#He always seems so placid and put together but surely Something breaks him - hard to avoid where and how he is now

[sysig]

It’ll all go fine if you’d just don’t worry about it, probably (Patreon)

[laneiru]

Template Source

Decided to fill these out because it seemed neat, and any way to jot down my mess of a Miitopia headcanon is always welcome.

Don't look too hard on the portraits, I was having one of those days where I seem to have forgotten how to draw things.

Template translations and additional thoughts on my Main 4 under the cut.

Located right next to the portrait:

Name Gender, Personality, Birthday Age, Height, Weight

Personality can be either the Miitopia ones or anything else that you think is fitting.

All of their weights are unknown because I never really think about those things in my OCs.

The sliding scale underneath the portrait:

Strength Awful, Ordinary, Can put up a fight, Quite strong, Unreal

This refers to their general strength, power levels, etc.

Underneath the sliding scale, the following are specific questions about each role:

Reborn

Thoughts on their current face: Like, Average, Dislike Thoughts on humans: Like, Average, Dislike Can still use Dark Curse powers? Yes, No Thoughts on being reborn: Happy, Unhappy, Indifferent

Aoi is pretty much still processing the whole "being reborn" thing, hence their reactions to their new face and humans are along the lines of "it's ok, I guess." But they would eventually come to realise that they are genuinely grateful for being saved.

Aoi can no longer do the monster-creating, face-stealing part of their repertoire. Their magic from here on out is just the usual mage magic, but in a spooky, but harmless flavouring. It's a reason why they prefer the way of the sword instead. Luckily for them, Lema also knows his way around a weapon, and can at least teach them the basics during their travels together.

As for the alternate universe version of them that they look up to, it's Ymir. He is basically a Reborn who is in constant denial about being saved and his life having worth, and had to do the healing and redeeming all on his own. Also, he's from my little OC story-idea, and I just wanted to make a little cameo.

Ex-Dark Lord

Thoughts on HP Banana: Like, Average, Dislike Do they prefer their previous or current job? Previous (Factory worker), Current (New Lumos guard), Neither Mental strength: Strong, Average, Weak Actual personality: Good, Average, Bad

Rui's ok with HP Bananas. He even eats some when he's at work, haha. For his job, it's a little different because he's juggling between the old HP Banana worker one and the current New Lumos guard one. Obviously with that arrangement, he prefers neither and wants something better.

The best I can describe Rui is that he wants to be like Neo:Blood Mage from DFO so bad, but he cannot as he is just a regular person stuck supporting his brother and himself. The added irony is that Aoi actually does pull off the unhinged mage vibe better than he ever could, look no further to their Dark Lord act.

Rui's guard duty in New Lumos is more out of guilt and self-imposed penance. The monsters there seem to be too placid to ever try breaking out, no doubt thanks to Aoi's Curse influence weakening by the day. If nothing else, Rui gets to do some magic practice whenever he's there.

Also, Guardian really did ask Rana to go beat up a 20-year old lmao…... I'm sure all of the party members are older than him, too. So it goes with my OCs.

Great Sage

Do they know other magic than Cure-type spells? Yes, Sort Of, No Physical strength: Strong, Average, Weak Had a mentor in the past? Yes, No Thoughts on helping others: Like, Average, Indifferent

(First one was tricky to translate, but I think the gist was that it's asking if your Great Sage knows more kinds of magic than Cure/Cleric spells, like what's implied in-game.)

What else is there to say about Lema? Bnuuy. Your average prettyboy Sage. His father was his mentor on earth communion, Lema's other type of magic. This was what made the Darker Lord especially dangerous as he could now directly manipulate the environment. It's also how the Darker Lord made the Otherworld, by tearing a hole in the sky in a show of power.

It's also why his version of the Darkest Lord looks like a merging of him and the Otherworld/Darker Lord's Domain! It's the apex of Lema's specialty, but in the trappings of a final boss. (You gotta hand it to Aoi as the Dark Curse sometimes, they know how to pull off the villainous vibes regardless of their host, haha)

Lema can never compare to the iconic nature of Great Sage Yumil for me, but I still like how he turned out in the end.

Hero

Thoughts on their adventuring party: Like, Average, Indifferent Thoughts on fighting: Like, Average, Indifferent, Dislike Favourite Job/s Thoughts on Guardian Spirit: Like, Average, Indifferent, Dislike

(The difference between Average and Indifferent here, I'm guessing, is the implication. Average is more positive-neutral, while Indifferent is more negative-neutral.)

Rana is pretty standard, the only thing that stands out from her is that in regards to fighting: she sees it as an unavoidable, sometimes necessary, part of life. It's just that her kind nature meant she would rather do anything else sometimes. Guardian Spirit is more of a guardian angel figure in my version, so she thinks positively of him.

(Who am I kidding, Guardian is pretty much Great Sage Yumil in a different role lmao)

Also I'm a dummy and drew her in her OC outfit instead of something Miitopia-related.

The two boxes on the right:

Things they like, are good at, etc. Things they don't like, are not good at, etc.

The lowest box:

Other notes

[ghost-party]

hi~ o/ for your follower event, I'd like to request *covers Gojo's eyes* Sukuna on either Office Coworkers, or Villains prompt; whichever tickles your fancy more. (look at what your AU!Sukuna has done to me, requesting him instead of Gojo... I am going to go put myself in time out now). Grats on 200 again ♥ and thanks for doing something for us on it! ♥ ♥

Aww, thanks for the request! Your secret is safe with me. 😂🤐 Gojo never has to know!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of losing parents/family, some spicy content A/N: Sukuna and the reader work at a company that produces corporate events. (That was my last experience working in an office, so... 🤷🏼‍♀️)

• • •

Sukuna + Office Coworkers

It’s your first day at your new job, and you’re currently hiding in a bathroom stall, certain that one of your coworkers already hates you.

When you arrived that morning, your boss walked you over to your cubicle, with its dual monitors, already-worn-out swivel chair, and short walls. She waved at the man sitting on the opposite side, hunched over his laptop.

“Sukuna! I want you to meet Y/N.” As she rattled off bland introductions, you barely heard a word, focused instead on the sharp gaze now locked onto yours.

At first glance, he was handsome, with a lean build, strong jaw, and dusty pink hair that somehow suited him. You also noticed a few empty piercing holes in his ear lobes.

But that expression... Why did he look so annoyed? You hadn’t even said anything yet. Maybe he was in the middle of something important, you reasoned, repeating the same cheerful “nice to meet you” you had given everyone else... only to be met with a soft grunt.

And it only seemed to get worse as the day went on. While you were on the phone with IT, going through the process of setting up your database login, you looked up and found Sukuna staring at you over the top of your joined cubicles, his eyes slightly narrowed.

When you tried to print your new hire forms and the paper jammed, there he was, standing behind you with a bored look on his face, uttering a simple, “Move,” before popping open the front of the machine and quickly resolving the issue.

At lunchtime, you both ended up in the kitchen, just the two of you, him microwaving something and you half-heartedly poking at your salad. Before you could even attempt benign conversation, he punched a finger at the keypad, removed his meal, and strode away without even sparing you a glance.

You stood there, feeling painfully awkward, until you managed to finish eating and retreat to the bathroom to calm your nerves.

Maybe he’s just not a people person, you think, biting your lip as you finally emerge from the stall and face yourself in the mirror. But the least he could do is be nice, right? Geez... Does he treat all the new hires like this?

After a short mental pep talk, you nod at yourself and make your way back to your desk. As you sit down, you avoid eye contact altogether, instead directing your attention to your email inbox.

Nearly half an hour passes before Sukuna asks, “Do you drink?”

You blink up at him. “I’m sorry...?”

His head is resting on his hand as he stares at you. “Do you drink? We usually take newbies to the bar across the street on the first day.”

“Uh... Yeah. That sounds nice.”

He makes a noise of acknowledgement and looks away — until you ask, “Who’s ‘we’? Everyone?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Whoever wants to come, but it’s usually the office events committee. We organize that kind of stuff.”

“You’re on the events committee?” The idea of this man planning birthday parties and fun, team-building activities is honestly baffling.

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No offense, but you just... don’t seem like the type.”

“And what type do I seem like?”

Before you can think better of it, you blurt out, “Rude.” Panic quickly sets in as you watch his eyes widen. But then... he laughs. It’s a low chuckle, but even just seeing his stern mouth lift into a smile fills you with a strange sense of relief.

“You’re honest. I like it.” He leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Sorry if I’ve been a dick today. I’m a bartender on the weekends. Had to stay late last night and didn’t get much sleep.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m sunshine and rainbows on a good day,” he warns, sitting forward in his chair.

“Duly noted. It’s just nice to know you don’t hate me.”

“Yet.” He’s still smiling, but it’s a wicked, crooked thing that has your face heating up.

• • •

Over the next few months, as your division preps for events season, you spend more time working closely with Sukuna. You learn that there’s not a huge difference between him on a good day and him on a running-on-caffeine-and-no-sleep day. He doesn’t talk much in meetings, but his facial expressions say plenty — though you’ve learned that he sometimes looks annoyed when he’s really just... fine. It’s confusing, to say the least.

Along with his piercings, he has at least a few tattoos on his forearms. It’s hard to tell how many, since he keeps them covered while at work. But you noticed them while having dinner with the team one night. He sat beside you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a frozen margarita as he argued with someone from sales about marketing list sizes. You think about the mental image more often than you care to admit.

You’ve collected small details about him. He’s been tending bar for almost eight years, mostly as a side gig. He has a bad temper, which is why he was drawn to a marketing position — not nearly as many phone calls and general human interactions as you have to deal with in event production. He lives with his younger brother, Yuuji, who’s enrolled at the local university. They’ve been on their own since Sukuna was seventeen.

“He’s a good kid,” he says. You two are taking a brief coffee break in the kitchen, leaning against opposite counters. “Decent grades, working part time... He even has a girlfriend.”

“Wow.” You sip your latte, wondering how to ask the question on your mind without being painfully direct. But what comes out instead is, “Do you have a girlfriend?” because apparently your brain hates you.

Sukuna shakes his head. “Finding someone who can put up with my shit? Easier said than done.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.”

He smirks at you. “Is that so?”

You shrug and turn around, busying yourself with pouring a refill as an excuse to hide your flustered expression. “I mean... You’re still pretty annoying.”

It’s only when you feel him standing behind you that you realize he’s moved. “Don’t mind me,” he murmurs, reaching above you to grab a plastic lid from the nearest cupboard, his chest just grazing your back. You can’t help but freeze, your heartbeat erratic as you watch his shirt sleeve slide back, giving you a glimpse of the black bands of tattoos encircling his wrist.

When he pulls away, snapping the lid onto his paper cup, you glance at him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a knowing smile. “Annoying, huh? I’ll take it.” And with that, he walks away, leaving you scrambling to figure out what just happened.

• • •

“So... What do you think?” You swirl the ice in your glass and nudge Sukuna with your shoulder. “Your first live event.”

“I hate it.”

You’re both sitting at the hotel bar, having finally escaped the welcome reception upstairs. Although marketers don’t usually travel to your company’s events, a team member’s sudden illness left you in a lurch. Sukuna had begrudgingly agreed to accompany you to help with on-site prep and operations.

“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” You take a sip of your drink, already feeling pleasantly buzzed. “Is it the pushy attendees, the boring presentations, or the thrilling nightlife?” You gesture around at the exclusively 50+ clientele, along with the stuffily-ornate lobby full of classic artwork, antique carpeting, and gold everything.

“Yes.” You laugh, and when you look up at Sukuna, he’s staring at you thoughtfully. “But the company’s not too bad.”

“You should put that on the post-event survey.”

“Definitely ‘exceeds expectations.’” He drums his fingers against the bar top. “My room’s not bad, though.”

“‘Not bad’?” you tease. “I made sure you got the nicest one in the staff block.” When he looks surprised, you glance away. “It’s the least I could do — as a thank you for coming.”

Sukuna chuckles. “You’re always too nice to me. Might give me the wrong idea one of these days.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “Or the right one...”

