved your point and he doesn’t want to poke the werewolf anymore. Though once this tournament is done he might want to see you again. A werewolf in the Lin Kuei might be a strange yet effective addition. Like having a hunting dog except the dog is huge and human. Seeing that you can be calmed is a good sign. He’ll keep that in mind when he feels he might need you on his side.

After notes: My favorite werewolf movie is An American Werewolf in London (I think y’all could have guessed that). But it was also the way I found out that 🌽 movie theaters were a thing. That was the scariest thing to me. Adiós!

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sluckythewizard · 16 hours

Text

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden THUNK of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a gun shot in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans, offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more.

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression.

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face.

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them.

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda.

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again…

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill.

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again.. Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people. All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

#NO MAIN TAGS WE DIE LIKE ROADKILL #WOW ISNT IT WEIRD THAT YOUR BESTEST FRIEND IN THE WHOOOLE WORLD EATS PEOPLE NOW #ISNT IT WEIRD THAT YOU KIND OF WISH YOU WOULD BE EATEN. EXCEPT NOT RLY BC U WOULD DIE. MAYBE HE COULD HAVE A NIBBLE #i might come back to ramble in the tags more later. STAY TUNED!!!#OKAY IM BACK TO RAMBLE. FIZZFAGS SEAL O APPROVAL IN THE TAGS U MEAN THE WWWOORRLLD TO MEEEE #THIS IS ALL YOUR FFAAAUULTT UR THE ONLY REASON THESE LOSERS ARE ROTATING IN MY BRAIN SO SO FAST #I DO INTEND TO WRITE MORE!! AND I DO INTEND TO LET IT GET WEIRDER #Iwanna make a lil chapter two w them hanging out at the funny intersection while soda maybe tries to patch emizel up.#wouldnt it be fucked up if u saw ur best friend get bled out n then sired right infront of u #and wouldnt it be fucked up if ina vampiric daze he almost sinks his crazy shark teeth into your throat #and wouldnt it be fucked up if you kinda wish he did. like not in a weird way or anything its not weird its not weird at all #RAAHH IM SO HAPPY THAT PPL LIKE MY WRITING STYLE N MY CHARACTERIZATIONS ASWELL IT MEANS SO MUCH TO MMEEEE #NICE WORDS GIVE ME SO MMUCH POOWWEERRRRR RAAGHGHHH!!!thank you guys for being so niceys to me #ive also been thinkin abt writing Post Suckening fics. EXCITED FOR SEASON TWO. in the meantime what if theo had to put up w shenanigens #one shenanigen for example being emizel going feral and attacking a comrade.#then theo needs to stake him n pull him aside n set him straight or something. set him gay. whatever.#ive also had an idea in my head. BC GABRIEL IS TOTALLY INSIDE OF EMIZELS BRAIN NOW #could u imagine doing acid or shrooms w ur homies n then suddenly ur nemesis is showing up in ur fractal hallucinations #anyway i think thats all da ramble i got in me. thanku for enjoying my writing thank yooouuu

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crazymadpassionatelove · 5 hours

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Cool Girl

Notes: None of this would be possible without my dearest darlings @ab4eva and @precious-little-scoundrel! All the hugs and kisses to you both xo

Here's the thing nobody ever admits about being the other half of a celebrity: it's actually as hard or as easy as you make it. Enter hunky, gifted actor who just happens to be hung like a horse? Well, being his lady isn't hard at all. You just have to know the rules. Number one, you can't hear the noise. Not literally, you can hear it. You must strive to live in such a bubble that none of it matters though. You shop, power walk your gated community, and take cock like it's the only job you have. Truly, it is. Pleasing him is of utmost importance. Be ready to hop a plane at a moment’s notice, or even get fucked on said plane. You're so busy spending your man’s cash snapping up authentic mid-century modern homes before certain celebrities turn them into minimalist gray prisons, raising money for dogs who need prosthetics, and trying your hand at that sourdough bread craze, you really don't even have time to see the Instagram hate being spewed your way 24/7.

Number two, remaining an enigma. Selling energy drinks on social media? Having your man pay off some fast fashion brand to “partner” with you for a collection? Appearing on some campy sitcom as a guest star? Not for you, the thought of it actually makes you recoil. You're too busy doing all the little things and making his once barely furnished house a home. Homemade chocolate chip cookies with the chocolate specially flown in from Belgium on his private plane? Check! Gold vintage jewelry via that cute little flea market in Paris is clanking as you insist on being the ones to change the bedroom sheets. A housekeeper comes once a month, and even she comments coyly about your chemistry. Still, she need not see the soaked sheets from the multiple round of lovemaking the two of you do at all hours of the day and night.

Being seen on the red carpet is not your cup of tea, but it's the equivalent of attending your man's office Christmas party. So you pick out a dress, aka one of the couture houses offers to dress you, and he flies you to Paris for multiple fittings and macarons. Then there's some vintage Van Cleef jewelry that appears on the dining room table one morning, and a fresh new pair of Louboutins is the final piece to the puzzle. Then, looking very demur and shy, you appear on his arm, clinging to it actually. You'll smile at the various television hosts and press. Speak softly, and practically defer to him for all questions. He's the star, you're just a great supporting act. Then, when the night is finally done, you both breathe a sigh of relief and he thanks you for being such a good sport. How about a McDonald's drive thru run, huh? That face, oh that handsome fucking face of his that you've been dying to kiss all night. He just always knows what to say. So that's how you're papped still in your couture gown, he in a wrinkled white button down, his jacket slid around your shoulders, feeding each other French fries and chicken nuggets, splitting a milkshake. How wholesome and Americana honestly.

