#Bread is so good i cry sometimes

[dirt-str1der]

You know i was thinking kiryu getting introduced to the wii would immediately throw it as hard as he can at the tv screen but actually he would wear the strap because the instructions said to do so and then when hes doing bowling hes playing for a while until he suddenly crushes it in his hand because he got too focused and clenched his fist

[sealingknight]

if this site goes down for real I don't know what I'll do

[fos-tis-zois]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

you were still in the early stages of dating nanami kento, but it was enough to know that the serious and stoic sorcerer had managed to steal your heart. Discovering a side to him which came out only in front of you did things to your heart you didn't know was possible. He had made you smile and blush uncontrollably, much to your embarrassment, from the first date itself. He was so gentlemanly that you did not know how to act around this man. But the unforgettable happened on your fourth date. That was the first time you saw him blush, and your heart skipped such a beat that discovering his little love languages became your life goal.

It was a crisp evening, and you had arranged to meet Nanami at a quaint café he frequented. He was waiting for you at the entrance, dressed impeccably in one of his many sexy suits. But today, his tie was slightly askew. As you approached him, you couldn’t help but notice the minor imperfection in this usual perfectly made man and it made your heart smile.

“Hi, Kento,” you greeted him with a warm smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach his tie. “Let me fix this for you.”

Your fingers gently adjusted the tie, and as you stepped back, you were greeted with the most endearing sight. Nanami’s cheeks were a deep hue of red, and his usually composed eyes were struggling to meet yours. You could hardly believe that such a small gesture could elicit such a reaction from him.

Ever since that evening, it became your mission to uncover more ways to make your perfect man blush. You discovered that surprise homemade lunches were one of those ways. One of your biggest love languages was cooking for people you love. Since Nanami always had little gifts sent to you, you thought of taking a cute bento with a freshly baked mini baguette sandwich filled with tender roast beef, crisp lettuce, and a touch of mustard. It was introduced to you by him because of your shared love of good bread and you thoughtfully wanted him to have a version of yours. 

“The life I have doesn’t grant me much care” he said with a faint blush on his face, with a mixture of love for you but the pain his life has given him that it made your heart cry for him. Kento appreciated quality, and when you packed him a meticulously prepared lunch with all his favorite foods, his appreciative, shy smile made your heart flutter. You were determined to make him feel loved, for all he does for everyone.

Nanami is used to being the protector, so you insisted on taking care of him, even in small ways. He would laugh lightly with a rosy blush and hug you from behind as you insist adamantly in front of your big man that you will handle dinner and all he needs to do is have some wine and tell you about his day.

“You’re too good to me”, he would say in your ear, kissing your earlobes. “You deserve this and so much more, my love” you kiss his cheeks as his head sinks deeper in the crook of your neck..

Planning spontaneous dates showed you another side of him. A visit to a cozy bookstore, or a surprise trip to a quaint café during his lunch break would bring out a softer, more relaxed Nanami, whose rare, genuine smiles made your heart skip a beat. He would show you the books he likes a lot, telling you how he’s been looking for their first editions, while you take mental notes to gift him those books later. Taking him out for his lunch breaks also sometimes showed you how stressful his job was, as he vented about his annoying co-worker and the insane morals of the higher ups in his profession. 

“I have never had such ease talking about my life to someone, y/n. Thank you for being here for me." Kento's gratitude often showed in the form of a rosy blush. You longed to tell him what you would do to bring this smile and contentment on this man’s face. 

Leaving heartfelt notes for him became a habit. You’d slip them into his briefcase or jacket pocket, knowing that he’d find them during his busy day. His texts thanking you were always sweet and sometimes accompanied by a shy confession of how much he loved your notes.

But the easiest way to make him blush was simply by being genuinely happy. Your laughter and joy, especially when caused by something he did or said, never failed to bring a blush to his cheeks and a soft, pleased smile to his lips.

Every little discovery about what made Kento blush was a victory for you. It wasn’t just about the cute reactions; it was about understanding the layers of this complex, wonderful man who had become such an important part of your life. And with each blush, you fell more in love with him, knowing that beneath his stoic exterior was a heart that beat just for you.

hopefully first of manyy nanami fluffs. please reblog if u liked it! suggestions and comments are always always welcome! 💖💖💖

nanami art by artist @/xiaoshy_otp on twitter banner by @anitalenia

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

���wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[rotisserory]

I feel like people are quick to characterize aventurine as the overly emotional half of the ship with ratio being the emotionally constipated one, but hear me out: yes I think aventurine is ruled heavily by emotion and ratio is ruled heavily by logic, but I think aventurine is very good at putting on a show and hiding what he’s actually feeling (not necessarily in control of his emotions, but good at hiding them). Not to mention aventurine is so traumatized he’s the kind of guy to say something incredibly concerning and then laugh and do a cartwheel, I think it would take a lot for him to be really emotionally vulnerable around someone. I don’t think ratio is as experienced at hiding intense emotions and even though the fandom LOVES to characterize him as a robot with no feelings, I have to disagree. I prefer to look at him more like…he prefers logic because it’s predictable and conclusive and safe. Emotions are wild and always changing and sometimes aren’t rational and that’s scary! It’s easier to isolate yourself and focus on your hobbies and your job and whatever because it’s predictable. That doesn’t mean he’s incapable of feeling things, though. I just think he avoids situations that could cause them because it’s unfamiliar territory and he’d probably view it as unproductive.

Believe me, I like the dynamic of ‘ratio is soft and patient and fixes aventurines broken emo soul one tender kiss at a time’ as much as the next guy (probably even more than the next guy tbh that’s my bread and butter) but I also like it flipped sometimes. I like the idea that when shit hits the fan, it’s ratio who’s an emotional mess and aventurine who’s stunted and can’t muster up a tear. I like the idea that ratio would be the one crying if they met up after aventueines stunt in penacony because he’s angry and relieved and upset and scared all at the same time and he doesn’t know how to showcase that since he rarely leans into his emotions, so it comes out as just yelling and crying and aventurine is like :3 ?? It’s fine, doc lol !! But the more it carries on the more he’s like oh this is like a serious emotional moment for him and I cannot fathom why another person would feel this strongly about me in any capacity what is he crying for

Anyways these two gnaw at my brain

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[suempu]

How about a blind reader and thistle

Like thistle met them by accident and now they just keep them around because reader makes them happy

gn + human, mage reader + can be platonic or not

<3

first off all, he’s fucking confused cause how the hell did you even end up in the dungeon? thistle first finds out about your existence when you accidentally stumble upon him after his confrontation with laios’ party.

he immediately puts up his guard when he hears your footsteps before you gasp in surprise.

“hello! wow, i didn’t think there would be another person down this deep...” you smile, staff clicking on the stone tiles.

he’s taken aback before asking you questions warily, to which he finds out you had some sort of echolocation ability. you have no clue that he had a sour expression on his face, assuming he only had a gruff voice from the aggressive way he talks.

you normally go dungeon crawling with your party but decided to walk around while they recuperate on the floor above. honestly, how did you even survive? what kind of idiot decides to take a casual walk in a dungeon? on the floor the red dragon was, no less. thistle thinks. you were lucky you missed it.

the two of you sit after you’ve offered him some food and snacks from your pack. he tried to refuse but you just kept on insisting.

thistle is interested in the foggy look in your eyes, unabashedly staring at your face after finding out you couldn’t see him.

you both sit on the floor as you munch on your bread, occasionally asking him questions and making conversation.

after that night, he’s curious about your whereabouts and everything about you, oftentimes sending out a creature to spy observe you. its been a long time since he has found good company, and to be completely honest, he’s lonely.

thistle came to know that your party has disbanded after eavesdropping with his creatures, the members finding different jobs and passions.

to your surprise, he appears again while you’re out camping on the second floor. you smile once you realize its your mysterious friend, eagerly offering him soup he couldn’t taste and a space for sleeping which he didn’t need. but he thanks you nonetheless.

thistle finds peace around you, the only person he could call a companion after so many years of isolation. if he’s in a decent mood, he’ll bring out his lute to play tunes while you hum.

conversations with you are enjoyable, you both find a good harmony of back and forth, discussing various topics such as nature, magic, and his hobbies.