When you end up in his room, the both of you fumbling to unbutton and remove clothes as you kiss, his mouth soft yet insistent against yours, you tell yourself this is enough. As he pushes you down onto the bed, strong arms caging you in as he bites and sucks the tender skin between your neck and shoulder, you tell yourself this doesn’t need to be anything serious.

But afterwards, when his hard, lean body curls languidly around you, bare skin warm and smooth against your own, it’s hard not to imagine more — waking up beside him every morning, having breakfast together, straightening his usually-crooked tie while he pokes fun at you... You want all of it. 

For now, though, you settle for his deep, steady breaths and the way he sleepily pulls you closer, arms tight around you.

• • •

When you wake up the next morning, Sukuna is propped up beside you, dark eyes unreadable.

“Watching me sleep?” you ask, voice slightly hoarse as you roll over to look at the clock beside the bed. Six o’clock. Plenty of time to get ready for another day of work.

“Creepy, I know.” His tone is flat, but he looks gentler than usual, with his bed head and placid expression. In the early morning light, you can see the full extent of his tattoos, bold, wide lines that trace across his body. They suit him, but you can’t put your finger on why.

“Look, can we... talk? About last night?”

You stiffen, mentally preparing yourself for what comes next. 

“This was fun, but we’re better off as friends.” “We can do this again, but I’m not interested in anything serious.” “This was a mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

But instead, what Sukuna says is, “This wasn’t just sex for me. I’m not really into that. Well, not anymore...” He runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh... Like you?” It comes out as a question, and his brow furrows, looking agitated. “I’m fucking this up.”

He must not expect your laugh, because his eyes widen at the sound. But you’re just so relieved. “I like you, too, dumbass.”

“Dumbass?” He playfully shoves at you. “So romantic.”

“What, you’re gonna change your mind?”

His hand moves from your shoulder to your face, stroking your cheek. “Nah... I knew what I was getting into. But the romantic thing... I think I can fix that.”

“Oh yeah?”

He grins. “You. Me. The huge, fancy bathtub. Room service. Does having mimosas with breakfast count as drinking on the job?”

You turn your head and press a kiss to his palm. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You’re bad,” he growls, leaning over you, his breath warming your upturned lips. “When did that happen?”

“When I met this guy. He’s smart, sexy, kind of a jerk —” The rest of your words dissolve into a breathy gasp as he kisses you, teeth nipping against your bottom lip.

“Yeah, yeah... Less talking, hm? Now, how about that bath?”

[mari-beau]

PARTNERS - A Rogue One Fanfiction

Written for Cassian Appreciation Week 2021 Day 4: Alliance Intelligence

(I know I missed Cassian Appreciation Week entirely with this one, but it got a little more out of hand than the quick scene tags and etc. Actually, tumblr posting etiquette question: At what point is a fanfic considered too long to post directly and should be hosted elsewhere and linked to? Or is inserting a ‘keep reading’ break enough?)

Title: Partners

Characters: Cassian Andor POV; Jyn Erso, Draven

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn

Words: 2633

Setting: Post-Rogue One, Canon-divergent (in that Cassian & Jyn live)

Summary: Cassian receives his first assignment for Alliance Intelligence after recovering from his Scarif injuries, but something is amiss with Jyn Erso. And something is gnawing at him as well...

Spoilers: Rogue One

Warnings: Our heroes have a little bit of PTSD/Separation Anxiety; Also it’s in a layered/nonlinear narrative format, which hopefully is clear/works.

“Where?” she asked. Was there a desperate edge to Jyn’s voice? Or did he just want there to be?

“You know I can’t tell you where.”

Cassian thought she would at least roll her eyes, if not spout sardonic criticism of Alliance Intelligence not even trusting their own people, not trusting those rebels who’d sacrificed everything for the Cause. But she surprisingly remained silent, pursing her lips and giving a little shake of her head.

“Are you allowed to tell me how long you’ll-” She swallowed, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’ll be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” Cassian wanted to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but he’d never seen her look so fragile, and he was afraid a single touch might shatter her.

“Okay.” Her response was clipped, even for her, and she just nodded her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be back, Jyn,” he said. And maybe he’d never actually said it outright, but maybe she needed to hear it. “I’ll never leave you behind.”

Again, she only nodded her head, repeating “Okay.”

He gave into the urge, placed a hand on her biceps and stroked her arm through the layers of her thick thermal jumpsuit.

“Are you-” he tried to ask her whether she was feeling okay, but she shrugged his hand off and bolted, leaving him to watch her fleeing back as she disappeared down an icy corridor, blinking in surprise.

…

Earlier…

“Medical informs me you’re cleared for active duty, Captain Andor.” Draven managed to make it both a statement and a question. Of course he was the head of Intelligence, a spy to his very core, working in vagaries. Except when he issued orders. Those were always clear.

“Yes, sir.” Cassian tried to stand at full attention, but the stance honestly put a little too much pressure on his bad leg. If it was just the artificial hip, he’d probably be sprier than he’d been before. But the deep tissue damage was going to take awhile, if he ever did regain the full musculature in his leg, the tendons and ligaments would never be the same. The fractures in his vertebrae and ribs had thankfully knitted back up and neither bothered him too badly. Even with the unrelenting cold of Hoth.

“I have your next assignment.”

Cassian nodded, accepting the datapad with mission specifics. He gave it a cursory glance.

Deep cover.

“Is this a solo mission?” he asked, but pretended to continue to study the information rather than risk revealing his insecurities to his commanding officer. “Or am I going to need a team?”

Maybe just a partner?

“It has to be you,” Draven said. “And only you. They’re your connections. Well, one of your alias’ connections.”

The older man hesitated, not dismissing Cassian, not continuing with the briefing, just standing, waiting. Cassian mustered the best impassive face he could before meeting his commanding officer’s gaze.

“You’re still one of the best agents we have, Andor.”

Cassian nodded his head in silent acceptance of the reassurance.

“When do you need me to leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re comfortable enough with the mission brief. But the sooner, the better.” Draven was still studying him intently, with more scrutiny than Cassian had even faced as an undercover spy. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, recognizing his dismissal.

Something twisted deep in his chest as he walked away.

He needed to find Jyn and tell her he’d be leaving.

…

That Day on the Beach of Scarif…

“Look.”

It sounded like Jyn’s voice. Was there an afterlife, then? And could Cassian have somehow been lucky enough to be with her there?

No. No, that couldn’t be the case. There was too much pain. If he no longer had a body, then why did it hurt in the way physical flesh only could?

“Cassian!” Jyn’s voice was more urgent and she was squirming in his arms, her hands tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “What is that?”

He forced his eyes open. It was bright. So bright. Why was she confused? It was Death.

No. No, it wasn’t?

He squinted, blinking his eyes as he looked off toward the ocean, well, where the ocean had been, where the wall of destruction had… stopped?

Jyn looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Is that a-”

“Shield,” Cassian gasped, in utter shock himself. “The Empire must have installed an emergency shield to protect the facility.”

“How long?” Jyn was breathing hard, already scrambling to her feet.

“Against that blastwave? Not long,” Cassian said. “Maybe it has dispersed some of the explosive force already but…”

“Come on.” Jyn was standing, leaning down to tug at his arms. He felt like he was ten times the weight he’d ever been on any planet.

“There’s not a lot of time,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

“Which is why you need to move your ass.” Jyn squatted in front of him instead, shoving her arms under his armpits and basically hugging him, she tried hauling him to his feet, but he was dead weight. He hissed with overwhelming pain that was practically blinding, his legs refusing to function. They collapsed back to the sand in a heap.

Jyn got back up, wincing and holding her injured shoulder before she renewed her attempts to get Cassian onto his feet.

It was a herculean effort for his weary body, but he managed to grab her arm.

“Listen to me, Jyn.” She locked eyes with him, and the desperation and pain he found there stabbed him in the chest, hurting worse than his aching ribs. “You have to go. You have to leave me behind. There’s got to be others still alive out there. Find them, get off Scarif. Leave me here. It’s okay. I want you to leave me. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said. There was a ferocious passion in the depths of her eyes, the green gone all steel grey. Any argument he could possibly make, any plea for her to save herself would not be tolerated.

“You listen to me, Cassian Andor.” Her hands captured his face. Her fierceness took away what little breath he had. “We live together. Or we die together.”

This time when she grabbed him, somehow her small body managed to haul him up, maybe she’d somehow given him some of her strength, some of her unrelenting determination, because his legs held... mostly.

…

Present

Cassian found Jyn hiding in a storage room, sitting on a crate with her hands on her knees, doubled over, breathing in big, sobbing gulps of air. He could only stand there and stare in complete shock. Not even on the beach that day had he ever seen Jyn Erso so… such an emotional mess. Angry. Passionate. Vulnerable. Yes. All those things he had seen in her eyes. But this sort of tangible, physical reaction? It was jarring to witness.

And he hesitated. Never hesitate. It could cost lives, the lives of others, your own.

Rushing to her side, he dropped to his knees beside her, the hard ice floor’s impact mitigated by his thick thermal pants.

“Jyn, what is it? What’s wrong? Should I find a medic?”

He placed a hand on her leg, tried to get her to look at him, but she turned away, her breathing still disturbingly uneven, like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“N-no,” she choked out. “Just- Just give me a m-minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m right here. If you need anything, I’m here.”

A sob escaped her, and then she gasped, continuing to struggle to breath, hyperventilating. Cassian just remained there, kneeling beside her, a previously unfamiliar agony tearing at him, watching Jyn suffer whatever it was she was enduring and unable to help her. But he’d stay there, by her side, forever, if she needed him to.

Her breathing gradually grew placid until she was taking deep, regulated draughts of air. And then those determined breaths evened out as well until she was finally breathing normally. And still he waited.

Jyn swore, wiping at her face before she turned to him, and oh, force, her cheeks were raw-looking with tear tracks staining her skin. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. As if she’d been awake, hunted, for a week. How did that happen in just half an hour or so?

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Cassian asked. He wanted to know, needed to know, so, “Maybe I can help.”

She nodded but her eyes were bright, welling up with tears. This was Jyn Erso. It took a lot to make the woman cry.

“What is responsible for this? Did someone hurt you?” Cassian could hear his own accent thickening but didn’t care, becoming too agitated to focus on proper Basic pronunciations.

Jyn shook her head but said, “No. Yes… I… fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“What is it, querida?” He took her hand and when she didn’t pull away, squeezed it, caressed her bare palm with his thumb, noting that her skin was getting cold and he should get her back closer to the core of the base where the temperature was more bearable. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

She nodded. And again, Cassian was struck by how vulnerable the woman was. She always had a deeply hurt portion of her soul, but she seemed incapable of letting it show, even to him. It wasn’t deluding himself, or an over-exaggeration. Cassian knew that her friendship with him was different than any other she’d had in her life. It was the same for him. They finally had someone they could trust wholeheartedly.

But he still held his breath, waiting for her to bestow that trust once again.

She looked down at her hands in his, then to his face, her weary eyes holding his gaze, searching for something.

“You haven’t realized it, yet, have you?” she asked. Cassian’s heart beat faster. Realized what? “Until your Intelligence briefing this morning, we hadn’t been more than an arm’s length apart since Scarif. And force, I’m having a fucking panic attack just at the thought of being separated from you. How ridiculous is that?”

Cassian’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and wet his lips before he could even contemplate speaking.

“It’s not ridiculous, Jyn.” Maybe he hadn’t realized why, but that uneasy feeling had been twisting his insides since he’d first left for his briefing. And now, now he couldn’t deny its cause.

Because Jyn was right. She’d basically dragged him bodily out of that massacre, off that cursed planet, held him as he drifted in and out of consciousness until he’d blacked out entirely, to wake up in the infirmary on Yavin 4 with Jyn sitting at his bedside, arms folded on the edge of his cot, supporting her head as she slept. And from there, she had been with him his entire recovery. She refused to leave the room when medical staff or droids checked on him, only turning her back to give him privacy. He hadn’t complained. He hadn’t objected. Even when she set up a bedroll in the corner of his quarters when he’d been released from the infirmary. Even when she wordlessly climbed into his bed to soothe his fitful, painful sleep, even when she helped him dress. And shower. And limp down the corridors to exercise his injured leg. And after he was basically as recovered as he was going to get, she stayed. Always by his side.