That night he promises to thank you again. Austin's perfect lips wrap themselves around your puffy clit as two, then three fingers curl, shove, and squelch inside you. “You were such a good girl the whole night, baby.” There's something about being called a good girl that makes you absolutely feral. He brings you to orgasm over and over, you lose count after about 7. He's just getting started though. He hasn't even slipped inside. When he does though, it's rough. The glorious slapping sounds of flesh fill the room as he brings himself to the edge over and over, denying himself a release and giving you an additional, what three or four orgasms? You've left feral behind and have crossed over into absolute animalistic filth as you bury yourself in the goose down pillows and practically shove it in your mouth howling. Letting him have his way as you throb and clench, hot and pink with almost blurred vision as he talks you through it. Peppering the conversation with lots of “that's my girl, my pretty baby cums so damn pretty”. When you think you're in need of a paramedic, he blows inside you something reminiscent of Niagara falls. He knows how much you love a vocal man. You end the night not being able to feel your limbs or do anything beyond closing your eyes with a lazy, bashful grin. He gives you one last slap to the ass then mentions as you drift off, “Could you make some of those brownies of yours for the cast and crew tomorrow?”

The third rule of being the other half to everyone's favorite blue eyed baby boy actor? Less is more. This sort of goes hand in hand with the enigma rule. Those celebrities who traipse around in loud designer clothing and accessories covered in flashy logos? That's not you or your man for that matter. Sure you have handbags that cost more than some people's cars, but they are solid authentic leather bags your guy finds you in far flung corners when he's on location. No one really notices when you're papped and printed in People Magazine. You keep your head down in aviators he takes to wearing, a nice little subtle nod. The bands you each wear on that finger are a solid Welsh gold. Whenever his slightly deranged fans see you, the one thing they can't call you is a golddigger. You drive a jeep or even that old Ford truck he restored himself, no Lamborghinis in your garage.

Part of the less is more shtick though is being able to give a cute little nod to him here and there when appropriate. When he's cast in a certain biopic that alters his career and your lives? You sit tight and let him have his moment, after all, you know all the behind the scenes work that goes into it. The blood, sweat, and tears. There are times when he takes method acting to such a level that it's almost like going to bed with another man. You can't exactly complain though. The slight drawl that appears when he says your name is something he is never able to truly shake and you're glad. When the moment is right though, you post a tongue in cheek Instagram post. Your feed is normally bogged down with pictures of the pets, your baking, and various charities you support. This time though, you post a rare photo of yourself looking like you're a certain sort of American royalty stepped from a time machine. It's a candid shot with you at his feet. Worshiping. Except now it's sort of like you worship two men. It's fairly well received, friends tell you, though there will always be hate. Remember, you can't hear the noise. You certainly can't hear the noise women old enough to be your grandmother are making as they lust over the man who's cock you gag on every night.

Those utterly delectable fingers of his snake inside you, make you hiss and come undone as that tongue in cheek sort of throw back makeup you're sporting runs down your cheeks. “Who's my pretty girl?” He teases you. A good hour later when he finally allows himself his own release he's panting your name into your ear. He settles himself in between your breasts. Didn't his agent once mention the girls on Tumblr call him baby boy? If only they could catch a glimpse of him now. Murmuring against your skin and tracing what feels like hearts on your arms. You scroll Zillow and read out the six-figure price tags on castles in Ireland. How does fucking in a dungeon sound, honey?

Rule number four? Be ready to go to bat for him at any moment, others opinions be damned. Being Austin's other half brings out a protective streak in you. A maternal bodyguard quasi agent of sorts. Always keep your eyes peeled for the photogs, especially when he's indulging in that pesky little smoking habit he doesn't exactly like to advertise. That actual management team of his isn't bad, especially once the Elvis flick is underway and you learn just exactly how bad certain managers can be. Still, nobody has his best interests at heart the way you do. Keep his favorite snacks on hand in your purse, water ready at a moment's notice. Your boy has a tendency to work himself to the bone and you certainly cannot allow him to run himself ragged. Tea with hot honey every night was a must while he immersed himself in Elvis. Be his soft place, let him cry and vent while you run your fingers through those golden locks. Take whatever you can off his plate so he can dedicate himself to his craft.

Some wonder if you've lost yourself in him and his life, but it's the exact opposite. You've found yourself. When that angel boy praises you during press tours and jokes on talk shows about you flying out in the middle of the night to see to it his shirts are starched the way he likes and he eats breakfast, well you just sit there and smile. “I couldn't be me without her.” Those words make you melt and you immediately crave the feeling of his hot cream inside you. Playing Elvis brought out a side of him that never truly leaves once filming wraps. Stressed? Tired? Enamored? Him bending you over while you're brushing your teeth becomes a common occurrence. “That's my baby – take it, take it,” you've gotta talk it all out of him sometimes and that's fine with you. You stand in the wings of the Kelly Ripa show and try in vain to hide your red face when a PA offers you a napkin. “I think you spilled something down your leg,” the young girl offers. Something spilled all right, him inside you with his hands gripping your hair just minutes before he was due on stage.