“you write poems? that’s amazing. read it to me sometime?”

“i’m not sure you’d like it. it’d probably make you cry.”

you smile assuredly. “i’m sure it’s great! don’t sell yourself short!”

“you’re facing the wrong way. i’m on your left.”

“oh!”

you two grow closer once he lets you touch his face. the curiosity of what he looked like came out in a question as you whisper it to him unsurely.

thistle is hesitant at first, but your amazed gasps and the gentle touches of your palm against his cheek made his heart ache. how long has it been since someone had held him? talked to him? how long has he went without the softness and comfort of another being?

you caress his eyelids, nose, and ears while smiling, committing the feeling of his face to your mind.

“you’re beautiful. thank you for trusting me enough to do that.”

“how do you know? that i’m beautiful.” he murmurs, looking at the floor in contempt.

“i can feel it.” with a hand on your chest, you tell him wholeheartedly.

thistle allows himself to laugh, reaching out to tilt your chin at his direction. “you’re looking the wrong way again.”

you pout, “well, i can’t look or see at all, mind you!”

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #1 (Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader)

A/N: After being dead on this account for years, like Christ (or bread?), I have risen (I'm not religious). The point is, if you are new to this series, welcome! I am rewriting this series for myself (and anyone still reading after all this time). It is something I want to see through and that I loved re-reading all these years later. The original reception was so warm and lovely, sometimes making me feel guilty for leaving so abruptly. I loved every reblog, comment, tag, and like for this series. I hope that if you're still here, you like the remake. This series DOES contain sensitive matters such as kidnapping, death, torture, sexual themes, and more. If you struggle with this material please know you are not alone and always reach out for help. I will be making a new masterlist once I have more chapters out. Please let me know what you think and enjoy! - Much love, Em <3

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Next Chapter: Tape #2

WARNING: stalking, mention of kidnapping, blood, cursing, and sensitive material ahead.

Tape Contents: You start recording videos for the BAU once you find out you have a stalker.

Word Count: 2,196

Tape #1- December 29, 20XX

Your face looks a little apprehensive as you move away from the webcam on your computer. Your eyes flick off the screen, leaning forward to read something as if you had planned out a script for yourself. You wave at the camera, offering the lens a weak and shy smile. Your posture slumps for a second, letting out a prolonged sigh. “I,” you frown at the camera, “I’m not good at talking to myself on video, it seems.” 

“I guess bluntness might be a saving grace for both of us,” you whisper as you play with a ring on your middle finger, sliding it up and down your finger, “You know that feeling you get when you’re driving home late at night and you think to yourself, ‘Oh my god. I think that car behind me is following me.’ I think it all started with that.” A hand reaches for your hair, and you timidly move a stray strand away from your eyes. 

“I tried everything I could think of and kept turning randomly, but it was too late. I would rush up to my apartment, and across the street would the same red van every fucking weekend. I tried to get the plate one day as I watched them leave from my window, but no such luck.” You swallow thickly, your voice suddenly full of emotion. 

A sad smile crosses your face as you shake your head, “Fucking dumb, this is so fucking dumb.” you cry softly as tears dance along your lash line. You take a deep breath and push your shoulders back in a desperate attempt to regain your composure. 

You hold up a wilted, purple rose. Loose petals fall as you twist the stem between your thumb and index. “Got this last night, just on my windshield.” You mutter with a tone of disdain. “Don’t even like roses.” you joke lightly as you set the rose on your desk. 

“I’m going to the police tomorrow. I just… thought maybe doing this would make me feel better,” you pause and let out a bitter laugh, leaning toward the camera, “It hasn’t.” 

Then the screen goes black. 

Tape #2- January 3, 20XX. 

Your eyes have bags under them, and you gently rub the bridge between them. “So, got told off by the police.” 

You lean back in your desk chair and shake your head before pointing accusingly at the camera. “Went to the station, brought my stupid fucking rose and everything. They told me they would patrol the area. Of course, what car do I not see across the street anymore? That fucking red van. Guy told me that I was just imagining things.” 

You relax for a second before speaking again, your shoulders squaring defensively. “And! And, the second they leave, guess who is back again. Every single weekend, 7 pm to 11 pm.” You let out a weary sigh and rest an arm on your desk, staring directly into the camera. 

“The Police said they couldn’t even do anything until something boarding physical assault happens.” You trail off with a sideways glance away from the screen. 

“I’m not going to just sit idly by waiting to get assaulted.” You hiss out, leaning forward and stopping the video. 

Tape #3- January 14, 20XX 

You’re playing with the edges of your sweater as you lean back into your chair, rocking slightly. “Got another love present today,” Your voice distant as you pull a Polaroid from the desk, holding it up for the camera to see. 

The Polaroid was of you at the library where you worked. You were sitting in a striped sweater, your hair down. You were smiling at one of the volunteers who works ‘story hour.’ You threw the picture back on the desk with a grimace. 

“No one told me that my sweater that day looked so hideous.” You croak out in a desperate attempt to make yourself laugh in the moment, and for a second, it works. You start with a slight chuckle, but it quickly takes a sharp turn for the worst and becomes a full-on sob. 

“I’m sorry,” you choke out before you wipe tears from under your eyes, “I’m just scared. My mom and I talked about it, and she said that maybe it was a ‘secret admirer,’ which… does not make it any better. I feel like everyone thinks I’m fucking crazy.” Your voice raises before you cut yourself off and look down at your sweater again. 

“I’m not,” 

Camera off.

Tape #4- January 17, 20XX

You smile at the camera and scoot a little closer. “Hey,” you say with a gentle sigh of relief, “Great news—I’m organized!”

You lean back and relax in your chair slightly, “So I’m Y/N L/N. I work as a librarian here in Richmond, Virginia. My apartment will be in my records, I’m sure.” You laugh out softly, holding up a photo of a tattoo that seems to reside on your lower collarbone. 

“I didn’t want to flash the camera, so I took the liberty of taking a photo of this lovely tattoo of mine,” you say, glancing at the photo of the line-art floral tattoo next to your face. “If you think this doesn’t seem like me… well, you’re partially right. I was drunk in Vegas for my twenty-first birthday, and then I woke up missing a good chunk of money and a tattoo.” You shrug as you slowly set the photo on your desk. 

“I’m not trying to freak anyone out if they do see this. I just…” you pause, releasing a slow and controlling breath, “I want to be found if I do go missing. I want to be easily identified if I’m not alive. I want people to know I was a person and not just a body, you know?” You let your lips grow into a weak smile, nodding slightly, seeming to agree with yourself. 

“I’m making these to help myself, to feel like I have more control. The presents stopped recently, but they’re still watching me every weekend. It feels like it's about to get worse. I can’t explain it. I’m not trying to make the police feel bad. I just… don’t like going down without a fight.” 

“Speaking of not going down without a fight,” You reach over to grab a photo and proudly turn it over to the camera. “You know who this is?” You ask your silent audience. “This is the lovely Jennifer Jareau.” You answer with a weak smile, feeling strange as you talk with yourself. 

“I decided to beg the police to email this video folder to her. Currently, just the police have this, as I’m annoying and persistent but also very charming. That’s a lie. My coworker's boyfriend’s friend works at the station. Hopefully,” You swallow gently as the photo slips away from your fingers. “Hopefully, they won’t have to send it to her and the BAU team, but in the unfortunate case, she does see this.” You smile, wave a little, mouth a soft ‘hello,’ and lean forward—screen black. 

Tape #5- February 10, 20XX

You’re wearing a red, pink, and white striped sweater with a white headband pushing your hair back as the camera focuses again on you. “Happy Early Valentine’s Day to everyone who got a gift from their stalker on the top of their car today,” you say with mock happiness before your smile falls, and you hold up a copy of Wuthering Heights. 

You flip through the pages before stopping on one and facing it toward the camera, trying to get it to focus, but you quickly find the task irritating. You groan and decide to read the line, “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad.”