The memory that would always forever be seared into his existence slapped him in the face.

“We live together. Or we die together,” he whispered.

Jyn’s pupils dilated, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his.

“I meant it,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t think…”

Her hand reflexively clutched at the front of her thermal jumpsuit, seeking the only possession she cared about, the only thing she had left of her mother, her father, the only thing she had that was her own, special. But hadn’t she realized?

She had him.

Cassian took a risk, slid his fingertips over her cheek, which was soft and smooth and warm against his doubtless chilled fingers. But she didn’t flinch from his cool touch. Rather, she leaned into his palm as he cupped her face.

“I know,” he said. And he did know, could see the knowledge of it in her eyes, as well. He didn’t much believe in the Force, and despite the kyber crystal perpetually around Jyn’s neck, she had had a hard life, was a survivor, with a practicality that ran so deep it had taken him, a heartless assassin to make her believe in hope again.

Sometimes, though… Okay, often, he felt like that blastwave had swept them away, disintegrated them on the submolecular level. And then somehow they’d reformed. But their atoms had been mixed up, and he was as much composed of her stardust as his own, and she of his.

It was fanciful. And completely unlike Cassian. The Before Cassian. But now, it was absolutely the way he felt. It was foolish to deny it. And from the way Jyn was looking at him...

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers, his lips feathering over hers as he hesitated, waited for any signal from her, acceptance, invitation, or rejection.

It was an exquisite, agonizing eternity.

But then Jyn sucked in a sharp breath, one of her small yet strong hands grabbing the front of his coat, the other the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. She pulled him into her, her mouth crashing against, hard and hot, and needy. Aggressive and tender at the same time. An inextricable mess. It was how they were. It was who they were.

It was perfect.

…

A little bit later...

“You have concerns regarding the mission, Captain Andor?”

Cassian had managed to catch General Draven in the rare moment where the man was actually in his office, sitting at his desk, reviewing… who knew what… intelligence, battle plans… food reserves…

“I do, sir.”

Draven looked up. Cassian had never questioned an assignment before. He’d always been such a good little soldier-spy. Even though it had been costing him his very soul.

Still, even with the feeling of Jyn’s kisses freshly on his lips, the presence of her burned into his entire being, questioning orders made him nervous. Almost as nervous as allowing himself to have wants, a sense of self beyond what the Alliance had given him.

“Well, what is it, captain?”

“I need a partner.”

Draven frowned in thought. “If I recall… the assignment is best suited for a single operative.”

Cassian swallowed but looked his commanding officer straight in the eye. “Then I won’t be taking this assignment. Or any others for Alliance Intelligence. Not unless I can work with a partner.”

Draven stood, did a quick pace behind his desk before he fixed Cassian with a hard stare. “You would desert the Alliance over Jyn Erso?”

Cassian wet his lips. Revealing such personal, emotional aspects to himself was… entirely against his nature. Jyn did not count. She was simply an extension of himself.

“I would choose her.” Cassian held the man’s war-weary, hardened gaze that still somehow seemed to have an iota of softness about the edges. “I have chosen her.”

We live together. Or we die together.

“She’s my partner.”

Draven sighed, but inclined his head.

“I’ll update the rosters. Make whatever alterations to the mission outline you view fit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t know if you should be thanking me, Andor,” Draven said, but an elusive smirk flitted across his face.

Cassian did not hide his smile as he left, to find Jyn, and to tell her she was the newest member of the Alliance Intelligence unit.

[aitarose]

FROZEN MEMORIES (T. OIKAWA) pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

synopsis: tooru always spoke a million words a minute, a million words describing his everlasting love for y/n—but in reality, vows can’t always be kept, and photographs are all that stand forever.

word count: 7.0k

genre: fluff, angst, getting together, established relationship, time skip

warnings: major character death, slight ghost au

notes: lina and i were talking about planes one time on facetime and now this exists. :) writing about weddings is fun and i hope that this makes people sad—but like the good kind of sad <3 

↳ DIRECTORY

It was a simple thing, the diamond that rested on her finger.

Small, delicate, and nothing like the extravagant stigma of Oikawa Tooru. Nothing like his vibrance and charisma or the tenacity racing through his veins while on the court. There were no sprinkles of the unnecessary, no remnants of borrowed money.

Just simplicity and minimalism. A bare show of his love for her, a showcase that would be blind to the wandering eye, it was so small. The ring was all of the things that had little, if any, relation to his personality.

Throughout the timeline of them knowing one another, Y/N always knew he’d propose. Whether that was when they were in their mid thirties, twenties, or even while in high school—their love was that strong.

And she knew him best. She knew that he wouldn’t present a jewel the size of a bumblebee, or one with gems surrounding the entirety of the band. In her mind, the only option would be the bare band with a single jewel laying atop its center.

The same band that had belonged to his grandmother, mother, and now her.

It wasn’t a statement piece or trophy, but rather a reminder that their relationship didn’t have to be complicated or flashy. That the ring had surpassed generations of instability and trouble, and at the end of the day, all that mattered was their love—their love that was truly unbreakable.

Which was why it was all the more special to Y/N, why she cherished it more than any other belonging. It reminded her of him.

When he’d gotten down on one knee, professed his dreams of sharing the rest of his life by her side, the enjoyment of announcing that she would be the wife of a professional athlete never crossed her mind. 

Y/N didn’t view Oikawa as a celebrity or idol. She didn’t consider him to be on another level or above her status for any reason. In no world was he too good for her, as they were perfect for each other.

There was just something about him, a force that pulled her towards him no matter how hard she tried to resist. He was undoubtedly the other half of her spirit, the person she was always meant to connect with.

Her heart swelled whenever he was around, just knowing that he was in the same building, waiting for her at the end of the flower-filled aisle had tears dripping down her rose-colored cheeks.

She could imagine the smile on his face, the one she’d been waiting to see for over a year now. The smile that she saw when she closed her eyes, looked into her reflection, passed a shining pond.

Ambition was her most dominant personality trait, always feeling the need to reach for the sky and set new goals—but once she’d kissed his lips, she knew that he was the only goal that mattered.

And the two of them had been preparing for this day for what felt like forever, waiting in anticipation for the moment they’d be pronounced as one. However, their wishes had been interrupted by his newly honored position on the Argentinian team.

They had a month, barely thirty days to pack up his life, everything he could possibly need for an unknown amount of time, and find peace with the fact that they wouldn’t be together for every second like they’d become accustomed to.

Driving him to the airport had to be one of the most tear-filled days of Y/N’s life, other than today of course—but today’s tears were much different in every sense and form. 

She could remember the exact look on his face as they’d left the car, carried his luggage to the terminal, and said their goodbyes. Goodbyes that were, of course, temporary as no distance could ever break the bond they had.

The photo laying between Y/N’s fingers had captured that moment perfectly.

Somber looks on both of their faces, yearning for the other even though they were a mere distance away, a distance that was growing with every second the clock counted down.

Laughing lightly, maneuvering her position so her reminiscent tears wouldn’t stain the slightly marred photograph—she pushed the memory aside, instead choosing to recall an earlier one. A happier one.

A memory that was encased within the maple box that Oikawa had gifted her at the terminal. A present that he’d been putting together for nearly a decade, throughout the entirety of their early relationship.

So, while the airplane had taken him thousands of miles away, over an entire ocean and away from her—Y/N had a way to see his face. His beautiful and loving face for the times where he couldn’t answer the phone or pick up a call.

A photo box. One filled with polaroids and snapshots of moments, cherished memories of their lives that had led up to today’s date. It was her most prized possession, the story of her and Oikawa. 

The story of their love.

“Are you alright?” Y/N giggled, pushing the loose strands of hair away from Oikawa’s face. The wind was rapid, carrying them throughout the nearly empty park, and to their destination.

It was a small picnic blanket, one that he’d set up an hour earlier, laying in the center of the field, underneath one of the blossoming cherry trees. Albeit, with the roaring currents, their date spot had flown a few feet into the air.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, ‘Kawa.” She repeated, amused at the sight of his mortified face. There was never a time where Oikawa Tooru didn’t strive for perfection, and in the moment where he felt it mattered most, everything had gone wrong.

He’d been preparing to ask Y/N out for weeks. Always admiring her from afar, searching for her in the stands, smiling at her cheers and words of encouragement. Calling her a crush was beyond his feelings, she was simply his.

So he felt that their first date had to be perfect. It had to leave her hooked, left at the corner of a page, addicted and invested to turn the next—to turn every page in the chapters of their story.

Their story, that was just beginning.

“I’m fantastic, Y/N-chan!” A large, teeth baring smile grew on his lips, eyes wide with anxiety radiating out of them. He didn’t think he’d ever felt his heart beat so fast, the artery on the verge of jumping out of his chest.

“Really?” She asked with her brows raised, noticing how the blood had rushed out of his face, leaving behind a stone-cold canvas of skin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—no. You look like you are a ghost.”

“It’s okay. I’m nervous, too.” Y/N confessed, taking his hands in hers, her warmth overshadowing the clamminess of his palms—her touch being his salvation. “This is my first time being asked out, you know. I mean, we are only first years.”

Which was entirely true. They’d each moved from their respective middle schools to Aoba Johsai, not knowing of the other’s existence until Oikawa had accidentally tripped over her school bag while on the run from his fangirls. 

From that moment on, he’d been completely and utterly enamored by her. 

Enamored in the way that his cheeks would flush bright red at any moment of embarrassment if Y/N was around. Bright red, just as they were now, with her heart in his grasp, begging to be loved.

As he opened his mouth to speak, scripting his genuine apology for the chaos that was today, something flew right by his right eye. Something small, yellow and black—something that truly pushed him over the edge.

Oikawa ran in a dead sprint, circling the blanket, darting between trees as the innocent bumblebee chased him with glee. His shrieks were ear-piercing, inducing hysterical laughing fits from Y/N, tears brimming the corners of her eyes.

The sternness of his posture had finally relaxed, his placid expression long gone and replaced with one of the over-dramatics and the unnecessary. She felt as though the blood rushing through her veins had settled, content with the familiarity of the Oikawa in front of her.

“Protect me, Y/N-chan!” He cried out, his hands holding her shoulders with a death-grip, using her body as a shield from the barely visible bee. It buzzed around their heads in circles, causing him to duck and cover each time it got too close to his ears.

Y/N was practically out of breath, her voice hoarse from the amount of laughter leaving her throat. “Oikawa! Are you even allergic to bees?” She wondered out loud, trying to find any acceptable reason other than insanity to his reaction.

“I don’t know!” He exclaimed, taking Y/N’s hand and pulling her away from their stray picnic blanket, and towards the more dense sector of trees. “Three percent of people have a reaction, and there’s no way I’m not in the top percentage—I mean look at me!”

His skin was stained red, nearing the color of blood from how much adrenaline he’d been using. The brown in his pupils dark, almost black, large, and staring straight into Y/N’s.

Heavy breathing came from the both of them, energy on the rocks, exhausted after their marathon throughout the park. It was a strange moment, one with no words yet their feelings were communicative. She didn’t need to hear what he was thinking, as she felt the exact same. 

Oikawa began to lean in, his gaze focused on Y/N—his focus staying on her and only her, just as it would always be. Closing her eyes, preparing herself for her very first kiss with the boy that seemed unreachable, Y/N was left with no love on her lips.

Nothing but the sound of a shot snapping from a polaroid camera, and the feeling of a smile pressed against her cheek.

As her vision opened, Y/N’s jaw dropped, smacking his arm with the picnic bag that had been thrown over her shoulder. Sure, she’d noticed him packing the camera earlier, but hadn’t expected him to actually use it. 