Everything is just so right, it's only natural that cool girl very quickly becomes cool wife.

#Ashley finally writes #austin butler #austin x reader #elvis presley #cool girl #Austin Butler AU #austin butler imagine #Elvis x reader

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lyrakanefanatic · 2 days

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OKAY SO I REALLY WANTED TO MAKE A LITTLE PREDICTION OF WHAT THE CHARACTERS WILL BE LIKE SO HERES THE CHARACTER IM MOST EXCITED FOR FIRST!! (this is going to be a 7 part series 😜)

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1: lyra kane

• closest to in the game: odette morales

• love interest: grayson hawthorne

• the person she dislikes the most in the game (at first): rohan, knox

• personality traits: hardworking, loyal, advocate, supportive, smart, fair, responsible, and sarcastic

• negative personality traits: can be cold and calculating, says the wrong things when mad, stubborn, and not that good at letting people in

HER CHARACTER OVERALL HCS:

• has a younger half sibling (i hc that she has a little brother)

• her mom divorced her step dad when she was 14 because he was abusive ( :( )

• dog person but adores cats

• very good with technology (which is how she got graysons number)

• although she acts tough on the outside, she will never stop caring about people and finds it very hard to despise her ex stepdad because of that (even though he mentally and physically abused her)

• she bonds with nash over how protective they both are of their brothers

• she’s good with guns but only started training with them to over come her fear, which she’s had since her dad shot himself. even though she’s more over it now, her heart beat still speeds up every time she sees a gun

• she didn’t feel that sad when her dad died right away, but throughout the years it hit her harder and harder

• she’s latino with long dark wavy hair, tan skin and dark brown eyes

• she has a semi athletic build with thick thighs and abs

• she adores her family and would do anything for them

• flirts without meaning to and accidentally makes people nervous because she keeps eye contacts for too long

• is very similar to her mom if you put them side by side but still the similarities of her dad are extremely prominent, and anybody who knew him or what he looked like could see them EASILY

• i genuinely don’t know if grayson is going to be 21 or 22 in the grandest game and because the new snippet said that she was “not yet 20” i’m gonna say she’s 19 (but if grayson ends up being 22 then im gonna say she’s 20 bc it would feel weird if she was 19 😭)

• lyra loves her mom to death and lyras mom would kill for her

HER RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHER CONTESTANTS:

• knox landry: she didn’t like him at first and they both hated each other, but then in a conversation he mentioned that his dad died, and from that point on they’ve gotten closer and bonded over the fact that they both have dead dads. once the hating stage is over though he’s like an older brother to her and they both care a lot for each other. they share a lot of inside jokes and knox definitely treated grayson a lot harsher when lyra and gray started dating 💀

• odette morales: as soon as they met, odette was never mean or competitive towards her, and she was the first one that lyra trusted immediately out of all the other contestants. they ended up being duos in everything and became bestfriends. they bond over music, hobbies, opinions, and matter of fact, odette is the first one lyra goes to when she fully realizes that she likes grayson 🤭

• brady daniels: her and brady never had a bad stage, but there was a point where she didn’t know if she could trust him or not because he was friends with knox. but, after a few weeks of being on the island, they warm up to each other, and when brady finally comes to her about his little crush on odette, she promises to keep it a secret and help him ask her out

• gigi grayson: lyra was a bit shocked at how gigi immediately was nice to her and was never rude or passive aggressive, (she was untrusting of the contestants at first) and that’s why they started being friends right away. lyra sees her as a little sister and loves her bubbly attitude, and gigi sees her as yet another big sister who, in her words, is “a queen who can put people in their place”. when lyra finally snapped at knox for how passive aggressive he was being towards her, gigi did not stop talking about it for DAYS. she’s her biggest supporter and knows that she can always go to lyra if she ever needs anything, and vice versa.

• savannah grayson: it took them a while to warm up to each other because they were both wary of the other contestants, but once they did they realized how similar they were. although savannah acts like she doesn’t gossip, she 100% does when she’s with lyra. lyra loves how she can say anything and savannah won’t judge her for it, and vice versa. lyra was the only one who, although felt slightly weird about it, didn’t hold savannah (or gigi) accountable for the fact that their brother was a game master and she was in the game. they love staying up late talking, and lyra can always make her laugh. oh, and they 10000% watch gossip girl together. i don’t make the rules.

• rohan: and last but not least, rohan. rohan and lyra shared a very complex relationship when they first got to the island, before their rivalry turned into a chaotic friendship. before the friendship happened, though, lyra hated rohan because she thought he had a big ego and he flirted with her to annoy her. although he won’t admit it, rohan had a crush on her when they first came to the island, that he honestly forgot about once he started crushing on savannah. and once their (pretty one sided, since lyra kind of hated him for no reason LOL) rivalry ended, they ended up being best friends who always get into arguments, but love each other to death.