“That's one of the lines circled, underlined, and highlighted…” You say, flipping through more pages slowly. 

“The only scenes highlighted seem to involve Heathcliff and Catherine, which are romantic scenes, of course, but just that one quote is emphasized.”  You say, shaking your head, and you laugh a little, setting the book somewhere outside the frame. 

“What a shitty gift, I already have a copy.” You joke before the screen turns black. 

Tape #6- February 14, 20XX

Your face is flush red, eyes swollen and raw from crying as you sit in front of the camera, speechless for a short amount of time. You look positively catatonic for a second, unmoving. The sound of you raking in a shaking breath scares you as you bring yourself to speak. Your face doesn’t match your attire, as you sport a sweater with a giant pink heart in the center and small heart-shaped earrings hanging from your ears. 

“They were in here,” your voice is soft and hoarse. “They were in here, everywhere. They left roses everywhere. They were in here! They got into my apartment and left dozens of rose petals on my bed, floors, couch, and kitchen table!” Your voice raises in volume as you cut yourself off, a small tear rolling down your cheek. 

“Something isn’t right,” You were shaking your head and letting out fast breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating. “This is all getting so,” you raise your hands to run through your curls, pulling gently. “I need you to find me. I’m doing so much already. I went to the police station, and they searched everything: cameras, streets, but there was nothing! Just petals!” You yell softly, voice rasping softly at the end of your outburst. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” you mumble softly, tears filling your eyes. 

Tape #7- February 17, 20XX

You smile awkwardly at the camera and hold up Jane Eyre, opening it to a dog-eared page. “You are my sympathy --my better self --my good angel.” You read off the quote softly with a light sigh at the end of your reading. 

“Seems like we have a Brontë fan in our midst,” you try to be light-hearted as you set the book to the side. 

“I wrote down all my passwords, but it's not like you’ll need them. Nonetheless, you can never be too safe.” You quip the sentence in a soft voice. 

“I’m trying my hardest not to do anything crazy. I just, nevermind.” You say, annoyance thick in your voice as you shut the camera off quickly. 

Tape #8- March 2, 20XX

A terrible gnawing was growing in your stomach. Your hands clutched your waist gently as you leaned back in your chair. You felt like you might be sick as you stared off-camera toward your newest ‘gift.’ Your throat felt taut as you swallowed, a shaky sigh coming from your lips as your pale face looked at the camera. 

“I’m scared this might be my last video,” you say, your voice hoarse and tense, “It all just suddenly stopped. There was no more red van, no more gifts—nothing to write home about, but today,” 

You lean over to pull a pair of white, blood-soaked panties from a plastic bag into the frame. “These were on my door knob today when I got home. I tried not to touch it. I put it in this bag to ensure I didn’t contaminate it more. It doesn’t look like blood blood, more like period blood.” As you throw the bag back to your desk, your voice edges into an emotional tone, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

 “I think that they’re mine,” You cried softly, shaking slightly as you tried to control your breathing, “Th-the panties, not the blood. I haven’t, those can’t be from my period. Mine hasn’t come y-”

“I’m not going to be okay. I was stupid to think I might be, but I’m not!” You cry into your hands, and your shoulders shake as you let out a weak sob. “Please find me if I go missing. Please,” Tears fall on your cheeks as you lean toward the computer. 

“I need you to find me.” 

March 5, 20XX. 

A clicker is in J.J.’s hand as she turns off the videos. “Richmond PD sent this over this morning when twenty-eight-year-old Y/N L/N didn’t show up to her job,” She hands out folders as she speaks, “Her coworker called her mother to see if she had gone out of town when she said no. Y/N’s coworker’s boyfriend called a cop friend to check her apartment and found no trace of her or anyone else in her apartment. They sent this video folder over the second he called it in.” 

Spencer was frowning as he flipped through the pages of your file, hating the idea that you knew. He knew that dread, that feeling when something bad was about to happen to you. That innate and raw feeling that pushes through a person like a wave. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hotch is already speaking before he can get the chance to. 

“We leave here in ten,” He says before leaving the room, cutting everyone’s comments short in one small miraculous moment. 

Within ten minutes, the team finds themselves away from their jet, stuffed into groups in black SUVs, barreling toward Richmond. 

[what-even-is-thiss]

Quick and cheap filling vegetarian food (I’m going ovo-lacto for this)

Soup:

Dump some cans of stuff in a pot. Maybe some seasoning too. Pearl barley or rice may also be a good choice to bulk things out. With beans or legumes and some kind of grain you can make a whole protein. If that doesn’t appeal to you add some cheese or poached egg. Don’t add a lot of rice btw it will expand don’t turn your soup into a rice dish I swear to gosh

Quesadillas:

Basic idea for this is shredded cheese melted in between two tortillas warmed up on either side in a pan, in a microwave if you’re feeling extra depressed. But other stuff can be added. Salsa, pico, leftover tofu or beans, sliced peppers or onion. It’s a dish that’s as complicated or as simple as you want to make it.

Casseroles:

Dump a can of cream of mushroom or cream of potato soup on it. It’ll work itself out probably.

Scrambled eggs:

The most braindead way to cook eggs. You can even scramble them in the pan. Put stuff in it. I like putting fried tomatoes in it. Add enough mushrooms and cheese and you can feel your system clogging up in real time. Eat some toast with it to convince yourself that adding carbs makes it fine actually

Curry:

Wildly oversimplified term for basically most Indian food. It’s simpler to make than you think. The spices are the important part. The base of a lot of types of Indian food is onion, ginger, garlic, and tomato and then add spices and stuff to that. What stuff? Whatever. Spinach, potatoes, coconut milk, regular milk, even more tomatoes, lentils, beans, yogurt. Put it over rice probably. Use powdered onion and ginger-garlic paste and canned tomatoes when you’re tired. Probably look up some actual Indian YouTubers and bloggers to get more specific recipes than my stupid ass can provide.

Peanut noodles:

Cook some noodles. Probably ramen noodles. Melt some peanut butter on it and add soy sauce. Merry Christmas.

Melts:

Get a panini press so you never have to think again. Cheese, something else, bread, hot, eat. Add a sauce and some nicely grilled vegetables if you want to but tbh a midnight grilled cheese with tomato isn’t gonna be a gourmet meal. Just make it so you can finish crying.

Smoothie:

Frozen fruit and/or veggies and some kind of liquid. I usually use strawberry, mango, and soymilk. Maybe yogurt too idk. The worst part of this is cleaning the blender later but the actual process of making it is fast.

Pasta:

There’s more to life than just spaghetti and red sauce. Or so I’ve been told. You can use canned soups as a sauce sometimes if you reduce them a bit. I like butternut squash soup. Adding some cream cheese to sauces tastes better than it sounds and can fix your protein problem that you sometimes get with pasta dishes. Keeping a jar of pesto and some mushrooms in the fridge can make for a fast dinner when you need it.

Chili:

Get two different types of beans and some tomatoes and chili powder and whatever in a pot and let those bitches get to know each other and simmer while you stare off into space for a while. Maybe like 10-20 minutes idk it tastes good with sour cream

[seeingivy]

you're losing me

satoru x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: based on a request I received! i've been trying to get back into the writing groove since finals ended - and this very detailed request was exactly what I needed - so ty my sweetie pie <3

--

“Would you guys like to order?” 

You swallow hard, looking up at your waiter, who has stopped by for the third time now. You’ve been sitting here with the first years for almost forty-five minutes now, waiting for Satoru to arrive for the dinner that you two kept promising them. Yuuji and Nobara have all but exhausted the free bread supply while you waited, much to Megumi’s dismay, who keeps claiming that they’re going to be too full to eat their dinner and complain about it for days. 

“Um-” 

You pause, checking his location one more time, before you sigh and give a polite smile. Satoru’s location still isn’t reading - meaning, he’s still stuck on his mission - and not coming to dinner. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” you respond, gesturing for the three of them as Megumi starts narrating everyone’s order to the waiter.