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, amusement laced in her tone. Of course he’d pull something like that. He’d do anything to make the moment more memorable. “I can’t believe you, Oikawa.”

He grinned a shit-eating grin, forehead touching hers. If Y/N hadn’t known better, she would’ve walked out, left him behind after such a sporadic and awful first date—but she actually enjoyed the chaos. She enjoyed being with the real him.

“Well, you better believe it, Y/N-chan.” His lips were so close, a mere centimeter away. Only a centimeter between them and, still, the distance seemed too far. “And when I do kiss you, I expect to be called by my real name.”

Oikawa pulled away, saying a final wish before stalking off towards the remnants of their picnic, leaving Y/N with nothing but withdrawal and their single photograph. She rolled her eyes at him, his words racing through her head as she fell in love with the frozen memory.

Call me Tooru.

Y/N’s heart swelled as her senses picked up on the harsh sound of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor. It was a noise that would likely drive a normal person away, so wretched and foul, absolute agony for the ears—but she loved it.

She loved it since along with that sound, came him—came Oikawa.

“You two really can’t stay away from each other, can you?” Mattsun groaned, his attention brought to the entrance, bemused by the sight of Y/N and used to her inability to be without his friend for longer than two hours.

Despite the roll of his eyes, there was a light smile on Mattsun’s face. A smile that had been replicated throughout the entirety of the team, grins awaiting their captain to notice the company of his favorite cheerleader. 

In the beginning of their relationship, it’d taken the boys a few weeks turned months to warm up to Y/N. It was no secret that Oikawa was a bit of a player, never settling on one girl, always getting distracted with the next best thing—but even they could see that this time, it was different.

After all, they’d lasted for a little over two years now—and in those two years of total bliss, the whole team had picked up on the new positives to the setter’s daily attitude.

Makki noticed the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up around her, how his laugh was ten times louder whenever she was by his side. Mattsun never failed to comment on the stupid beams he’d wear, and how much effort he’d put into his appearance when he was only getting ready for a five minute video call. 

And Iwaizumi was the one who’d seen it all. He’d endured the tireless hours in which his best friend would talk about how nervous he was to see her in the hallways or how fast his heart would beat whenever she’d hand him a pen or compliment his gameplay. 

He’d been the first person to know exactly what had happened after Oikawa asked her on their first date, in which he’d been trampled by fangirls and forced to steal Y/N away into an empty janitor’s closet to get just a minute of privacy. His friend later bouncing with joy on their walk back home, babbling on and on about her accepting his confession.

The very second the setter had said his goodbye, dropped Y/N off at her home, and had one last laugh about the bee incident; Iwaizumi’s phone had blown up with text messages and voicemails—all filled with the lovestruck adoration that Oikawa held for his new flame. The flame that he hoped would burn forever.

It was safe to say that his friends loved her, that they loved them together and the safety net that was their relationship. Y/N brought the dreamer down to earth, while Oikawa taught her how to reach the sky—showed her the importance of keeping her eyes on the clouds.

Iwaizumi shook his head, letting out a low laugh as his best friend caught sight of his girlfriend and took off running in her direction, tackling her to the ground, and completely forgetting about the abandoned volleyball that he’d been juggling altogether. 

PDA was not an issue for Oikawa, never even crossing his mind as he peppered light kisses in circles around Y/N’s face. The girl was bright red beneath him, loudly giggling, and essentially forgetting where she was for a moment—distracted by him, the only person that could ever maintain her attention.

“Pack it up, Loser-kawa.” Makki called out, hands cupping his lips in an attempt to shout out over the sounds of Y/N’s squeals. Her head snapped over to the team at the sound of his calls, cheeks flushing a further scarlet in embarrassment amidst their eye contact.

Oikawa, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping—completely ignoring the complaints of his teammates, throwing Y/N over his shoulder, and carrying her with ease towards their peers.

“Oh, come on guys.” He smirked as he set his girlfriend down and proceeded to sling an arm around her frame, snuggling her closer to his chest. “There’s no need to be jealous, I’m sure she’ll cheer for you, too—albeit, it won’t ever be as loud as she cheers for me.”

Countless volleyballs came flying in their direction, all aimed for the so-called Great King—narrowly missing Y/N’s body and hitting their target that was Oikawa’s face.

“Quit wasting our time, Shitty-kawa!” Mattsun shot another ball, smacking his captain straight in the forehead. “You two have been in each other’s business all day, save some time for us!”

“Just take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

Y/N laughed, finding the suggestion hilarious—not noticing how her boyfriend’s face lit up with delight. How he reached for the duffel bag beside the door containing their beloved polaroid camera.

“You suggested it, Mattsun!” He tossed the device, landing it perfectly in his friend’s open hands. The brown hair boy stared at the offering, not exactly sure what he’d been expecting from Oikawa of all people. “Now you’ve got to follow through!”

The setter led Y/N towards the net, placing her in front of him with a large smile on his face. His palms ghosted her’s, so close to touching with no intentions of doing so.

As the camera was about to click, he moved, a large groan escaping his throat. “Hold on!” Oikawa shouted, waving his hands in the air manically, sprinting to his practice bag. “Almost forgot something!”

The white material of his Seijoh jacket reflected underneath the fluorescent lights. He held it up with glee, returning to Y/N’s side and placing it over her shoulders with care. 

Nearly prepared for the photoshoot, he felt that one thing was missing. One thing that would truly commemorate the oh-so-momentous event that was photo-worthy.

“Oi, Iwa-chan!” The ace glared at his best friend, knowing exactly what he was asking for. With a roll of his eyes, Iwaizumi found himself between the couple, a frown on his face as they held up bunny ears above his head.

Sticking his tongue out, Oikawa was blinded by the piercing flash of the camera. “Say cheese!” He called out, pinching Iwaizumi’s cheek with his free hand and cowering as he shot him a murderous glance in return.

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her expression being light and carefree in the frozen moment—lost amidst her love for her boyfriend and the adoration she held for their best friend. 

Iwaizumi was always there for them—and there’d never be a time in which he wasn’t. Through hardships and breathless arguments, he was there. One phone call away to listen to any tangent or complaint from either of the two.

She knew that he was reliable, and she hoped that he’d stick by their side. She hoped that he’d be the one to walk her down that flower-filled aisle in the future. That he’d be the person to give her off to the man of her dreams.

And, little did she know, her wish would come true.

Soft hums and silent promises wafted throughout Oikawa Tooru’s bedroom. The gentle snores of his girlfriend rising and falling against his chest, pressed atop his heartbeat, filling his love for her as if his heart was a pitcher. 

It’d been a long day, one full of the tiresome stress of tournaments. Although he hated to admit it, he’d spent a majority of the past hours crying—his tears staining Y/N’s sweater, dampening the cotton fabric.

Losing to Karasuno had never even crossed his mind. Seijoh was the best of the best, he was the best of the best, that was what he’d told himself. That was what’d motivated him to continue to pursue his dreams of beating Ushiwaka for so many years. 

But they’d lost. His unstoppable team had lost to complete amateurs, infants in all senses of strategy and gameplay when compared to that of his own team’s. It was truly unbelievable—so unbelievable that Oikawa had only come to terms with it minutes ago.

He’d unknowingly played his last high school game. His final game as captain, the leader of his teammates, the face that every admirer associated with the name “Aoba Johsai”—and that was heartbreaking.

Mindlessly, his fingers graced Y/N’s back, tracing positions and numbers on repeat. It was as if his brain was still stuck on the court, glued to the placement he’d fallen in after that last whistle had blown.

“I love you.” He whispered, admiring her peaceful expression. There’d never be a time in which Oikawa wouldn’t think she was the most beautiful sight in the world. Nothing compared to her, not even the thrill of feeling the ball in his hands.

“You’re perfect, amazing, gorgeous.” An ongoing stream of compliments poured from his lips, all of them always sitting at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released. His brown eyes bored into her closed lids, waiting for them to flutter open, knowing that she was eavesdropping on his one-sided conversation.

“I can’t wait to marry you one day.”

Her eye popped open, her iris meeting his as she fought off a smirk. Oikawa laughed at her audacity, her listening in on his professions of love whilst pretending to be asleep—a very Y/N thing to do.

“Was that a proposal I heard, Tooru?” She teased, a cheshire smile growing on her face. Though she was joking, there was a part of her that felt ecstatic. Excited for the future, their future. “Aren’t we a little young for that?”

Oikawa ignored her humorous tone, choosing to take her words seriously. Sincerity overtook his features, determination shining in his eyes. “No, that wasn’t a proposal. Not yet at least.”

“But it was a promise.” He rolled over, arms stretched out onto the mattress as he held his weight above his flushed girlfriend. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here.”

“I promise.”

Y/N reached upwards, caressing his cheek with care, pulling him down towards her frame. As she connected their lips, love flooded from their hearts. Pure love that they were so lucky to have found in each other.

Their kiss was passionate, fluid and desperate as they clung to one another in an attempt to get even closer than they already were. Oikawa’s hair brushed against her forehead, tickling her nerves amidst the act.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, pressing further as her swollen lips were chapped and yearning for more. It was as if he was the water to her drought, the sun to her flowers, the missing half of her soul—he was everything she ever needed, everything she could ever want.

“I love you, Tooru.” Y/N was breathless, heaving gusts of air as she composed herself between his arms. Her skin was shaded pink, hair a mess, and eyes wide in adoration for her boyfriend. “I’ll love you forever.”

A scoff fell from his lips whilst he relaxed his muscles, laying down on her body, his head against her chest as he felt her short breaths rise and fall. “Don’t get your head too high in the clouds, beautiful.”

“We can focus on forever later.” With his heartbeat slowing, sleep on his mind, Oikawa wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Let’s just think about now—right now, and how amazing I just made you feel.”

“They don’t call me the Great King for nothing!”

With a groan, Y/N pushed her boyfriend off of her, choosing to sleep on her side instead of listening to his boasting. It was a common occurrence, one that she was used to and knew how to handle—feigned disinterest was always her favorite route to take.

Oikawa pouted at the emptiness he now faced without being in her arms. He wanted attention, and the only way to get her attention was to distract her from his terrible humor in the only way he knew how.

Various pokes and prods scattered across Y/N’s backside, the relentless actions being from the needy narcissist she was sharing a blanket with. Pulling the covers over her head, she peeked out from underneath, coming face-to-face with the bright flash of his camera.

“Smile for the camera, beautiful.”

The terminal was bustling with people, luggage rolling across the stone floors and towards their rightful places. Color was void on the walls, simple tones of grey and blue plastered opposite to the towering window panes.

Reunions between young children and their mothers, spouses who’d just arrived home from business trips, and pilots seeing their coworkers for the first time in days occurred in spurts—smiles of joy expressed on their faces.

And in contrast to that joy, was Y/N and her smile of sadness. 

Though she’d been expecting for this day for weeks, she knew that all the preparation in the world would never be enough to suffice the need that she had for him. The need that she had for Oikawa.

He’d been offered a position on San Juan’s professional team, his dream position as a setter for the big leagues, which meant that the move was inevitable. It meant that he’d be thousands of miles away from the love of his life for an unprecedented period of time.

The conversation hadn’t been easy, having to determine if they should carry on with their wedding plans or say their uncertain goodbyes. Countless tears had been shed, tears that had ultimately decided to part—tears that were still dripping down Y/N’s chin.

Her lip quivered, watching as Oikawa stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at the screen that flashed his flight number. He let go of the handle he’d been holding, the suitcase nearly falling over before Iwaizumi had a chance to balance it. 

Turning to face his fiancée, waterworks flooded his vision, blurring her features into a beautiful mess. A beautiful mess of rosy cheeks and teary eyes, an oil painting of agony that only he could decipher. 

“I’ll be thinking of you every day.” He said, holding her gaze as she found herself sobbing in his arms. “From the minute I step through those gates to the time I score my first point—I’ll be thinking of you. You’re all that my mind’s ever thought about, anyways.”