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OKAY BEFORE ANYBODY CALLS ME DELUSIONAL I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT THESE ARE MY PREDICTIONS OF THE CHARACTERS!! IM NOT SAYING THAT IM CERTAIN THEYRE GOING TO END UP LIKE THIS AND I SEE THEM LIKE THIS, I JUST WANTED TO PREDICT WHAT THEYLL BE LIKE 😪😪

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rotten7rat · 2 days

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Jason Todd Playlist Analysis

PART 9

Scotland by McCafferty

This one is mostly the vibe of the music itself, more than the lyrics themselves. The lyrics still fit, but they’re a bit vague. The song sounds angry, but more importantly hurt, which is the root of Jason’s problems. The song is about desperation and wishing for escape and salvation, which I think captures a part of Jason pretty well. It’s a cry for help.

King of Scotland, save me

Crucify my cravings

Underneath the castle grounds

I will run until I'm found

Jason’s constant back and forth of pushing people away and reaching out, always wanting people to be in his corner and on his side. He wants to be alone but he’s so lonely he just wants someone to reach out and mean it. He’s calculated at his best and reckless at his worst. Because he’s always seen as reckless and angry nobody notices when he desperately needs help.

She said, "It always rains in England here"

I'm not afraid of dying, dear

Run with the wolves, but disappear

Always around, until you appear

It’s always miserable I Gotham, the weather, the atmosphere, but its home. He’s dying, he’s disappearing into his work and his façade. He can’t let the act drop lest he become vulnerable to his family.

Fuck, such a bitch, fell asleep with a nightlight

Always around, just always your pet dog

He’s afraid, and he keeps this wall of anger and indifference up to protect himself, which leaves him alone in the end. The second line could refer to his feelings on the tenuous trust Bruce and the rest of the family has in him, he can be around but he must submit like an aggressive dog.

What kinda God lets children die?

They probably went in her room

They probably thought she's asleep

What kinda God lets children die?

They probably thought that she stayed the same

But she's not the same, no, no, not the same girl

Bodies will wonder, and eyes will ponder

I need to know, will I make it?

Reference to his death, blaming God or maybe Bruce even. He feels like the need to assert that he is different now, to when he was a kid, but he does this in a way that dismisses the notion that Bruce and Dick miss him and care for him. He is the same person, he’s just different now, he’s not a child anymore of course he’s different, but he sees it less as a result of growing up and more as a result of his trauma. Bruce and Dick don’t expect him to be exactly the same, nobody is, but Jason thinks that that’s who they want back, not him now.

He said, "grow up, grow up, grow up, grow up" yeah, yeah

"Grow up, grow up, grow up, grow up" yeah, yeah

He did grow up, he grew up alone. He’s only young and yet he feels so old. But this isn’t seen or acknowledged because of the way that he acts, his lashing out, his taunting and jabs, he’s more often likened to a nasty child. His outside doesn’t match his inside. He’s told to grow up, even though he feels twice his age, and yet he also feels like an emancipated child because he had such a vital figure missing for the last years of his childhood.

And I will stay away

And I will stay

He feels like he’s destined to remain the outsider of the family. He oscillates between blaming them and blaming himself, but ultimately deciding that it would be in everyone’s best interest if he stayed away, but he also cannot remove himself completely. So he’s stuck at this in-between with the family where he feels too unwelcome to be fully involved but too weak to cut ties.

#jason todd #red hood #batfamily #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd playlist #Spotify

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johaerys-writes · 1 day

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Hello! Only if you don't mind, are you up for a Snippet Sunday? Thank you so much for your Patrochilles fics, I love all of them soooo much♥

Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy my fics! I've been working on a western AU (aka patrochilles but make them cowboys) so here's a snippet from the first chapter:

The boy that’s standing at the ranch’s threshold is the last thing Achilles would have expected to see. He must be about fourteen, fifteen at most; his face is dark and sunburnt beneath the shadows of his wide-brim hat, his neck glistening with sweat in the waning light. He holds himself up tall, though it’s clear by his posture and his clothes that he’s been travelling for the better part of the day, perhaps longer.

“Are you lost?” Achilles asks him. It isn’t very often that they get visitors this time of day, or evening.

The boy gives him a long, level look, fidgeting with the strap of the pack hanging off his shoulder, which seems to be his only possession. “This the Pelides ranch?” he asks, voice hoarse and scratchy with exhaustion. His soft drawl sounds vaguely southern, but not from a place Achilles can easily discern.

“The very same.”

“Is the owner home? Mister Pelides?”

“Who’s asking?”

The boy tenses. “I’d rather speak to him direcly, if it's all the same to you.”

Achilles gives him a careful look-over, his thumb tucked behind his belt. He doesn’t look like a desperado—too young, perhaps, for that, though Phthia's been seeing more and more of them— and he’s no peddler either; he's got no wares to sell that Achilles can see. His clothes would have once been of good make though they’re now worn and dusty, and the silver spurs on his boots mark him as anything but a laboring man. Whoever he is, he must have been well off… at some point.