The three of them turn to you - with matching stiff smiles - when he walks away as you swallow hard and prepare yourself for the awkward barrage of comments you know are coming. 

“He’s not coming?” Megumi asks. 

“Yeah. He’s still at his mission and I have to take you guys back early anyways, so we’ll just eat without him.” 

“Maybe you can take something for him to go?” Yuuji asks. 

“No, that’s alright. Um, his dinner from yesterday should still be there. He’s good.” you respond. 

You don’t miss the look that the three of them give each other and swallow down the defense of him that you always have prepared. Not that you don’t still vehemently believe in it, because you do, it’s just that it tends to make those prolonged, pitying looks last longer when you do. 

But Satoru really is busy. There’s no one like him - he quite literally changed the balance of life as anyone knew it when he was born - so of course there are certain missions that only he can do. And there’s a certain…safety that comes with picking Satoru each time. Because they know that he’ll come out on the other side of it, with exactly what they need. 

Which means that he comes home late sometimes. Despite your best efforts to stay up - which always end with you upright on the couch, with your neck curved in a weird way - only to find that you’re safely tucked into your bed the next morning. 

Satoru always comes home at some point, making sure to tuck you into bed, but has to run off so fast that you don’t catch him in the morning. 

“Gojo-sensei’s really neglecting you, huh?” Nobara utters, earning a jab from Megumi in his side. 

You smile. 

“No. He’s just busy.” you respond, awkwardly breaking the bread in your plate. 

“You’re right. He has missions and has been really hands on with the second-years.” Megumi responds. 

You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Exactly! Especially since they’re all about to be nominated for first grade sorcerers so…now is more important than ever.” you add. 

“It’s okay. You should just make Gojo-sensei feel really bad. Isn’t he rich? Then he’ll buy you a nice ring to make up for it.” Nobara adds, giving you a wink. 

You snort. 

“Okay, Nobara. I’ll try it.” you scoff. 

“No, seriously! He should feel bad - you’re probably drinking wine alone at night, blasting some sad songs before you get so tired from crying that you fall asleep. You deserve a gift!” Nobara adds, earning her another jab from Megumi in her side. 

You roll your eyes. 

“I do not blast sad songs before I go to bed. That’s actually pathetic.” you respond. 

“Or therapeutic. I’ll send you a playlist. Trust me, you’ll get so mad that you’ll actually get a gift from him out of it.” Nobara responds, your phone beeping in your pocket from her message. 

You look over at Megumi, giving him a knowing look, before you return to your dinner and let Nobara target her incessant rambling for someone else. At the end of the dinner, Nobara flashes you a big smile when you set Satoru’s credit card down on the table, which was an accident because you had just left yours at home. You settle down her rambling by buying them all dessert on it before you send them home. 

--

Satoru, though he would never admit it out loud, had been dreading coming home for the past week. And he’d wring his own neck out a few months ago, for even thinking it, let alone the fact that he’s been entertaining the fact for the past few months. 

But what he has waiting for him when he’s coming home, leaves him with that deep seated, guilty pit in his stomach. Because he always trods into your apartment hours late, to find you curled up on the couch, having dozed off. 

Satoru knows you - too well almost - and that despite his protests, you tried your best to wait up for him every single day. His heart warms at the fact that you want to spend time with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed with guilt when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. And it makes it ten times worse when he slips out in the morning for his mission, only to see you squirming into his side of the bed, now left cold. 

And the worst part? That you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. Because Satoru would feel with anger, that it would be fully deserved, but your full understanding and love for him just makes his guilt a thousand times worse. Because without fail, you always leave ehim a dinner plate out, reminding him to eat his vitamins and rink water before leaving. 

But today was different - quite possibly, the first time he’s rushed home in a while. Because his mission finished early and his meeting got cancelled, meaning that he would be home when you would be awake. He’d made arrangements, quickly running past and picking up a bouquet and ice cream on the way home, nearly sprinting all the way up the stairs. 

Satoru pads into the apartment, feet leading him straight to the bedroom, where the light is pouring from the bottom of the closed door. He hesitates, caught off by the fact that you’re singing, before knocking on the door together. He’d missed the sound of it, of your quiet singing that he’d often wake up to while you were showering. 

Satoru can recognize that you’re listening to Taylor Swift almost immediately - with how much you and Nobara play it around him - and he’s almost positive that you must have the cat cuddled into your nap, explaining all the lore to him like he’s found you doing hundreds of time. 

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something) "Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing) To believe Unless you're choosin' me" You're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore

Satoru swallows hard. He knows that it’s just a song. That the sentiment could easily not be reflecting what you’re feeling. 

But he’s also acutely aware that it could be what you’re feeling. And it’s something that you aren’t telling him, because he knows that you odn’t want to be another thing that he has to deal with at the end of the day. 

Satoru groans, leaning his head against the door, as he panders with his options. Because that’s the last thing that he wants you think. It’s the farthest place he wants to be in his relationship with you, because he wants you to always come to him. The fact that you could have been holding onto these feelings, for god knows how long, makes his stomach churn as his feet quickly lead him into the kitchen and has him scribbling a note to place in the bouquet of flowers. 

--

You shoot Nobara a text as you pad out into the kitchen, your cat following you on your heels. 

you: i like the playlist! 

nobara: how much have you had to drink? 

you: i did not drink. and i am not sad. 

nobara: now who said that? projecting much…

You roll your eyes as you half debate opening up the dinner you had left out for Satoru last night or ordering takeout and leaving him leftovers to eat tomorrow morning 

“I already ordered us something.” 

You turn around, to find Satoru closing the space between you, the flowery smell filling your nose as his lips meet your forehead in a warm kiss. 

“Satoru. You’re home, I didn’t even…” 

He presses his lips firmly against yours, his right hand flesh as your cheek, sending a wave of warmth down your spine. You smile into the kiss, resting your forehead against his, as he returns a soft smile back. 

“I missed you.” he murmurs. 

You deflate, warm tears filling your eyes at his presence - bright blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, and his warm arms around yours - as you loop your arms under his and dig your face into his neck. You can feel him leaving a few pecks in your hair, his voice soothing as you try your best to will away your tears. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I just really missed you.” 

He pulls back, giving you a warm smile, as he reaches for the flowers on the counter and places them in your hands. You give him a bright smile, twisting them in your hands, as you fully inhald the flowery smell. 

“For you.” Satoru responds, in a sing song voice as he reaches forward to pinch your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to, love.” you respond, swiping the tiny little envelope from the bouquet. 

“Yes. I did.” he deadpans, placing his hands on your shoulder before swinging you around and placing you flesh against his chest. 

You open up the little envelope to find a little note inscribed with his messy handwriting, as his lips find their way to your cheek. 

My sweet girl, 

Your endless empathy and patience don’t go unnoticed. You’re far more than I deserve and I want to make it up to you, though I’m sure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing that, if you’ll let me. 

We’re going to go away, just the two of us, for a little while. I don’t care where we go, you can choose where we go and what we do tomorrow. Just know, that in earnest, I’m choosing you, even if I don’t make it clear all the time. 

I’ll choose you, always. 

Love, 

Satoru

You smile hard, twisting around, so you can look up at him. The tears are flowing from your eyes tenfold how, as Satoru lifts his hands to your cheeks, trying to push you into smiling. 

“Why are you frowning, princess?” 

“You’re so sweet, Satoru.” 

Satoru shakes his head dismissively, as he pushes you into his embrace fully, increasing the pressure of his hold around you. The two of you stand there in the kitchen for a while, softly murmuring to each other, in the pale light of the kitchen. 

When you and Satoru pad into bed later that night, you send Nobara another message before going to sleep. 

you: nvm. remind me to take ur advice more often.

--

an, again: no one crucify me I haven't written anything for like a month

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez  @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

[catharusustulatus]

Steddie Drabble, TW: child abuse.

Initially, Wayne doesn’t care for Steve. Calls him “the Harrington boy” or “Richard’s son” with contempt, asks if “Richard’s son” is coming over for dinner again and Eddie just rolls his eyes and says “yes, Wayne, STEVE is coming over at 7.” Wayne doesn’t like him because…well, he’s not stupid to judge a book by its cover, he thinks.