Oikawa cradled her head in his hands, peppering butterfly kisses against her nose, memorizing how naturally gorgeous she looked even when she was at her absolute worst. Nothing could change his view on her, the view that she was flawed perfection—his perfectly flawed perfection.

“I love you so much, Tooru.” Y/N cried, noting the little details of his face. How his irises shone gold in reflection to the setting sun. How unseen freckles kissed his skin in all the right places. How his heart was so big, so full of adoration for their relationship. “I know I say it every day, but you were my first love—”

“Well, you were my only love—and you’re always going to be my only love.” 

A pained laugh escaped her mouth as his confession deemed true. It felt like they were going their separate ways, breaking their bond although the both of them knew that this was temporary. That they’d be saying their vows on the very day he’d return.

Her hands cupped his cheeks, wiping away the stray drops that had fallen from his tear ducts. Oikawa grimaced with a tight lipped smile, bringing his own palms up and resting them over hers, feeling the cool metal of her engagement ring.

“This rock had better stay on your finger.” He commanded with a chuckle, trying his best to cement the softness of her skin against his callouses to memory. “Anyone who even thinks to hit on my girl is going to feel the wrath of Oikawa Tooru!”

“It doesn’t matter how many miles are between us,” he continued, surging forward as he captured her lips in his, saying his next few words between shows of love. “You’re my heart, and mine only.”

His kisses were gentle, soft and scarce, in great contrast to the usual tenacity and passion that he held. All the things he’d ever needed to say had been spoken, the only ones left being the promises he’d commit to at the altar. 

With the bright flash of a camera, Oikawa found himself frozen. He stared in awe at Y/N, into her devilish eyes that had finally managed to surprise him in his own game. The power of the moment was in her court, the mementos created by the push of her finger. 

“Just in case I forget.” She whispered, her forehead resting against his. Her nose scrunched in distaste for their soon-to-be goodbye, their soon to be separation. “Even though I’d never forget you, Tooru.”

“I’ll be here—loving you until the second you’re back.”

Oikawa nodded, pressing one last kiss to the top of her head, before pulling away. He took his luggage from Iwaizumi, on the verge of bursting into tears again at the sight of his sorrow gaze. 

The two boys hugged for as long as they possibly could, Oikawa’s hands gripping Iwa’s jacket, to which he responded with a slap on this back with some good natured insults. They had no shame, no concerns about their masculinity or manliness as they held each other in sadness.

Y/N had never seen them so low, always picturing their game faces mixed with determination—a stark difference to the helplessness they expressed amidst the sunsetting rays of the window panes.

“Keep her safe for me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa requested, gesturing to the lonely girl to his left. “Don’t let her get too down on herself, okay? If I’m not there to answer a text or a phone call—you make sure you’re there for her. You make sure she’ll be alright.”

“I know she can handle herself, but she shouldn’t have to all of the time.” He grasped Iwaizumi’s shoulder, shaking it roughly with his wishes. His best friend was nodding beneath his grip, listening to each one of the setter’s asks. “Our little trio’s going to be two for a bit, not forever, but for a while.”

And with one last kiss and an offering, he was gone—lost to the sea of strangers and luggage, ripped away from his favorite people on a flight to a new country with new opportunities. Oikawa Tooru’s head was always lost in the clouds, flying high with the success of volleyball on his mind. 

But in his heart was Y/N. 

The girl that he’d wanted to marry since the minute he’d seen her laughing in the hallways. Since she’d offered to pass him some balls and cheered for him in the front section of the audience at all of his games. Ever since she’d kissed him for the first time in the back of his parents minivan. 

He lived for her, his heart beat for her—and he was itching to be back in her arms, knowing full well that it’d be months until he’d get to see her in person again. All he could hope for was that his gift would suffice her loneliness in his absence. 

That the photo box he’d been putting together for years would be enough to keep the memory of their love alive in the times when he’d be too distracted by his ambition to pay her any attention. That it’d remind her that he loved her and would climb mountains to prove it.

And he was right. The polaroids did help Y/N reminisce on all of their frozen moments, lost kisses, and happy memories that she’d be unable to maintain while he was thousands of miles away.

Thousands of miles that would disappear on the day he’d return—on the day of their wedding.

“You alright?”

Y/N jumped, dropping the box of photos in her lap at the unexpected sound of Iwaizumi’s deep voice. The polaroids fluttered to the ground, flying like kites in the wind on a sunny day, falling onto the hardwood on their final departure.

Frantically, she bent over to gather the memories, quickly snatching them up as her friend ran over to help her. The vinyl backings felt smooth in her hand, eyes glancing upwards to Iwa, who’d become stuck on a single frame.

It was one of her favorite moments of the three of them, the photo from their high school gym. The look on her and Oikawa’s faces was hysterical, them choosing to poke fun at their best friend with bunny ears and stuck out tongues.

“I still can’t believe he put all this together.” Iwaizumi wondered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief at the craftiness of his former setter. “Who knew Shitty-kawa had it in him?”

Resting her head over his shoulder, Y/N smiled, her face warming at the sight of his bright and glossy smile. She reached forward, closing his hands around the photograph. “You can have it, the picture.” 

His head snapped towards her, profusely rejecting her offer, knowing full well that that gift was meant to be hers and hers alone. “I couldn’t, really. He made this for you, I wouldn’t want to make it any less special.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes whilst straightening her posture. She stood, towering over the man still kneeling on the ground and offered him a hand. “It’s okay, Hajime. I have plenty—and that memory isn’t only mine to keep.”

Taking her extension of help, he rose up, wrapping his arms around her in a large hug. The comfort that he surrounded her with was enough to bring her to tears, knowing that he’d only come in the room to tell her that it was time. That it was time for him to walk her down that flower-filled aisle. 

“You look amazing, Y/N. You really do.” Iwaizumi whispered, complimenting the dress she and her mother had selected for the momentous occasion. He raised his arm in the air, spinning her in a circle, admiring how the stunning fabric twirled around her.

She smiled, genuine gratitude filling her beam as she reflected on the comment her beloved fiancé had made about the outfit she’d been meaning to share with him. How he’d boasted about his own appearance, joking that he’d steal the show.

“Yeah, you’ll look beautiful.” He’d told her over the phone during a late night video call while she’d been rambling about choosing a dress, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his voice. “But let’s be honest, I’m impossible to outshine. Sorry, love.”

Over the past year, it’d been impossible to get his voice out of her head. Soft confessions of love, good mornings and goodnights, even arguments played on a loop, on a broken record. 

She’d missed him more than words could tell—and she knew, with how much her heart loved him, that she’d miss him every day. She’d miss him no matter how much distance was between them, whether that was thousands of miles or mere inches.

Taking notice of how her body began to shake, how Y/N’s bones were quivering with nerves and anxiety, Iwaizumi looped her arm around his. “You’ve got this.” He encouraged, knowing that she felt unprepared to present herself in front of all of their friends and family in such a way.

The look in his eyes was confident, secure with closure and acceptance for what the day was about to bring. For what the rest of their lives were about to bring to their little trio. He was ready to take the next step—and he was waiting for Y/N to do the same.

As she took a deep breath, calming her nerves into submission, she nodded gesturing to Iwaizumi to carry on, the two of them walking together out of the room and towards the crowd that awaited them.

The thick scent of camellias lay stagnant in the air, the deep red flowers surrounding the venue, strategically placed on vines and potted plants. All done by professional florists and media that had insisted that the day be perfect for a celebrity such as Oikawa.

Handing her off on her own, Iwaizumi pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hands, wishing her luck and reassuring her that everything would turn out okay. Reassuring her that there was no need to be afraid of the future.

Her future, the new reality that was beginning at this very second. The reality that had begun at the first sighting of tears in the audience, the view of Takeru crying into his mother’s shoulder, of Makki and Mattsun silently encouraging her to go on.

“Thank you, all of you, for coming today.” Y/N began, making eye contact with each and every personality, proud of the amount of people that had shown up. Proud of the amount of people that cared enough to be there. “I know you’d all been planning on sitting in those seats since we’d announced our engagement—but really, thank you for saving the date.”

Reaching her hands out to her side, waiting to come into contact with the warmth of his palms, the loving grip that he always seemed to hold—she felt nothing but the smooth mahogany of an empty casket.

“I’m only sorry that our wedding had to become a funeral.”

She sighed, neck craned down to smooth the sparse wrinkles of her dark dress, only to look up and be welcomed by a sea of black—a sea of sorrow. An ocean that would never let her ride her final wave.

“Tooru was so excited to see all of you. He told me that every night, whether it was through a quick text message or one of our phone calls—he always talked about this day, and how lucky he was to have loved ones that cared so much.”

“He was so excited that he just couldn’t wait, he couldn’t wait the extra week and took that early flight. Took his own private jet with his crew so that he could surprise all of us, see the looks on our faces as he pulled another one of his stunts.”

A sob began to form at the tip of her tongue, a void of agony building in her stomach. Waiting to be let out in a massive scream or breakdown—but Y/N continued, fighting back her own sadness to be strong for the others. To be their rock, just as Oikawa had always been hers.

“But,” her eyes were watering, voice cracking through her next choice of words. The memory of the moment being overpowering amidst her perseverance. “There was something wrong with the engine. There was something wrong, so wrong, that—well we all know what happened.”

“His head was too lost in the clouds.”

Giving up on her composure, Y/N wrapped her arms around her shaking body, rubbing her shoulders just as he used to whenever she’d feel alone or completely broken. However, she was truly and utterly broken this time—never to be fixed by his loving grasp.

“When Hajime called me, told me what’d happened. When he told me about the phone call, and how’d he’d tried to reach me but for some stupid reason I hadn’t picked up,” Y/N gulped, breathing heavily with sorrow, “I’d never hated myself more.”

“‘Tell her I’m sorry, that I’m sorry that I kept my promise.’ That’s what Tooru had told him while the plane had been spiraling. ‘I’m sorry that I kept the promise that I’d love her ‘till the day I’d die.’”

There wasn’t a single dry face in the audience, everyone dripping with sadness, faces blue with contagious crying as Y/N made her final statement. Her final public farewell to the love of her life. The love of her life that was no more.

“But I’m going to keep my promise and live every day for him. Keep him in our lives as best I can, as often as I can until I’ve lived life long enough to be with him myself.”

A breath of relief overcame her as the audience dispersed, satisfied with her eulogy, slowly walking around the room to admire the makeshift photo boards and flowers that Oikawa’s fans and former classmates had sent. 

All alone, Y/N spun to face his casket, the casket that held nothing but a single photograph of him—there being no physical remnants to bury. It was a perfect burial for a king, her perfect king of the court. 

The burial was one that Mattsun had blessed them with, already having been in the funeral home career. There was no one else that she would’ve trusted with Oikawa, no one else that she would’ve let come near his memorial. 

As her palms ran over the varnished surface of the coffin, eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the pain. She whispered her actual promise, the one she’d told him so many times through the screens of their phones. 

“You’re my heart, Tooru—and I’d never forget my heart, no matter how far away you may be.”

And unbeknownst to her, he wasn’t far. He wasn’t far at all—as he was right beside her, his spirit always being by her side through the times she’d try to shut his memory out and pretend that he hadn’t ever existed. There wasn’t a world in which Oikawa would let her be alone to her sadness.

Watching as she cried, wishing that he could wipe away her tears, tell her how much he loves her, give her a longing kiss on the lips—all he could do was stand there and dream of the life they could’ve had. 

The life in which she’d be able to see how handsome he looked in the wedding suit he and Iwaizumi had picked out together. The life where she’d laugh and flush red at his snarky comments and cocky attitude. The life where he wasn’t buried under a trillion tons of ocean water.

But that life would never become a reality. It would never come true as he couldn’t stay with her, not even as a spirit. He needed to find his peace, come to terms with how her life would be from that day on—void of their love.

“Don’t cry, beautiful.” Oikawa cried, biting his lip to choke back his own sobs—wanting, more than anything, to brush away her tears. He took one last look at her, one last look to cement the memory of her face.