Achilles hesitates for a moment before he gives the dogs a clipped command. They all sit on their haunches as Achilles swings the door open to let the boy in. He waits for Achilles to bar the gates again and lead him up to the house’s front porch, where Peleus and Chiron are now curiously watching.

“What’s your name, son?” Peleus asks, a friendly yet cautious smile on his lips as they ascend the porch steps.

“Patroclus, sir.”

“And what’s your father’s name, Patroclus?”

Patroclus’ jaw clenches. “I ain’t got none, sir.”

Peleus’ expression softens just a little with genuine compassion at this. His father's always had a soft spot for those without family, home or hope. "Well, I'm really sorry to hear that." He rocks a little back and forth on his rocking chair, his smoking pipe dangling from his lips. “What can I do for you, Patroclus?”

“Looking for work,” Patroclus says without preamble. “I'm strong, and I work fast. I can bale hay and buck barley and clean the cattle pens, and fix them fallen fence posts what I saw on my way in—or anything else that needs fixing.”

Peleus considers this for a long moment. “Hay season is still a ways away,” he remarks thoughtfully. “And I’ve got enough men for the fences and the barley and the cattle. Come back in a month and I’ll have work for you.”

His tone is dismissal enough. Peleus pushes himself up and turns towards the house, missing the boy’s face that instantly falls at his words. Patroclus' dark eyes go wide in alarm and his mouth works soundlessly for a moment, lips cracked by the heat and the sun. He must have been out under the blazing hot sun of the valley for days, weeks by the looks of it. His hands are soft though, delicate fingers tightening over the brim of his hat. Hands that probably haven’t known half the work they claim they have.

Achilles’ heart clenches, inexplicably, at this.

“Calving and foaling season is almost upon us,” he tells his father carelessly. He picks up the old saddle he’d set aside before the boy showed up, and starts absently working on the stitching again. “Last year we were running ourselves rugged day and night; sure would help to have another set of hands around.”

Peleus stops short. Patroclus stares at Achilles, but his surprise lasts only for a moment before he hurries to say, “I’ve worked with cattle before, and I’ve grown around horses. I can ride a horse and train a horse for carriage and for riding and muck out the stalls. I can do anything you tell me, and I won’t ask for nothing more than a hot meal and a place to sleep.”

He doesn’t say ‘please’ but Achilles can almost hear it, at the tip of his tongue. He catches himself silently begging his father to take the boy in.

Peleus stays quiet for a long minute, his face obscured by the smoke of his pipe. “Pay is ten drachmae a day, plus board and lodging. The men’s bunks are full; you’ll have to sleep in the barn for now. This alright with you?”

“Yes, sir,” Patroclus says, and the palpable relief in his voice is almost…heartbreaking. “Thank you, sir.”

#patrochilles #western au #tsoa #the song of achilles #hades game

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winwintea · 8 hours

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the last dance - huang renjun

PAIRING ▸ painter!huang renjun x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ romance, fluff, angst, lots of angst, supernatural, wayyy too much angst

WARNINGS ▸ angst. and character death

SUMMARY ▸ you've fallen in love with the gentle painter, renjun. though the locals call you a witch, renjun doesn't seem to care. but that all changes when they come to kill you. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never regret falling in love with him.

WORD COUNT ▸3.7k (not proofread 😭)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ suffer

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST

Something feels quite warm… it was an unusually comforting warmth, and it lay right beside you. You opened your eyes- “Renjun?” The source of the warmth was the human Renjun, who was lying next to you in bed. Strange. What is he doing asleep in your room? And yet, all your questions and concerns disappeared when you looked at his sleeping face. He was as beautiful as an angel. Renjun had more than an angel’s good looks. He had the heart of one too.

You recalled your first real conversation, just a few days after he’d arrived here. There had been an accident in the stables with one of our horses. Renjun was going to be trampled. You’d pushed him out of the way. He carried your bruised and broken body inside, apologizing all the while… “Oh, god…! Oh, miss, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt! I should have gotten out of the way…!”

You felt so bad seeing Renjun blame himself, that before you knew it you were saying, “It’s all right. You mustn’t fear for me. I’m what they call… a witch.”

“A witch?” “See for yourself. My wounds…they’re gone.” You gestured towards your arms, displaying them for him to see.

“So, you can… cast magic?”

“...Not exactly. Humans are quick to label all they deem as frightening witches, but my true title is an eterni.”

“‘Frightening?’” “Yes. Those who know of us and this place fear it and refuse to talk about it. It’s all quite silly, when you pause to think!” I tried to laugh it off in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Renjun looked serious.

“You don’t have to smile if it makes you sad. You don’t have to lock away your emotions. That forced smile doesn’t look right on you. And they shouldn’t call you such awful names. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a person, just like me. And a nice one, too.” “But I’m not like you, I’m a-” “Your wounds may heal fast, but did they hurt when you got them?”