But the fifth time Harrington comes over, he brings a bouquet of flowers, and Eddie, well, his cheeks are redder than the spaghetti sauce Wayne’s been stirring, so that’s something.

And then the sixth time Steve comes over, he brings Wayne a Garfield magnet. It’s small, “found it at the thrifty mart with Robin, I’m sorry it’s not brand new…” Steve mumbles, and Eddie is wide eyed and smiling, and Wayne LOVES Garfield. He puts it on the fridge, pats Steve on the back, says “um, thank you son.”

They fall into a pattern, the three of them. Steve comes over for dinner every Friday night after work. He dresses clean and is polite to Wayne, helps with the dishes, sometimes brings bread rolls or licorice or beer or jokes. Eddie starts setting the table. Wayne starts laughing at the jokes. After Steve leaves, Wayne knows Eddie smiles himself to sleep. It’s different, now.

And then the next time Steve is supposed to come over for dinner, he doesn’t show. Eddie had been making macaroni and cheese all evening, grating the cheese carefully as he bopped his head to some metal song, cheerful, and then it was 7 and then it was 8 and then Wayne thought “maybe call him, Ed.”

Nobody answers. When they call again, nobody answers. And Wayne has a bad feeling about it.

It isn’t until almost 11, dinner cold and Eddie pacing, about to radio someone named Robin when Steve’s car pulls up, they know the lights so well. They run outside to greet him and Eddie freezes when Steve starts falling out of the drivers seat, face dark and pained. Wayne jumps into action. Wayne catches Steve and hauls him into the trailer, his living room, and oh god, he’s covered in bruises like he was put through Eddie’s cheese grater, and oh god, Eddie’s broken out into tears behind him.

Steve’s left eye is swollen shut, and his face is purple and bloody. His lip is split and his hair is wild, his shirt is torn, and Wayne wonders what’s underneath the shirt as he gets the first aid kit, wonders how the hell he thought Steven was anything other than an angel.

Eddie gets a dish towel wet in the kitchen and cleans Steve’s face, quiet and crying, and Wayne sets the first aid kit down next to Eddie and makes some coffee. He thinks about talking, doesn’t. Touches the Garfield magnet for good luck. He feels like maybe Steve needs it.

Steve who is holding Eddie’s wrist as he cleans him up, wincing and crying from his good eye. Finally, after a silence that gives Wayne heartburn, Eddie sits back on his heels and says whisper quiet, “your dad?”

Steve gulps, blinks. “My uh, my dad. I was writing you uh, uh a love note.” Eddie looks over at Wayne. Wayne wipes his brow. “But uh, he found it, and your name’s not uh, Edith” Steve lets out a chuff, winces again. “So he asked what was going on, and I told him. I told him. And then he said I had one minute to take it back or he’d make me take it back.” Eddie lets out a small gasp, more like a howl, and sits completely on the floor. Wayne sits down at the table, cold mac and cheese looking like a sick joke. And he’s so mad. Wayne is so, so mad, seeing this young man who so obviously loves his pride and joy, shares in his pride and joy, who brings him apples to make apple pie, he growls out

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Steven, not one thing. You stay here long as you like, hell, don’t leave. We got you, boy.”

And that’s that. Steve crumples in on himself, and Eddie pulls him into a big hug, just holds him, rocks him, coos “a love note, huh, sweetheart? For me?” And Steve nods until he nods off.

The next morning, while Robin takes care of Steve, Wayne and Eddie break into Steve’s room, clear out everything he owns, and slash his dad’s tires. That was Wayne’s idea - the least he could do for a loved one.

[shotmrmiller]

WHAT YOU WROTE WAS AMAZING PLS IM SOBBING I LOVE IT SO MUCH GIVING U SMOOCHES

but okay so you sleep by yourself that night he comes home. you know he goes out with the boys — mostly on the weekends but sometimes the weekdays too — so when he comes home just a bit later than usual it doesn’t ring any alarm bells even if you pout a little. and you damn near run into his arms and snuggle into his neck only to smell — not him. something, someone else has touched what you thought was yours.

you pull back from the hug to look him over further. clothes mussed up, lips looking like they were bitten, a little flushed. a little like when you two —

you swallow thickly, throat lining with glass and tears as you suck in a breath. you find that you can’t actually form words for a moment, worried that only bile and venom would come out.

“did you fuck someone?”

he looks panicked — guilty — and you don’t even need him to say it for you to know what he’s done.

“who?” you ask, voice barely there, only able to be heard over the icy silence that followed your question. he replies one of the other pets. you nod, more to yourself than anything, trying not to scream your heart out at him.

but your heart cracks the moment he opens his mouth.

for the first time since you began living with him, you slept alone.

(you did scream at him. tripping over your words and panicked breaths and streams of tears. how could he do this. he didn’t call, didn’t ask. did he even think to? did he even care?)

you’re exhausted. too tired crying like you’ve never cried before, feeling like the weight of betrayal is crushing you as you sleep.

you almost fear that it’ll kill you.

the next day — friday — he knocks on your door before he goes to work. he tells you to have a good day. you don’t acknowledge him.

but you miss him. you absolutely fucking hate him but you miss him so much, it hurts. that particular ache is almost worse than the one of betrayal.

almost.

by mid day, you figure you should give him a chance to talk. he obviously feels guilty, and you love him. despite everything, you love him.

so you clean yourself up and try to look a little pretty for him, wearing a cute slip lingerie dress and bows on your ears.

you clean up around the flat a little. you fold his clothes — he’s been grumbling about it lately and always say he’d do it later. so you do it for him, folded with precision and left to sit on the edge of the bed.

you’re still upset and anxious and everything in between. the nerves make it hard to feel anything and you feel too sick to eat. but you nibble on some bread, knowing he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself. you love him.

when it starts getting later, you decide to make him his favorite cookies. it’s been awhile since you’ve made him anything, and you’ve always enjoyed making these for him. the sweetest kisses tend to follow.

the night rolls around to the point where you know he’s off work. it’ll take him a little to get home, so you settle on the couch and wait.

but as the hours tick by, later and later, the worry grows and gnaws and threatens to split you from the inside out.

maybe he’s out with the boys again? you’d think, given the circumstances, he’d want to come home to you. but old habits die hard, you suppose.

but it gets later. and later.

later than he ever would be out even when things were perfect between you two.

it shatters you. where was he? what was he doing? was he —

the thought makes you sick.

he comes home after midnight. after you wretched in the toilet and cried yourself to sleep — again.

didn’t he love you too?

he sees the cookies put away in a container and a pit grows in his stomach, a void ready to eat his heart. whatever is left of it, anyways.

there’s a note sitting on the top.

“sleep well.”

the writing was shaky and it looks like a few tears spilled onto the words as you wrote them.

your usual xoxo at the bottom was crossed out.

you beat me to it:)

you bloody beat me to it. Fool me once.

your eyes are blank as if the life had all but faded from them, and in a way, they had.

Sitting him down, you calmly, (calmly, because there is nothing in you left other than acceptance, and youll be damned before you ever beg a man to want you) say, "I'll be leaving in the morning."

He tries to say something but nothing he could ever say will fix what he chose to break. "No, the fact that i'm even bothering to tell you is a courtesy you don't deserve. You've made your bed, now continue to lie in it with whoever you keep seeing after work." Smoothly, you get up and walk towards your room.

There is no rancor in your heart for whoever it is he's been with. After all, the one in the relationship with you was him.

You stuff a towel under the door, covering the gap, and clutch your collar to your chest, letting the last tears youll ever cry over him track down your cheeks. He doesn't deserve to see nor hear your pain.

You call an uber while he's at work and disappear.

When he comes back home, the place is dark and empty. He sits at the dinner table alone, with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, and in his hand is the last note you left him, stiff with dried tears and an xoxo at the very bottom.