It was as if she were a photograph, his own keepsake to reminisce and recall wherever he would end up. A final gift, one being given to himself, while he accepted his inevitable fate. 

“I’d hate to miss your smile.”

© aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy or claim my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers as your own

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” + ThanZag feels very fitting <33

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Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment on Ao3!

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It was when the door of the cheap motel room closed behind him that it really sunk in.

Just what he’d done. How alone he was now.

The silence pressed in on him from all sides and it was all Zagreus could do to lean back on the wall, sink his fingers into his hair and take long, slow breaths. If he tried to move, if he tried to let the thoughts in, he felt for sure he would break into a thousand pieces.

He’d done it. He’d left the old man, he’d done what he’d threatened to do for years and years, he’d thrown as many of his possessions as he could into a bag and he’d left. It had been one argument too many, a poisonous comment that had struck too hard, too many words that just couldn’t be taken back. He hadn’t even been planning on it, he hadn’t known this would be the one that broke him. He’d just gone into his room, slammed the door, packed as quickly as he could and left out of one of the mansion’s windows.

Zagreus had done what he’d fantasised about since he was a kid, over the long, hard years of his relationship to Hades becoming more tense and more strained. And it was only now that he realised he’d never once thought beyond that moment. He’d never decided what would come after the deep, deep breath he took once he was beyond the armoured gates.

It was bitterly funny. Hadn’t people always told him he never thought things through?

He’d driven here in a daze, paid for a room with too much of the money he’d been carefully hiding away for years, just needing to put something between him and the rest of the world even if that something had to be some filthy, moulding motel walls.

And now he was alone. He was alone and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

Zag’s phone had been buzzing like an angry insect since ten minutes after he’d left. Unable to face it, he’d shoved it deep into the pocket of his hoodie and let it rattle away accusingly. But it must have stopped at least for a while because now it sprang back into life and he jumped a mile.

Before he could think better of it, acting on reflex without driving to occupy his hands, he pulled it out and looked at the screen. No text, just a single emoji of a skull. Zag felt his heart squeeze painfully.

He didn’t want to be alone. He really, really didn’t. So, feeling wretchedly pathetic, he skimmed Thanatos’ simple, straightforward text- where are you- and answered with just the name of the motel he’d checked into. And he hated himself for how much he hoped.

While he waited, Zag busied his hands by making a truly awful cup of coffee. Probably not a good idea to give himself more stimulant but that's what was laid out in a little sachet next to a mug with a smudged rim and if he stayed still another moment he was going to start bleeding from the eyes.

He was sat on the bed, sipping it and at least getting some comfort from the warmth if not the flavour, when he heard the knock on the door. Rapped, precise, to the point. Just like everything else about Thanatos.

“Yes?” Zag looked up, biting his lip, “It’s, uh, it’s open.”

He looked like he had just come from work. His suit showed no wear, of course, it was neat and crisp and grey as it always was, his ornamentation fixed in place, the clasp collar around his neck, the single earring all catching the low streetlight from outside. The tiredness was only in his eyes, more hollow that usual, his mouth more downturned. He had known Thanatos his whole life and could read when that usually perfect, placid face was hiding exasperation and tiredness. Usually it was his fault.

“Was I even going to get a goodbye, Zagreus?” he murmured sadly.

Zag took a shaky breath, pushing his fingers through his hair, “I...I’m sorry...I didn’t think…please don’t tell anyone else where I am.”

“You know I won’t,” Than sighed, almost like the fact he needed to ask stung him, “What happened?”

“My mother,” Zag admitted, the word alone feeling heavy on his tongue, “I just couldn’t take it any more.”

“Is that why you left?” Than’s expression had gentled a little, he knew what a sore spot this was, “Are you going to go look for her?”

Zag opened his mouth before closing it helplessly and shaking his head, staring down at his hands, at the dried blood under his fingernails from where he’d scraped them down the tree he’d scaled to get from his window to the ground, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.”

There was a moment where the space between them seemed to grow before Thanatos lifted his head and stated simply, “You can. We can. I’ll help you.”

Zag’s eyes snapped up, wide and hopeful but scared to be. He swallowed and shook his head, “No. No, Than, I can’t ask you to do that. I can’t ask you to go against him, your job is everything to you!”

“It was,” Than admitted, unfolding his arms and resting them at his sides, though his eyes struggled to settle on Zag’s, “It used to be, I mean. Before...”

Zag frowned, not sure he wasn’t understanding because Thanatos was being obtuse or because he was being stupid or because his nerves were jangling with stress and too much coffee, “Than. I’m not asking my best friend to risk his whole life because I can’t sort out my shit.”

Now there was real hurt in Thanatos’ voice as his expression tightened and he groaned, “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it, Zagreus. So please don’t give me that. I came here for you, didn’t I, I went against a direct order from my boss and from my mother for you. I lied to them for you. Gods, the least you could do is not doubt me now.”

Zag’s mouth fell open. However he had thought this might happen, if this really was happening, it had never been like this. He was the impulsive one, he was the one who launched into things without thinking and ran his mouth off and ruined whatever he was trying to build with his recklessness. He always thought he would be the one to blurt out what had been happening between them for a while, when it became too much to bear or he didn’t keep his brain on a tight enough leash.

And the most he’d dared hope for was that Thanatos would kiss him back.

His friend flushed, shoulders coming up protectively, “I’m sorry, Zagreus. I shouldn’t be putting this on you right now, not after everything you’ve been through tonight, forget I said anything-”

“No, don’t you dare,” Zag stood, feeling everything in him ache across the gap between them, “Don’t take it back. This...Than, this is perfect.”

“Oh.” He’d never seen his friend surprised before, not like this. He’d never seen Thanatos lost for words but he was now, that small, soft noise apparently all he could muster in response to that.

Suddenly he was grinning, “I’ve felt so lost, I had no idea where to go or what to do or what to want next. But now I know.”

“You do?” There was the Thanatos he’d always suspected no one else got to see, written plain upon that lovely face with no armour to hide behind.

“Yes. I want you.” And it really was that simple.

They both surged forward together but Than was faster and they collided close enough to the bed that Zag was knocked back onto it. They were kissing immediately, hungry, messy, frantic kisses borne of wanting to do this for so long and unable to bear a second longer. It was like all their teenage years going up like flash paper, all the glances where they’d wondered maybe, if only, what if turned into pure need. Something tore as Thanatos pulled Zagreus’ clothes away, Thanatos’ jewellery was flung to the floor without a second thought for it’s expense. None of it mattered, just the sharp, wanton inhale of finally.

“My bag,” Zag panted as Than’s teeth grazed his nipples, skated along the neat, thin scars there.

“Mm?” Clearly his lover wasn’t listening and Zag found it hard to pull him away from what he was doing. But it was going to be hard to progress without the right equipment.

“My bag, on the ground,” Zag’s voice wavered as Than sucked and nipped, “Condoms, lube, it’s in there.”

Than’s golden eyes flickered up to him cautiously, he pulled up a little, lips swollen, “You’re sure? That’s what you want?”

Zagreus could have kissed him for thinking to ask, before he realised he could do that now. So it was practically into his mouth that he whispered, “Yes. I’ve wanted it for a pretty fucking long time.”

He was grateful for Thanatos’ ruthless efficiency, it was less than a minute before he was rolling the condom down his erection, crouched over Zagreus. He felt his eyes on him and looked up, smirking.

“Hope I’m living up to expectations?”

“Oh yeah,” Zag grinned shamelessly, not hiding where his eyes were focused, “You’re exactly as...well, impressive as I imagined”

“You’ll tell me more about those imaginings one day,” Than promised, though his cheeks were flushed as he leaned close and kissed Zag, hands sliding across to move his thighs apart.

It was those golden eyes’ turn to wander and Zag couldn’t deny he felt relief at the fervour he saw in them.

There was no more waiting after that. Than wrapped his arms around Zag’s chest and drew him close as he pressed against his entrance. Zag whimpered, shifting lower against the pillows, holding Than’s shoulders tightly.

“I’ll go slow,” Than promised, inching forward, eyes searching Zag’s face for any sign to do anything but move forward.

“Oh gods,” Zag choked out, breathing heavily, doing everything he could to signal for yes and more as his words failed him.

Eventually he was in him to the hilt and everything felt right. He loosely wrapped his legs around Than’s slim hips, as if to keep him there, not that Than was entertaining any thoughts of doing anything but fucking him, slow and deep and indulgently. As he rocked him against the thin mattress, Zag could only whine and beg nearly incoherently, one hand coming down to play with his cock as Than thrust. He always needed something to do with his hands after all.

Between that and the years of pent up pining, it wasn’t long before Zag was tipping his head back and gasping, “Fuck, Than, I’m there…”

Than nodded, kissing at his jaw, mumbling, “Yes. Gods, yes, Zag, with me. Together.”

“Always,” Zag whined before he felt everything tense almost painfully, paralyzed as his orgasm rolled through him. Thanatos was a moment behind, sighing his name as he came, whispering it like a prayer.

Afterwards the silence was back but this time Zag welcomed it. It was comfortable, safe, as long as he had Than’s arms wrapped around him. It was a moment he could live in without worry, without having to think about what came before and what would come after. There was only now and now was Thanatos.

Eventually they had to disentangle themselves and all the awkwardness that came with that, shifting the sheets below them so they weren’t lying in the damp spot, tossing the condom in the trash. But there was something a little giddy about it, they must have caught each other’s eye and giggled almost hysterically five times before they were cuddled up again, catching their breath in each other’s arms.

“Ah Zagreus,” Than murmured, kissing the top of his head, “Maybe I should think less. Good things always seem to happen when I do.”

Zag chuckled, “Don’t change too much. I’m going to need you.”

The arms around him tightened, “You have me, Zagreus. I promise.”

And it was then that it really sunk in.

Zag was never going to be alone again.

[ratchedspeach]

ANGST 9 & 46 WITH WHOEVER YOU FEEL LIKE WRITING FOR 🥺 hope you’re doing okay, i love u💗

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”, and “I can’t keep playing pretend.” A little Mildred/Edmund angst for your TL, some much needed relationship development, and a little of Huck being a puppy dog. Set directly following S1E6. TW// for very light mentions of child abuse. 

Night Light

“Get him out of here.”

Mildred turned before she could watch him be whisked away. There, clad in a leather straight jacket and muzzle, he looked more like a caged animal than a man. Not just any man, Mildred thought, her brother. The little boy who had come to her rescue all those years ago - the man who she had sworn an oath to protect. One and the same, and yet ... Mildred shook her head, swallowing hard against the tears prickling her lash-line. She honed in on the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement, on the way her breath hitched in her throat and pressed out through her lips. Under the guise of her nurse’s cloak, she could fold her arms across herself and pinch the skin near her elbow, and will Edmund’s shrill cries out of her head.

“Nurse Ratched! Mildred? Millie!”

Mildred slammed the door to the hospital behind her, pressing her back against it and shutting her eyes. Lucia State had an eery stillness to it at night. With patients confined to their rooms and most of the nurses and doctors on duty convening in the break room, she stood alone in the grandiose lobby. Mildred’s eyes flickered from the marble floors, to the blue trim of the curtains, to the windows just beyond which swallowed an entire wall. It looked more like a hotel than a hospital, Mildred thought, or like the last house her and Edmund had stayed in. It was too grand, too inviting a place for the horror she knew took place here -- the horror she herself was victim and proprietor of. It was then that Mildred realized, with a great deal of horror, that the past which she had worked so desperately tried to leave behind had found her, here, in the overbearing warmth of Lucia State Hospital. She could never be free, not really, for this hurt was the only life she knew. Something surged in Mildred’s belly -- warm, and heavy, and carrying with it the weight of remembering. No, she could never be free, and what’s more, she was still seeking exactly what it was she was running away from. So long as she felt tethered to Edmund, this hurt would remain.

“So they found him?” A voice, gentle and steadfast, pulled Mildred out of herself.

She shuttering a gasp while Huck was still out of earshot. “They are taking him to the cellars.”