His point resonated with me. You’d never had a human care so much. The ice that had formed around your heart after so much pain and betrayal began to melt with his words. Could you… trust him? “See, Y/n? There’s nothing separating you and me. Nothing that I care about.” After that, you and Renjun began to spend more time together. To the exclusion of the other men Ricky had brought. That didn’t mean you expected to see him in your bed! Just then, Renjun stirred… “..mmhm..Good…morning… huh? Y/n? What are you doing in my bed?” “I’m afraid you’re in my bed, Renjun.” “...I am…?” Renjun sat up and looked around in shock. “... I woke up thirsty in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen for some water. I guess I ended up in your room. Sorry, I still don’t know this place well!” He was even charming when he was guilty. Renjun truly seemed descended from the angels. “Do not apologize. You were warm, so I was rather happy to have you in bed with me.” “Um.. you were?” “I mean, it’s not the fact that you were in bed with me that made me happy! It was-” Actually, there’s nothing incorrect about what you said. It DID make you happy. You couldn’t seem to explain it right.

Renjun leaned forward in bed, looking at you. “Are you saying I’m like a dog?” “A dog?” “Yeah. Like you felt happy because it was just like sleeping with a big, warm dog?”

Of course it wasn’t the same. Because Renjun, I’ve fallen in love with you…

You’d fallen in love with the man who smiled at you and told you, you were the same. He had let you feel what you’d never felt before. But you’d decided not to tell this to Renjun. For you were soon to leave this world… “There’s nothing to fear. I don’t think of you as a dog. Although, you are a bit like a puppy.” “Wait, so now I’m a smaller dog…?” “I simply mean that you’re cute. Now, you will want breakfast, of course. And after that, you’re going to paint, aren’t you?” He smiled and nodded. Truly, you couldn’t bear to darken such a bright smile with your grim fate.

—

Changing into his artist’s apron, Renjun set up his easel in the garden. He got to work quickly and quietly, the mark of a professional. Renjun’s profession was painter. He specialized in portraits.

“Now that the underlying sketch is complete, you’re going to add in the color-?” “That’s right. This is actually my favorite part of the job. Though it’s the most challenging.” In one hand, he held his palette, thick dollops of paint creating a cascade of colors.

While pretending to read, you surreptitiously watched Renjun at work. You had once asked him why he chose portraiture of all subjects. Renjun told you that he wanted to capture the emotions of his subjects in the moment. How they lived, not just the way they looked. You could see yourself spending an eternity with someone as wonderful as him. But that was wrong for him. His life and his work was so passionately mortal. Renjun captured what was everlasting. You could not take away what he was. “...Yep, it’s time for a break.” “Renjun, may I ask you something?” He shook his head and nodded, “I was hoping you could promise me something. Once the full moon comes, the gate will open and you’ll be free to leave the mansion.” Renjun nodded again, curiosity in his dark almond eyes. “When that happens, I want you to paint as many portraits as possible. To capture as many smiles on your canvas as you can.”

His voice was soft when he spoke again, “All right. I promise. But first, can you tell me something in exchange?” Those beautiful eyes of his suddenly became clouded, “Why did your butler bring us here in the first place? What did you need?” It was the question you’d most feared. “I’ve just been thinking. You haven’t tried to attack anyone, so… why?”

He was right in that he was brought here for a purpose. Renjun and the others had been brought here for you to turn into lesser eterni to continue the line… and save your life. But you had rebelled against that notion and chosen to fade away instead of sharing a fate you found worse than death… “There was no reason, not really! You see, it has been Ricky and me alone for so long now. It seems Ricky got the silly notion that I might want more company. That I would feel lonely now for the first time in centuries! It’s unfathomable, don’t you think?” “Well, I can’t say, since I haven’t lived even a fraction of your lifetime, but I don’t think loneliness is something you get used to. I think you can feel it at any time. And that you can’t easily ignore it.” Renjun spoke to your soul. His paintings could reveal someone’s true self; his words had the same power. “Hey, Y/n? After the gate opens and we’re let out, is it possible to come back? Could I come back and see you?” He wanted to come back here? Your heart ached with a desire to say yes… but you will be gone as soon as he leaves. “That would be a terrible idea. What if you got trapped here for another month? You should spend that time painting!” “I’ll find the time. I’ll make it work.”

“You really can’t. You mustn’t.” Renjun wasn’t satisfied but he didn’t argue, “Hmm. If I can’t… then tell me what I can do to help you now, before I leave.” How could he be so kind? If you could request one thing of Renjun… “Would you dance with me before the full moon has taken it’s place in the sky?” “You want me to dance with you?” “Yes. I used to love dancing, but I’ve lost anyone to dance with a long, long time ago. How does that sound?” “Of course I’ll dance with you. I might need some time to practice if I’m going to be any good at it. Can you wait a little?” You nodded, feigning a smile.

I’m sorry, Renjun. It’s true that I love dancing and dreamed of sharing a dance with the one I love.