What makes him crumble is when he sees the glint of your personalized collar on his nightstand, and it finally hits him that you're gone. For good.

listening to eurielle while writing epic sad is just chefs kiss.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

broken trust. [part 4] l Joel Miller

Summary:  you used to be very close, but he broke your heart, now your paths have crossed again

Warnings:  angst, swearing, mentioning about death, a few infected, violence (only a little anger poured out on him), crying, guns

A/N: I have a few words for you. First, I wanted to thank you very much, because every feedback is very important and constructive to me. Second, this part caused me some problems, I hope you will be gentle with me. I read so many fantastic stories from such incredibly talented people at that time, that I couldn't look positive at what I was writing. So my uncertainty is understandable. Third, I would like to write another part and I hope I will succeed, because I would like to end this story in a nice way. I will see what will come of it... Now, I hope you will spend a few nice minutes reading my scribbles. a few people mentioned tagging - @vickie5446 @dreamtofus @missladym1981 🖤 

[PART 3]

Why was it so hard? 

You felt guilty that you couldn't get back on track. You saw that Joel was trying to get closer to you, trying to fix that broken bridge between the two of you, but you knew that you were constantly tiptoeing around the biggest problem.

You felt betrayed.

When Joel Miller disappeared from your life, or rather you wrote yourself out of it, you didn't bother with him. You had to focus on yourself, on finding your place and the role you wanted to play in this world, without him. You pushed him to the back of your mind and moved on.

And now you saw him almost every day. Your heart ached every time you looked at him, when you heard that voice you knew so well. And you hated yourself even more when he made those little gestures that should have moved you. Because he cared about you, right?

For a few days, you had been pretending that things were good between you two, or maybe moderately good. After having a drink at the bar, you talked a few more times. Once Joel even visited you at the clinic and brought you:

"I thought of you." he said uncertainly, handing you a small, fresh loaf of bread wrapped in a cotton towel.

You both kept circling each other, keeping up all the appearances and pretending that everything was fine. And you felt everything inside you boiling.

And what should you have said? 

When Tommy asked who was going on the next patrol and you volunteered, Joel was right behind you. You were hoping that getting out of Jackson would give you a little time to clear your head, you didn't need that kind of company. But you didn't say a word, because what were you supposed to say... 

"You okay?" You nodded, packing your bag with water and something to eat.

“It's just a headache.”

You wanted to avoid looking directly at Joel, even though you knew he was watching you. In a strange way, his presence was making you more and more nervous.

You felt that all it would take was a spark to explode everything inside you. But you wanted to avoid it. There was nothing good about it.

The day was cold, although the weak sun was trying to break through the thick clouds. You took careful steps on the forest floor, trying to let your thoughts wander lazily. Joel was walking a dozen or so steps away from you. Sometimes you looked at him.

It was a strange feeling. You knew him. You knew every inch of his body. No one was as close to you as he was, no one knew what he knew about you. You trusted him then and in some way, you trusted him now. But everything between you was torn and you didn't know if there was any point in fixing it.

Joel raised his hand and you stopped, looking around carefully. He pointed out something in front of you, some movement, and after a moment you smiled at the sight of a deer with cubs. They moved uncertainly through the forest, but although neither of you moved, they must have sensed your presence, because after a moment, they ran away, startled. 

You didn't notice Joel approaching you, your gaze still wandering between the trees.

"You seem so absent." he said. "Because of me?"

"Sometimes." you replied, adjusting your bag a bit so as not to look at him again. "Or maybe I've just always been like this."

"You weren't like that. You know… I don't expect things to be like they used to be between us."

"Good. Because it never will be." you interrupted him. "Can we go now?"

"This is Y/N. She will lead you to this area." The old man pointed at you.

"Have you ever been there?"

You looked at the man who asked this question. He didn't say much from the beginning, but he justified everyone with his gaze. He gave the impression that he thought he was much better than you and it was no wonder that you didn't like him from the first moment.

"More times than you, for sure." You replied and pulled a map of the building out of your pocket.

"Is this the evacuation plan for the building?" he asked with interest and leaned over the table.

"Smartass." You mumbled and pointed to the locations you were interested in. "A few walls in this building have collapsed, but we can get through, although it's quite tight."

"And you can handle this?"

This man was getting annoying.

"You definitely won't get through." You replied. "That's why you need me."

"How many infected?"

"Less than in other places. If we do it quickly and quietly, they won't even notice us."

He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the map spread out on the table. The old man looked at you uncertainly, and you sighed.

"You don't have to marry me, just decide if you want me to take you there."

"You wanted someone to take you there, and I say - she will."the old man added, "I wouldn't risk it with anyone else if I were you."

The man finally nodded and extended his hand to you.

"Joel."

You shook his hand.

The room was dimly lit, and rubble was strewn across the floor. Joel held his gun at the ready, listening for any noise, but the building was quiet. A few minutes ago, you had slipped into the space between the collapsed wall and what used to be the door to the medicine warehouse.

No noises came from there either.

"Y/N?" he muttered quietly towards the crack where you had disappeared, "Y/N?"

Nothing, not a sound.

Shit!

"I wouldn't risk it with anyone else." he sneered at the old man's words, "Fuck! Y/N? Is everything okay?"

Suddenly, a bag fell out from between the collapsed walls and landed right at Joel's feet. Then he noticed your hand and the rest of you as you squeezed back in.

"I had to rummage through the shelves a bit." you said, picking up the bag and showing him its contents. "But I think I have everything. It's a real mess there."

"Have you started cleaning up?"

"A simple 'Thank you' would have sounded better." you snapped. "I got you some Viagra. Maybe it'll cheer you up."

You could see he wanted to say something, he even opened his mouth, but he just shook his head in disbelief and headed for the door.

You got to the ground floor and from there to the back exit. Everything was going perfectly. You could already see the door when suddenly an unexpected sound broke the silence. You looked at Joel, he must have kicked something metal.

"Fuck." you hissed when an unnatural noise echoed in the room next door.

Joel aimed his rifle at the door, and you quickly reached for your weapon. You started to head faster towards the door, but at that moment many things happened at once. The door on the other side opened and two clickers fell out.

You stopped, remembering that the noise could have directed them to you. You felt Joel's hand tighten on your wrist, he slowly headed for the exit. However, you didn't notice the glass on the floor and with the next step, the clickers rushed at you.

Joel aimed, but his rifle didn't fire.

"Fuck!"

The second monster rushed at you with a scream, but you didn't hesitate. You aimed and fired a few times. The noise echoed through the hall.

Joel kept trying to cock the rifle, cursing under his breath. You knew you couldn't leave him like that.

"That was stupid." he hissed again as you walked towards QZ.

You didn't answer. He repeated it every now and then like a kind of mantra. You managed to get out of the building, that was the most important thing, and you didn't see the point in going back to it.

"You said there were no infected there." he muttered, catching up to you.

"I said there were fewer of them than elsewhere. They must have come recently." you replied calmly.

"How many times have you been there before?"

"I don't know." you shrugged, "A few."

"Do you go there alone?"

You looked at him, surprised.

"What? Do you think I take guys there on dates? Don't be ridiculous." you snorted, "It's business."

"What you did was stupid." Joel growled again.

"If you think saving your life is stupid then do me a favor, go and get bit by one of them and I'll gladly shoot you in that pompous head!"

Joel didn't say anything, but he followed you. You impressed him, and that rarely happened.

"Would you like to have a drink with me?" he asked some time later as you sat down to look through what you had brought.

"Are you still going to be so grumpy?" you smiled.

Joel felt like an uninvited guest in your life, at least in the life you created for yourself after you left QZ. And although at first it seemed to him that you took your reunion really well, now he felt like you were thousands of miles away from him, even if it was just a few steps.

He could see your back, but it felt like your thoughts were echoing through the forest and hitting him straight. Your silence told him more than a thousand words that could have been said.

You were so lost in your head that even when Joel stopped for a while you didn't stop walking.

Did that mean he had lost you completely? Did he lose you when everything he had done came to light? Did he lose you because he only wanted you to be safe, because he didn't want to lose you? Did he ever really have you for himself?

You finally stopped and looked over your shoulder, searching for him with your eyes. God! Joel thought you looked like a wounded animal. And was he the predator?