Huck nodded, the puckered skin near his jawline twisting unnaturally at the disturbance, and yet a gentle smile graced his lips. Mildred envied him for his tranquility.

“And Dolly?” A beat. Mildred shook her head. Huck’s smile fell. “God. What a mess.”

Mildred could do little more but murmur her agreement before excusing herself and brushing past him. Huck took her wrist as she did, fixing her with a placid gaze and a knowing grimace. “Mildred,” he said, “I know that something is eating at you. I don’t know what, but I know it is no accident that you ended up here, and ... well ... what I’m trying to say is ...” Huck sucked in a deep breath, “should you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to listen.”

“Thank you, Huck.” Mildred smiled in spite of herself, small and perhaps a bit dishonest, but still warm in its feeble attempt.

Huck nodded, giving her wrist one more gentle squeeze before releasing her. Mildred, in her turn, did not move - not right away, at least. She held his gaze, as if to steal some of the tranquility there. In many ways, he reminded Mildred of Edmund. A younger, antiquated version of him; one which did not hold the vitriol of the man her brother had become. It dawned on Mildred what she must do.

“Would you ...” A false start. “There is something I need to do. Would you consider -”

“Name it.”

And so Mildred did.

The hallway to Edmund’s cell stretched before her like a funeral procession. It felt somehow longer to Mildred, though she had walked this same corridor countless times before. A leak from one of the pipes dripped a vicious taunt at her: your fault, your fault, your fault, it seemed to say. Huck stole glances at the woman, eyes flicking to and fro as though he were tracking a fly. He daren’t stare at Mildred, for he knew it would be met only with defense, and perhaps even offense.

“I’ll wait here for you.” He said instead when they reached the last security check. Mildred smiled her thanks.

Edmund sat where he always did - on the floor near his bed, trailing a finger through the rust colored dirt and debris on the ground. He did not look at her when she approached, but Mildred knew that he could sense her, as she would have were the roles reversed. They were conjoined in some way, sewn together by the string of experience. He was part of her, like an extension of her thumb, or the heel of her foot.

“That was quite a performance you put on out there.” Edmund drawled, finger still scraping the ground.

Mildred straightened a little, shifting as she clasped her hands in front of her. She fixed him with a glare, boring it into the back of his skull, but she did not speak. She would not treat him like a child, petulant as he may be. She would not be roped into this charade any longer.

“You even had me going for a minute there.” Edmund peeked over his shoulder, a smile simpering his features.

He was bating her, and she knew it.

“I suppose I should thank you, really. If it weren’t for you, I never woulda gotten out of here in the first place. You’re a miracle worker, Millie, an angel of -”

“Don’t you dare.” Mildred seethed when she could no longer resist his pinches. “Look at me.”

He didn’t not at first.

“Edmund. I said look at me.”

With a snort, Edmund shifted on the ground. He turned to look at her, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands on either knee. “Alright. I’m looking at ya. Now what?”

Mildred’s mouth gaped, pursing for a moment before she pressed them into a thin line. Now what? What had she expected from coming down here? What had she hoped to gain from this meeting with him? Did she think that he would apologize? That he would grovel at her feet? That she would take him in his arms and offer them both some reprieve from a world which had been so cruel to them? Mildred couldn’t say. Her eyes flicked to where Huck still stood, leaning against the security desk with his back turned. Her chest loosened, slightly, and only for a moment. It was short lived, as comfort often was for Mildred Ratched.

“So what is it, then?” Edmund breathed, eyes glinting, “Did you want me to apologize? Is that it, Millie?”

It snapped something in her. Mildred’s dark eyes went black and dull. Her palms squeezed tighter against one another so that her knuckles were white. Her mind began to race, and she was a little girl again - small and meager and utterly helpless, utterly taken by Edmund once more. He could swallow her whole here and now if he so chose, and she would be powerless to stop him.

“You killed a security guard.” Mildred spat the words like acid. “You endangered the wellbeing of countless patients, of the staff. You shot Gwendolyn -”

“Dolly did that.”

“Well you might as well have.” Her voice was breathy and unsupported. Mildred swallowed the lump in her throat. “We had a plan, Edmund. We had a plan, and it was foolproof; and you threw it away for what? For some girl. For some fanciful, naive imitation of love.”

“It was real.” Edmund snarled.

“It was not. It was not real, Edmund. It was ...” Mildred’s arms gripped across her waist. She knelt in front of him. Were it not for the bars that separated them, Mildred thought she might pull him onto her lap and stroke his hair. “I have spent years - years - searching for you, worrying about you, trying to save you. I have risked my life just to make sure that you were alright.”

“Awe, Millie.”

“Don’t you Millie me.”

The nickname felt like a black hole. It bore the remembrance of wooden spoons splintering across adolescent shins, of calloused hands over her stomach, of blood trickling down his face and neck and seeping into his clothing. Too cruel, the nickname felt, too seeped with history, too comfortable, too safe.

“You left me, Mildred.” Edmund smiled, full of vitriol and mirth. “You left me to take the fall for you.”

“You told me to run!”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think you would!” Edmund’s voice rose.

He pounced towards her then, sending Mildred teetering off her heels, and onto her hind, and skittering away by the palm of her hands. She could feel the thick must of the air suffocating her, could hear Huck shuffle a little, and then think better of moving closer. Mildred’s eyes stayed trained on her brother -- the boy in the cage -- the boy who had always been shackled to something or another for as long as she had known him. Only now it was different, because now it was not to her.

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” Mildred asked, and it dawned on her then that it was more rhetorical than earnest. She knew the answer, though she wished herself wrong.

Edmund didn’t respond. His fingers curled around the bars, nails eliciting a sinister scrape. He smiled again, a lowly, devious smirk that was more telling than anything he could have said.

“No.” Mildred chuckled humorlessly. “No, I see that now. I see that it is my folly. It was never about me, was it Edmund? It was always about you - about some silly fantasy you were trying to fulfill. I loved you, Edmund, and you threw me away. You lied to me.”

“I killed for you, Mildred. For you.”

His brow creased incredulously. It looked like he might try and push himself through the bars, and oh how Mildred wished it were to comfort her, to beckon her close, to fix the shattered parts of themselves, to glue them back into a whole. Even with this frivolous hope, Mildred saw the hunger behind his eyes - the dark, twisting selfishness with which he spoke.

“I can’t keep acting against my own moral compass for you. It’s too much, I don’t have it in me.” Mildred stood, brushing the dirt from her nurse’s uniform only to have it smudge streaks down the front of the canvas material. “Well no more, Edmund. I can’t keep playing pretend.”

And with that she was gone again, whisked away in a rush wind which seemed to carry her body separately from her soul. She could hear Edmund’s calls from behind her, could hear the way he slammed his fists against the bars echoing faintly somewhere in her mind, but it was too far away. It was too far, and she was too tired, and Edmund meant too much and too little all at once.

Huck pushed off the security desk as she approached, his good eye wide and searching. “Are you alright?”

Mildred’s breath dropped a little lower, a little more centered. Huck was all smooth lines and soft bends. He held none of the sharp corners which she or Edmund had.

“What was that all about?” Huck asked when she didn’t respond.

“I ...” Mildred started, but the words choked in her throat.

There was nothing she could say, really, for she knew the truth was that she was as culpable as Edmund was. Any indication towards him pointed in opposition towards her. Mildred’s breath went shallow and she swooned, eyes fluttering as her knees began to buckle. Huck caught her with strong, grounding arms. He murmured her name, held her up until she had regained strength.

“I’m fine.” Mildred brushed him off, but it was too forced, too urgent.

“Alright.” Huck said, swallowing his concern. He realized suddenly that he knew very little about the nurse, but still, he knew enough to deduce that she would not tell him anything. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

With a final glance behind her, Mildred nodded, straightening and fixing a thin line across her lips. There was nothing left for her here, she thought, nothing left to keep her in this place, or anywhere else for that matter. An orphan once more, that what she was. Orphaned from her mother, and then Edmund, and now herself. A child lost in the dark. 

[grim-faux]

2 _ 11 _ Abandoned Realms

 First

 All the rooms connected around to the corridor, but the furniture room was neighbored to the room with the recliner and not in full view of the doorway. From within the gloom, the delicate sweep of paper twittered forth.

 Cautiously, Mono shuffled along the doorframe to the opening and peeked inside, letting his eyes focus through the shroud. The Thin Man waited in the chair, studying the pamphlet. Mono couldn’t grasp the face or the eyes around the leaflet, could scarcely see the hat. It was only the suggestion of a hazy outline and the faint curl of fumes. He waited until a page fluttered, then crossed through the doorframe for the other side of the corridor.

 He already scouted through the kitchen a dozen times, and a hundred times over. Each time was a sour disappointment. He returned to the big room and the sideways laying sofa, only so he could retrieve his hat. From there, he went down a short sequence of steps to where the main door waited.

 Grooves in the wall of the doorframe afforded easy reach to the handle. As always, the door is not locked. He swung his legs as the panel swept outward, and braced himself before dropping. Now outside, he made sure to shove the door all the way shut until the latch clicked. It would be horrible if something stumbled inside and got the Thin Man.

 Debris littered the corridor and lay strewn about, the layers of the walls collapsed from their framing forged trespass into other rooms and chambers. However, though there lay openings within, this did not afford a safe passage. The floors creaked under Mono whenever he took a wrong step, and every few steps he stalled and listened to the dull song of the walls. When the lamps dangling from the ceiling pulsed, he knew without a doubt it was from the writhing storm. It was not the worst storm he’d experienced in a while, though the building insisted it was the storm of all storms.

 The stairwell lay in ruin, but that didn’t always mean creatures or other… things couldn’t find other ways. If Mono wanted, he could climb down the body of a Viewer strewn down from the rail. He didn’t want to go down there, not yet. He followed the corridor, until reaching a large break in the wall. The path extended only a few paces before the floor collapsed out, into the lower room. A tattered mattress hung from the warped bedframe, which dangled off the ledge of an upper floor.

 Mono braced himself and leapt. He latched onto the threads and exposed of bones of the bed; tugging and leaning hard to the side, he managed to force it around and face a cracked-out portion of the wall. Another leap, and he snagged the parallel boards there. After several feet, the pale radiance peered through the gloom above a break in the wall. As he crept through the narrow passage, blue spectrums pilfered through the gaps and the all too chipper tunes of the televisions wound through his ears. Once or twice he dallied to peep among the boards and check on the Viewers, count how many to a televisions. It was important to know how many would be where at any given time. None of the numbers appeared out of place, all accounted for and content to lose themselves in a lie cloaked in tranquility.

 It wasn’t much further to the opening, and the slant that led into the room. A bit more crawling, risking a venture in the open sprawl of a room, then through a twisted vent. The slates had fallen out some time ago, allowing exit at his leisure.

 Upon first arriving in the room, he checked the cracked door – the only other way out of this place. It wouldn’t close all the way, but the hallways outside didn’t really go anywhere aside from a few other rooms, and those contained nothing interesting. No keys, switches, creatures. No threatening sounds, not a strange smell, nor sneaky creeping.

 Something did exist in one of the bedrooms. Not enough light peered in through the boarded window, but his eyes retained visual in the murk. He didn’t go too far into the room, but strayed in the entrance exploring the walls and furniture with his gaze. A chair stood beside the bed, in the furthest corner of the room. The chair cradled a familiar sort of silhouette, motionless and placid in the stale chamber. On the bed, sheets sank down over a pronounced sequence of lumps. He didn’t understand the shapes in the room. He knew what they were, but he didn’t understand the together. He had questions, he always had questions. Rather stand and ponder, he shut the door and left it alone.

 The room he first entered held a cracked chest full of stuff. Mostly toys, some oversized clothing. Every inch of the walls catered to shapes and colors, all faded and the speek impossible to make out. Toys lay on the floor, scattered from when Mono first raided the room. It didn’t seem like anyone had been here in a very long time. Not until him. Not until they….