Pureblood eterni stop aging past a certain point, which is why we can never stay in one place else we can be caught. And so you’d never sought out love, with a human or eterni. You could not risk them suffering the horrendous fate of your family. Please allow me this selfish wish. A last memory of you that I can carry with me until the end…

—

Ricky tended to the front gardens, though his heart was not in it. “Hmm? That is most curious.” There appeared to be a stake planted just outside the gate. Attached to it was a sign. “...This…is not good!” Ricky’s cries were unfortunately heard by Renjun who had happened to be nearby, “Hey, Ricky. What’s that sig-” Renjun stopped and read it for himself. The sign read: “The occupants of this cursed residence have been found guilty of witchcraft and will be punished with death.” “‘Witchcraft’? They must mean Y/n.” “How did you know madame has-?” “Early on, she told me she’d been called a witch before.” “My lady has done nothing wrong-! Some years ago, I..I had encouraged her to visit the city. But there was an accident. She saved people with no thought to her own safety, but when they saw her wounds heal rapidly, they called her a witch.” “She’s always sacrificing herself to help others.” Renjun’s gaze fell, his voice soft. “Ricky, have you gotten these kinds of notices before? Any threatening letters?” “No. Not since we hid ourselves away. This is all my fault. Because I trapped the five of you here, they’ve come to kill us..” Ricky, normally calm and collected, was shaken to his core; steel eyes now pale with fright. “The gates will open on the full moon. If they storm the mansion, there is nothing we can do. Oh, Madame, what have I done?” “Ricky, it’s going to be all right. If they do come, I’ll talk to them. Once they know we’re all right they’ll understand. I won’t let them kill Y/n or you. Listen, you had some reason for bringing us here, right? Some reason important enough to risk being discovered?” Ricky was startled out of his thoughts, though any words died on his tongue, “If you don’t want to say what it is, that’s okay. Let me say something instead… I’ll help you protect Y/n. No matter what. So don’t worry. I’ll be all right.” Ricky said nothing as Renjun continued on, “First let’s make sure the others don’t find out about this, especially Y/n, okay?” Renjun moved some vines to disguise the view of the sign from their side of the gate, “It hurt her enough to be called a witch. I don’t want her to have to know about this.” “Why do you care so much for madame?” “I guess I only have one answer to that… I love her. So of course I want to protect her.” Renjun spoke, his voice strong and true. “Sir Renjun, I must-” “What is it Ricky?” “If you are indeed… in love with the Madame, then I feel as if I must tell you something. Though my lady forbid me to speak of it, on the night of the full moon she will…” —

The final days passed frighteningly fast. At last, the full moon began to reveal it’s pale form beyond the horizon. You can feel it. Somehow, you know when the moon reaches it’s final point, your end will come. You changed into a dress suitable for dancing and waited for Renjun’s arrival. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Y/n.” “Renjun!” He met you on the balcony, stunning in his suit and his angelic smile. “You look especially beautiful tonight. Of course, you always look pretty.” “You think so?” “Yeah. I mean, I think you already know I’m no good at lying.” “I had some idea. Thank you, Renjun.” Renjun turned his hand up and held it out, “Will you give me this dance, my lady?”

You’d danced with stylishly dressed partners. Renjun, wearing the jacket he arrived in and a touch of moonlight, outshone them all. “...It would be my pleasure.” I lay my hand in his and we took our first steps together. There was no orchestra playing for us. There were no chandeliers, just the moon above. But you would rather be dancing here, than in the grandest dance hall. You had not expected your last night to end in such a pleasant way. With this as your final memory, you could happily turn to ash. Or so you told yourself. “Renjun, the gate will be opening any moment. It may already be open, in fact.” Renjun said nothing. Perhaps he was looking for the words to say goodbye? “Do not worry. There’s nothing you need to say. Though before you go, I wish to thank-” “Don’t say thank you like you’re saying goodbye.” His voice was still ringing in your ears when you realized Renjun was now holding you tight. “Renjun? Wh-what is it?” “I promise I won’t let you die.” “...W-what do you…?” “Ricky told me that if you don’t let a human drink your blood by tonight, you’ll turn to ash.” The peaceful lie you had created shattered. So it had come to this. “But then they become an eterni. And you’d rather disappear yourself, than do that to someone. Right?” There was nothing to say. He was right. “I don’t want you to disappear, Y/n. Won’t you let me drink your blood instead?” The arms that held me and the voice that pled with me were all shaking. “Renjun, I cannot do that.” “Why not?” He broke from me, his gaze pained. “Look at me, Y/n.”