He found you lying in bed, you smelled of cheap soap and were only wrapped in a towel. He immediately sensed that something was wrong. He knelt down by the bed and in the dim light he saw your reddened eyes.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, pushing back the hair that stuck to your wet cheeks, "What happened?"

He stroked your arm and felt how cold you were.

"How long have you been lying there? You should get dressed, honey." he murmured with concern.

"I can't live like this anymore, Joel..." you whispered.

He looked at you, frowning, but didn't say anything, he didn't want to interrupt you. The words started pouring out of you along with a new flood of tears.

A few days ago you were at work, busy with your own things, but you noticed the new people who appeared in QZ. The guards were leading them to the quarantine area. These were normal procedures for every newcomer. You saw a family there, and a woman in advanced pregnancy.

You didn't care too much about it though. "Normal procedures" you repeated in your mind. But today everything was different. When you had your break you noticed a car carrying bodies. Normal procedures. But nothing about it was normal.

"I saw that woman, Joel..." you sobbed. "It was her. I'm sure of it."

You sat up in bed, completely devastated. Joel held his hands on your neck, he felt your heart rate increase, how you were gasping for breath.

"Maybe it wasn't her." he said uncertainly.

"I know what the fuck I saw!" you groaned "Her belly… the children that were with her... I thought it didn't affect me anymore, that I had seen enough..."

"Baby..."

"I can't forget about her. I came back home. I tore my skin in the shower for so long to wash it all off, but I can't."

Only then did he notice your reddened arms and hands. Joe felt something heavy sink into his stomach at the sight. He had never seen you like this before, so broken, so defenseless.

"You can't think about it." he began calmly. "You're safe here. With me. You know I won't let anything happen to you."

"Her husband must have promised her that too..."

These words hung between you. You were right, you knew it perfectly well. You had risked your lives so many times, but you were still here. Joel thought it was a perfect joke of fate. He didn't question it, though, because the most important thing now was you. He had someone to do all this for.

"I'll get you out of here, I promise." his voice was calm and soothing. "We'll find a way. We'll get out and I'll take you somewhere where you'll be happy."

"I'm happy with you, Joel..." you whispered, staring at him expectantly.

You were ready to accept any of his promises. You would take anything he gave you to feel better, a little more alive. And he gave it to you. Joel gave you the promise of freedom. It might not have been perfect, but it was yours. Just yours and his. The promise that one day you would get out and see more, live more. And be together, because you couldn't imagine any other life than with him.

"Fuck!"

You fell down feeling the small stones cut your hands. For a moment you wondered if you should just stay like that. You probably preferred lying in the middle of the forest with your knees bruised than having to stay stuck in all this.

But this pain was good, somehow. It took you away from all the dark thoughts circulating in your head and from the emotions swirling in your chest. For that one moment, when you were lying on the ground and smelled the forest, all you could hear was your heart beating, you forgot about everything.

And then it all came back with double the force.

"You okay? Here, let me help you." You looked at Joel's hand stretched out towards you. "You have to be more careful. There are a lot of roots here."

"I can handle it." You replied, supporting yourself with your hands and getting up yourself, but then you hissed in pain.

The stones dug deeper into your skin, cutting you even more. Despite everything, Joel grabbed your arm and helped you up, although you immediately moved away from him.

"Did you hurt yourself?" his voice was calm, as if he hadn't noticed your behavior. Or maybe he had and was trying to be gentle with you?

"It's fine." you mumbled, wiping your hands on your jacket. "It's nothing."

"Show me."

"No."

"Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn, Y/N?"

"And why do you have to be so fucking caring?" you blurted out.

Joel watched you carefully as if he was digesting your words, until he finally shrugged.

"I think you know why." he mumbled. "I care about you."

"Oh, really?" you scoffed.

You pulled a bottle of water out of your bag and tried to wash your hands. It wasn't easy, but when he tried to help you again, everything happened in a flash.

"Don't touch me." you snapped, stepping back. "I don't want you to touch me."

"I just want to help you." Joel raised his hands to show that he meant no harm. "You cut yourself, I can bandage it."

"I don't need your help, Joel! I was doing great before you showed up."

"Really? That's where you got that fresh scar on your side? After you were doing great?"

You were furious. You felt your entire skin burning, and Joel's presence only made it worse. You were standing in front of each other again, like when everything he did turned out to be true. You had kept it to yourself for so long that it had to explode.

"I can't look at you." Your voice was clear, though Joel heard you tremble with emotion. "I can't look at you when you try to pretend that nothing happened between us. That now everything will be like it used to be. You betrayed me, Joel. You told me to trust you, and you..."

"I'm sorry." he took a step towards you "You don't even know how much I regretted what I did. Every day, baby..."

"Don't call me that!" you interrupted him quickly.

He sighed and looked down.

"Ever since you left... I didn't think I'd see you again." he continued with a pained voice "Howard said you left town that same night. I didn't know where to look for you."

"Bullshit!" you snapped "Am I supposed to believe that you filled my head with this crap that we'd get out of QZ together, then you took it all away from me and suddenly you wanted to look for me?! Why?! Who was I to you, Joel?! I was just a stupid cunt who crawled to you every night hoping that she meant something to you..."

You couldn't know how much those words hurt him. You could call him anything, curse him, get mad and pull away from his touch, but when you degraded yourself to the role of an object. No, Joel couldn't stand that.

"You were everything, Y/N!" he roared angrily "Are you happy with this?! You were everything to me, and I didn't have the fucking courage to tell you! I was afraid I wouldn't survive if something happened to you. You hated QZ, but you were safe there! And could I provide that to you outside the walls? No!"

"I don't need your protection! I didn't need it before you showed up and I didn't need it after!" you walked up, pointing a finger at him "You were my partner! My lover! My fucking everything! I would have let myself be torn to pieces for you! And you stabbed me in the back! For what reason? Because of concern? Thank you very much!"

"I made a mistake, okay?! I understood it then, but I can't turn back time! What else do I have to do? How much do I have to apologize to you? Hit me if it helps you, I don't fucking care!"

You hit him in the chest with your clenched hand. You were probably surprised yourself, because you immediately withdrew your hand. Joel raised his eyebrows.

"Is that all you can do, babe? I know damn well that you can do it harder."

So you did it again, and again. And Joel didn't even flinch. He knew you had to get all your anger out at him. He saw your tearful eyes and how with each punch you lost your strength, until finally your knees buckled and you sat on the ground, crying loudly.

You reached your limits. You no longer had anything inside you but tears.

And then you felt him next to you again. He sat down. His strong arms wrapped around you, he let you snuggle up to him and just held you as you burst into tears.

[PART 5]

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sleepw-me]

BF/GF HEADCANONS JJK⊹ ₊ ˚ 𓂃 ⸝⸝ ♡

Jujutsu Kaisen version SFW

y.itadori⸝⸝ ♡ I think everyone knows this, but let me remind you of his red shoes. I think he would be A person who likes to wear Jordans or something like that. So I imagine him lending you his shoes and you swapping them together, it's pretty sweet. he just gives you his Sneakers, and together maybe you have matching pairs?

m.fushiguroi⸝⸝ ♡ It's hard for him to show the love he has for you. Give him some time and when you walk through the streets of Shibuya together on your way to the cafe, he will hold his hand close to yours, then his little finger, spec with yours. When it's cold, he puts your hand in his jacket pocket and warms your hand there.

s.geto⸝⸝ ♡ On your first date, Geto took you to the aquarium, you walked together holding hands, from time to time he took pictures of you on the camera. One time you saw that one of your photos from that date was with his phone and the other one was hidden in his wallet. It's like he always has you with him.

s.gojo⸝⸝ ♡ He's rich and everyone knows it, that's why he takes you to rich restaurants and wants you to wear that new dress he bought you, you look great in it. He will give you flowers and a beautiful necklace for your anniversaries.