Suddenly there were shouts from below. Angry shouts. They were getting louder. You leaned over the balcony to look out into the garden; you were shocked by what you saw. A crowd of humans were spilling through the open gates and into the mansion grounds. “...They’re here.” “Who are they? What is going on?” “It’s nothing. I’ll be right back. Please, promise me you’ll stay here.” He smiled as if to calm me, but Renjun raced down the stairs with frightening urgency. It obviously wasn’t nothing! You looked back at the townspeople outside your home. Torches and weapons–both real and improvised–held high. That mob. You had seen their kind before. You could not let Renjun go out there alone. No sooner had you exited into the foyer, you saw them coming in through the front door. They had taken Ricky. “Release the men you’ve taken prisoner and bring out the witch!” “I’ve been trying to tell you, we’ve already released them! As for the madame, I am afraid I cannot let you in to see her!” “He lies! I’m sure they’ve already killed them! MONSTERS! You and your devil’s mistress will pay with your lives!” Their cries for vengeance rose louder until they were furious and uncontrollable. They grabbed Ricky, restrained and shoved him, attempting to push him through the crowd at the door and outside. Five men go missing from the village. Of course they would come searching. And now, they’re here to kill us. I needed to do something, but fear–memories of my family’s brutal slaughter–froze me to the spot. Until I heard a voice. “She’s not a witch!” “Is that… Renjun? It’s you! You’re alive?!” “Yes, I’m alive! And she didn’t kill the others either! That’s why I won’t let you kill her!” You wanted to call out to him. They wouldn’t listen. “She’s bewitched you! Renjun, wake up! Remember who you are! You’re human!” Another added, “W-what if it’s too late? Where’s the witch? She may be speaking through him!” “No! Listen to me. I haven’t been bewitched and I’m not being controlled! Everyone, please. Let them both go. Put down your weapons so we can all talk.” “Renjun. All right. We can talk… just prove to us it’s still you. First, show us where the witch is-” Renjun was growing more and more annoyed at his peers, “Are you listening to me? She’s not a witch! I won’t let you see her until you understand.” “D-do you hear that? He’s protecting her! He’s become her familiar! It’s too late for him. Kill him! Then we kill the witch!” Two men grabbed him, one on each side. Another readied his weapon. You ran towards them. “Renjun!” Faster than a human could, you reached him; you threw your arms around him; you felt the blade that was meant for him piece you through. Over the fire and pain in my body, I heard a kind voice say, “Your wounds may heal fast, but did they hurt when you got them?” “Y/n…?” You opened your eyes and there was Renjun. Then he stared, stunned at his hand, red with crimson blood. “Your hand… you’re not hurt… are you?” “No. Y-you’re hurt… you’re b-bleeding… Why? I told you to stay there!” “I couldn’t… let you face them… alone…” Renjun looked in horror as the blood kept spreading. Your wounds were not healing this time. Your body had already reached its limits. Renjun turned his attention to the townsfolk as he shouted angrily, “Do you see now? Do you see what you’ve done? LOOK AT HER! She’s not a witch! Would a witch sacrifice herself to protect a human? W-would a witch-...?! …Get out. All of you, get out! Go! And never hurt this poor woman again!” What magic Renjun had used, I did not know. But his tears… an angel’s tears, had doused their murderous rage. Distantly, so distantly now, I heard the crowd disperse. When I opened my eyes, only Renjun and Ricky remained. “M-my lady, I will fetch some water! Give me… Just a moment and soon you will be-...” “No, Ricky… It is already time. Besides, I wish for you to stay.”

“Madame… this is all my fault.” Renjun on the other hand was equally as distressed as Ricky was, maybe even a little bit more, “Why? Why couldn’t I protect you? After I swore to keep you safe, I couldn’t!” “My dearest Renjun… You have protected me from more than you can possibly know…” He looked ready to cry. And so I took his hand and guided it to my heart. “You saved my heart from my fear…” “Your heart?”

“Do you remember…telling me nothing separated us…? And when you defended me just now.” I heard the quiet approach of death like the fall of sand from an hourglass. “It was thanks to you. I was able to save the ones important to me…I couldn’t die happier.” “Y/n…”

Thank you, Renjun, for descending from heaven to give me peace before the end.

You could not see him anymore. But you could feel his hand. You squeezed it. “R-Renjun…?” “What is it Y/n?” You felt him lean in close.

“I was happy for the time we spent together… I loved watching you paint. P-please, will you paint more…? Will you show… everyone… your beautiful art..?” “Don’t go… Don’t go, Y/n…!” “I love you.” Those words softly escaped your lips as quick as your breath left.

“Y/n? Y/n, open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me once more…” Moonlight seemed to emanate from your still features, until your body broke apart and dispersed into drifting ash. Only the memory of your smile was left now. Not the smile of a witch or human, but of an angel… — Though it felt as if life itself might stop for those who lost Y/n, time continued on. A few months after that night, Ricky carried a bouquet of sunflowers to lay on the grave memorializing Y/n. It was Renjun who had arranged for her ashes to be buried here. And today… “Sir Renjun, is that you?” “Hey Ricky. I had a strange feeling I might run into you here today.” “But of course. This is where my lady rests. And I swore to serve her faithfully until death. But what brings you here…?” “I’ve been painting another portrait. It’s just about finished. Would you like to see it?” Renjun set the portrait upon the easel. Ricky covered his mouth with his hands. But his eyes-he could not look away. For etched on the canvas was Y/n, smiling at him with her gentle smile. Renjun closed his eyes and recalled the words he’d shared with Y/n, not so long ago… “Renjun, may I ask you something? I was hoping you could promise me something. Once the full moon comes, the gate will open and you’ll be free to leave the mansion.” He realized then that she might have always known this was how it would end. “When that happens, I want you to paint as many portraits as possible. To capture as many smiles on your canvas as you can.”

Renjun turned to look at Ricky again, “I promised Y/n I’d paint portraits and make lots of people happy. And I will. But before I got started on that, well, there was one portrait I had to paint first. It’s the portrait of the person I wanted to bring a smile to the most.” “I believe madame must surely be watching you and smiling right now. Just like she is in your painting…” Renjun looked at her image and smiled back, tears in his eyes. The last thing to do was give it a title. “A promise to your smile.”

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