y.okkotsu⸝⸝ ♡ Sweet Yuta takes you on picnics, it's a beautiful sunny day and you both lie peacefully on a blanket among the grass and flowers. Sometimes Yuta reads to you the book he took with him and at that time you make him a flower wreath, offering him strawberries or other fruits from time to time.

n.kugisaki⸝⸝ ♡ She loves going shopping with you. You go wherever you want, try on clothes and have a great time. After shopping, you go to some cute restaurant, take photos of the food and post it on Instagram, bragging to everyone about your nice date, then you gossip and go home with shopping and a good mood.

s.ieiri⸝⸝ ♡ Every now and then you paint her nails, listening to music playing on your phone, you both sit on a bed full of blankets and talk or gossip. After finishing work, she kisses you every time and compliments you on how good a girl you are to her.

k.nanami⸝⸝ ♡ He is a morning person, he always goes to the bakery in the morning to buy fresh bread. Then he comes back to your shared apartment and makes you breakfast and coffee or tea, whichever you prefer. He wakes you up with kisses all over your face and sets the breakfast tray on the bed.

t.fushiguro⸝⸝ ♡ This man is big, everyone knows that. When he is with you, he can always protect you, although when he is with you, probably no one would dare to approach you. That's why he started teaching you self-defense because when he's gone, he wants his girlfriend to be able to fend for herself. It's sweet seeing how sometimes he holds back from using all his strength on you just because he's afraid he'll seriously hurt you.

c.kamo⸝⸝ ♡ He didn't have a childhood like all children, so you made it your goal to watch cartoons with him that you watched when you were a child and eat delicacies that reminded you of your childhood. You both cuddle together on the couch, under fluffy blankets and stuffed animals. Don't be surprised when you see him crying during the "coco" cartoon.

t.inumaki⸝⸝ ♡ This boy doesn't talk much, and sometimes he's afraid that his actions don't say enough that he loves you. That's why he leaves little cards in random places where he knows you will be, with words of affirmation and compliments on the cards.

t.ino⸝⸝ ♡ He's good at dancing, don't argue with me. He stands in front of the TV and turns on some hip hop music so you can dance together and see you move your hips, he loves it very much. If you don't know how to dance, he will be happy to teach you many moves, which will probably end in a tickle fight.

k.muta⸝⸝ ♡ I think he's such a nerdy boy. He's great with computers, so he's probably helped you fix something more than once. This sweet boy will even build a little invention for you. He will spend hours or even days just to give you that little item and see the smile on your face.

r.sukuna⸝⸝ ♡ Sukuna is possessive, even at home. When you want to work on the laptop in peace, he immediately lifts you from sitting at the desk as if you weighed nothing and puts you on his lap. When you look at him with a surprised face, he just asks - 'what do you want?'

[aforestescape]

kidnapper simon - gn!reader. no smut or romance

next.

i’ve come to a fun conclusion that i most enjoy cnc/dubcon when the reader/kidnapped party is just too touch starved and has low standards to the point where they don’t even care

like sure, you weren’t expecting to be kidnapped by some six foot something, bulky man in a skull faced mask. you scream and cry and try anything you can think of to get away as he drags you to the back of his van. nails digging into and leaving rising red scratches on any exposed flesh you can find. he just lets out a grunt, brown eyes roaming over you as you squirm with tears burning your cheeks after he’s tied you up. tenderly running rough fingers over your cheeks to wipe the wetness away. it’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes hazy and you’re out like a light

you even fight and cry when you first wake up. some dimly lit room, wallpapered and cozy furniture under your ached form. tears and sobs choked up in your throat when the man returns to you. your mind screaming at you and body tense as you try to prepare for whatever may come to you. he comes over again to wipe the tears from your cheeks. this time lifting the bottom of his mask enough to expose a scarred chin and cracked, cleft lips. a pink tongue dashing out to lick the salty taste off and you whimper in terror

he brings over a bowl that he placed down, forcing you to eat the food he’s made. you’re surprised it tastes edible, good even

there’s the time when he came in to give you your first bath. more tears than water in the tub as he swipes a towel covered in lavender suds down your back. cooing sounds escaping his lips like he’s attending to a wounded animal

but after a while your tears dry up. it doesn’t take long. you’d hazard a month of time but really you wouldn’t know past the rising and setting of sun through the window in the room that’s all yours. you stopped being scared whenever he’d drag you into his lap and pet your hair. holding up a book and having you read out loud for the both of you. if it weren’t for the fact you were dragged here against your will you’d think it was almost nice. sweet

something you’d imagine a home would feel like. warm, hearty soups and fresh bread. cuddling against a big, warm body as rain splattered outside onto the dirt, a fire roaring near you. he even lets you go outside sometimes. taking you on walks through the endless trees along the mountains face. breathtaking views of iced caps and you know you could never escape this place that you used to spend time imagining a home like

so you smile whenever you see him again after a day spent collecting firewood. you bug him until he gets you seeds to start a little flower garden, doodling in your journal everytime you spot a new growing bud on a stem

you seek out his warmth, scratching at the inside of your bedroom door on days when he leaves you locked inside. waiting until you hear that heavy press of footsteps on creaky boards and pouncing him once the doors open. burrowing your face into his chest and feeling the world quiet to the low hum of his voice

[littlemarianah]

Okay, just a crazy headcannon about death

Peeta dies very young. At 67 years old.

In the early 60s he began to occasionally leave the door open. Forgetting bread in the oven until it turns to ash. Forgetting Katniss's birthday. He even forgot to take his medicine, which he was always so precise about.

Katniss always denied it. "He's just old... He's just tired..." she used to say. Until in a hot summer, Peeta asked her if the reaping was coming. She didn't believe it, She thought he was just playing with her.

Then Peeta started complaining that the kitchen table couldn't get dirty. "You know my mom doesn't like that." he said. But his mother had been dead for 40 years. Every time they walked down the street he asked Katniss where the old Mellark's bakery was.

"The bombs, dear. Do you remember?” Katniss said.

"Oh, of course, the bombs..." Peeta murmured, pretending to remember.

Katniss wished every day that he would only forget the bad things, but he was slowly forgetting only what she wanted him to remember. He forgot how Willow liked to sleep on his chest when she was a baby and how Rye liked to eat bread dough.

Sometimes he just had a scared, confused look. He whispered in one of his children's ears: "Don't trust Katniss, she's trying to kill me." Other times he would cling to Katnis and beg her not to leave him. And he asked a million times if she really loved him. He asked if she was hungry, he asked if Willow was already sleeping in her crib, he asked if Katniss wanted to leave the bakery closed tomorrow because he was feeling so tired.

"Of course my love. Let's keep the bakery closed tomorrow." she responded with tears in her eyes, knowing that they hadn't opened a bakery in at least 10 years.

At least at night, Katniss was still able to sleep on Peeta's chest, and if she had nightmares, he would squeeze it and say. "I'm here, Katniss. It's jsut a dream." He continued to care for her until the end. He kept asking her to stop crying, that he was okay.

When they were young he had promised her that he would only die when she was already dead, not to make her suffer. But it was not the case. In the end, he seemed to realize he was about to go. There were some lucid moments. He pulled Katniss close and begged her, whimpering.

"Promise me that you will live for more many many years..."

"I promise." she said.

Then Peeta is gone, but his clothes are still in the closet, his cane in place in case he wants to come back. Katniss wishes she had gone crazy, but she remains completely sane. Every day, she wake up and knew exactly where she was and what had happened. Her only moments of madness were when her youngest son entered the room, tall and with blond hair. She almost exploded with happiness until realized that it was Rye and not Peeta.

She lived many years as he wanted, but she did not live the way he would have liked. It was a good thing their children were already grown up because she didn't have the strength to do anything other than eat and sleep.

After Peeta died she stopped having nightmares and started having dreams. A warm house, smelling like bread, with a Peeta who never went to games waiting for her. She began to find comfort in the fact that he didn't had to see her die. Being happy that at least it was his body that decided to get sick and die, not being forced to go. She found comfort in what she could until death took her to him again.

Many years later, when her grandchildren are reunited, she tells him an old story. About a hungry orphan girl and a baker boy with a loaf of bread in his hands.