 He climbed into the chest and scavenged through the orphaned gifts. There were no more ducks, but there were other creatures – cats, dogs, other birds. An assortment of boxes sat layered in among the clothing and artificial creatures.

 One of the most interesting artifacts he drew from the chest was a train trail. At first he didn’t know what the pieces were and dismissed the box, to continue digging through the clothing. Hoping for a new paper bag, maybe? None of the shirts or pants fit his size.

 Until he realized more boxes of pieces sat in the chest, and began putting them together. After perusing more toys, he found the toy train with the key in the back. Keys unlocked doors? The key was actually a crank, and when he turned it until the crank could go no further, it made the train wheels twirl. When set on the tracks the train rolled dutifully to the end, unless the two ends of the rails had been connected. Sometimes he piled toys into small hills for the train track to run up and coast down.

 He tossed out another box and hoisted out of the chest. The box contained new pieces for the train, additional carts in different shapes. The carts attached by a sharp metal hook, then he wound up the train and let it loose. In this iteration of the train path, the trail wound around some of the toys and the cracked chest, roaming back out around to where Mono crouched. He set his hat on the spare cart and let it go for a ride.

 In quiet he browsed through the toys, studying the interesting shapes and colors. They are all very old, maybe they have seen a lot. Or not. None of them can tell him what they have been through, what happened here. They wait in this lonely room, for someone to come and move them from place to place. No one came to visit them, but maybe no one knew about them. He knew about them.

 This was a nice place. It was one of the rarest of spaces, where the world outside seemed isolated from. Untouched. The walls encasing this little world stood silent and absent of warning speek, of pictures or sketches of dangers and stories alike. Nothing lived here but the orphaned gifts and empty air. In that aspect it unnerved him, to be so far from the vibrations coursing through the dark tinge of environment. In other ways, it felt all right. He could let the train and its cart stop completely, and absorb in the unnatural tranquility. He could even ignore the dry groan of the building, always threatening its inevitable disintegration to time itself.

 In a moment of weakness, he almost wished that another child would stumble upon this mythical space. Entre from a mysterious crack overlooked by Mono, or from the doorway, like a draft. Someone he could share this with, show them how to make the different winding paths. Share the other toys, have together.

 He’s realistic though, and understands how dangerous it would be. The Thin Man might come, and the other child will run. Or they would be caught. Mono wouldn’t know what to do, let alone what he should do. He had questions, so many questions. The Thin Man didn’t like his questions.

 When Mono could get the Thin Man to do speek, it was only to tell about simple things. The stuff and ways Mono knew a little about, but nothing new. No stories about why the Tower made buildings crumble and bend, or why adults needed televisions. The world they existed in was harsh and merciless to children, that was how it was and always would be, end of story.

 In the chest, he unearthed a new box. It was shockingly light, it almost floated away when Mono heaved it out. He carried the bent container to the carpet and opened it. Very little of the contents caught his interest, he had hoped it was more track pieces, perhaps different bends or curves. The contents of the box are layered pieces of thin wood, among pieces he’s not familiar with. A paper pamphlet is provided loaded with speek pictures and marks, but he can’t read any of it. The marks he cannot, anyway, but the picture speek does make sense to him. All picture speek tells a story, if the appropriate pieces are provided.

 Shapes popped out of the thin sheet of wood. At first he was startled, believing he had broken this speek. However, some of the pieces came in duplicates, and catered to very specific shapes. This was different. Briefly, he flipped through the mark speek, and compared the pieces to the pictures within. The lines and shapes held faded, but he could see clearly enough with the mournful little bit of radiance.

 He followed the speek. Slotted two pieces together. They fit. Little by little, he pried and worked. A puzzle. A trick. Not for survival, but for game. Maybe not even for a game. This was happy.

 Off and on he paused, to wind up the train and keep it busy on its track. Then, returned to the loose pieces of the thin wood, and the thing he was putting together. He was very careful, the pieces of wood nearly as thin as rotten cloth. Though sturdy, like him.

 A few additional knickknacks came in a small box. Metal bits, a rubber band, some wheels. He followed the speek to connect them rightly. Now. He was all out of bits and parts. What was this thing? He’d seen it a few times, in rotted pages of magazines. Nonetheless, what it did specifically mystified him. He turned it this and that way, his completed thing. It was impressive, but now the thrill of doing something was gone. He’s disappointed.

 Mono traced his fingers along the sides of the thing he built, feeling the materials. Flimsy. Delicate. What the point? He plucked the little fan blade on the nose, and the rubber band.

 When he wound the fan a bit, it took off. Shot upward with a BRRR! and Mono scrambled backwards. The thing went several feet, nearly to the ceiling. It ran out of vigor, then came all the way back down. On impulse, he rushed out from the chest and caught the thing, before it could smash into the floor. That was surprising! WOW! Why did it do that?

 Once more, he began winding the little fan. As before, it shot off into the air when he released it. Incredible! How high it went! TOL! He caught it as before, and repeated the game several times.

 Oh, but if he kept the thing leveled, it would zip across the room! It would go a far distance! Further than he could teleport. And he chased it, until it floated to the floor. This was so much! Most important of all, he had built it. And it worked. Whatever it was, did something amazing! This and that way it flew. He could angle it up to sweep high, stand on the chest and let it go. So much!

 On a whim he chased after the train, wound it up, and let the little thing – he guessed it was a plane of sorts – let it take a ride on the train, in the snug cradle of his hat. Up and down the little hills he built. On an important mission. Look at all these things he built. Remarkable Game! All this he did on his own. No one helped him, no one showed him how. He was always good at puzzles and tricks, he would never stop being good.

 Though he tore the eyes out of many, some of the plush toys he arranged around the latest build of the train trail marveled at the clever trek the little machine made all around the room. Off and on the plane might smash into one of the stuffed toys, but none ever minded. Other times, the plane would coast in gently across the floor on its wheels. Only one time by miscalculation, did the plane land directly on the track and nearly too late, Mono realized his error. But he was just in time to save the aircraft. After that he was much more careful to keep an eye on the plane, wherever it went.

 It took a while to build it. Actually build from nothing but flat pieces of boring wood. The plane was special, and it could do special things. Mono was ecstatic about the things he built, the games he could make and play. All by himself. It was a good feeling, this sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t what he might’ve felt if he and She managed to topple the Tower, but it was close enough after everything he had endured. Someday maybe he could go back and try once more, when he was better and more able.

 That time was not now. Perhaps someday, or perhaps even never. He didn’t know. It wasn’t so important now, but nonetheless and never ending, he hated the Tower. It felt right to hate something like that, after all the things it did to him, and to Her. Someday out there somewhere, he would hurt it.

 Here and now though, no. Not for a while. He had treasures, he had some happiness, and that was more important than the painful hate that ached him through. He was not ready to face the Tower and all its devious tricks.

Next

[evermorehaikyuu]

Day 17

Title: Love vs. Exertion

Note: I’m not going to lie to you, it’s like my brain got worn out and started sleeping in the middle of the whole thing. So I apologize if it’s wack (it is), it’s very, very, VERY lighthearted angst, it’s not going to tear your heart apart.

˜”*°•.˜”*°•.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

Love versus work was something that people from every industry. Most people choose a job that would be easy for them to maintain and head back home to their family at night, maybe even spend a weekend with them. There was, however, one industry which was utterly difficult to balance home life and their work life without the press coming for them. The entertainment industry, so hard to get into and so easy to get kicked out.

Semi Eita had chosen this career field even with that idea in his mind. Every single day, he came back, exhausted from all of the work he had done on that day in the studio. Y/N was always waiting for him at the door without fail. Already having cooked his favorite meal, she quickly led him inside and watched as he collapsed on the couch, chuckling softly. “Bad day?”

“My producers are reviewing the song I wrote.” Semi mumbled into the pillow. “I tried my hand at it but I think it’s better if someone else wrote the songs.”

“It can’t be that bad, they’ll probably fix a few parts up and try to make it, well, as you as possible.” Y/N said, walking over and rubbing his back slowly. 

“Yeah, maybe.” Semi muttered, turning over and pulling her down with him. Hugging her close to his chest, he let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. This was the only moment he had waited for everyday, he wanted to stay like that as long as possible. It was just a moment for both of them to forget everything else, but the other.

As much as he wished he could stay like that, it was out of the question. His work was difficult and it was already hard enough to keep the fact that Y/N was his lover. If the press discovered that, they’d ruin her life. 

He had already told himself never to let anything or anyone ruin her life.

~ 

“......And if you sign this contract, they can make you bigger than ever. You’d be going to other famous places, there’s no way that your career won’t be influenced by this.” Semi’s agent told him, a placid expression over his face, but his tone said everything. He wanted Semi to take the deal. His agent would be taking 15% of the endorsement, mainly the reason why he was subconsciously pushing Semi the “right” way.

“Only if Y/N can come with me. I’m not going anywhere without her.” Semi said stubbornly. This was the reason why he had rarely taken these opportunities: if Y/N wasn’t coming, it was a straight no. She was the only thing grounding him to reality and leaving without her? Not an option.

His agent sighed, already having gone over this millions of times with him. “Semi, we have discussed this, she can’t come.”

“Why not? She’s not even going to be doing anything, she’s just going to be there for me. Don’t you ever think I get tired of having to smile and wave?” 

His agent thought about it for a while, making Semi apply more points to his argument. “Just let her come. She won’t bother anyone, she’ll just stay in one room. I’ve told her that I’ve only left like seven times in my whole career and the next time she’d come--”

“No.” The agent looked at him sternly, crossing his arms. “She’s not part of the team. She’s not a stage designer or part of your prep team. She’d be extra weight. Either take the deal or find another agent.”

Semi clenched his fists. So here it was. Here was the point where he’d have to choose between what he’d have his career and his love. He knew it’d destroy Y/N if he left when he had promised last time that he wouldn’t go anywhere farther than Japan without her. 

“Fine. I’ll leave her behind.”

~

Y/N had happily opened the door for him, the aroma of food wafting through the air. He immediately felt guilty at the news he’d have to tell her. It felt like a punishment to even admit that he’d choose money over love. Then again, he was doing it for the both of them. Right?

“How’d today go?” Y/N said nonchalantly.

He hesitated for a second. “Fine.”

She shook her head, glancing at him. “If you think you’re fooling me, you’re wrong. Something’s up, tell me.” She guided him over to the couch, sitting him down and staring at him. “Was it the studio again?”

“They offered me...another opportunity.” He mumbled, almost inaudibly, but enough so that Y/N could hear him. “It’s a good one too, it’s out of the country and it could probably take my career a step further.”

Her eyes lit up at the thought of going with him to foreign places and watch him rise up as he rightfully should have. “What did they say? Can I come with you? Where are you going? How long are you going?”

Just the sound of her happiness broke him inside. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news but here he was, about to do it anyways. “They told me….they told me you can’t come. We’re heading to the major cities. I don’t know how long I’m doing it for, they didn’t give me an exact date.”

It was a domino effect. Y/N frowned at him and said monotonously, “But you promised that I’d be going with you next time.”

“I know, but they told me I couldn’t--”

“Wait. Did you already take the job?” 

Semi couldn’t look at her as he said his next word. “Yes.”

Y/N stared at him, not believing that he had made a promise and not kept it. Then again, what could she have expected? With a job like his, it was difficult to make sure their love life was under wraps, much less give up a great opportunity. However, it was different when Y/N was on the receiving end of this whole ordeal. Trying to keep her emotions under control, she kept speaking. “So you’re leaving for, what, the eighth time?”

He could visibly see her battling her rage internally. But along with that rage, he could see something else in her eyes that made him falter. Heartache. Both of them had been together since their third year in Shiratorizawa and she had happily obliged to be with him every step of the way, even though he was taking this career field. Never had she broken her own promises, but she was understandably pissed off at him. However, it didn’t mean that he was going to let this once-in-a-lifetime chance pass by. “I have to take it.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “So let me get this straight. I have to sit down and watch you go to other places without you thinking about me at all and before you say anything, you’re just like the rest of them. They say, ‘Oh, I’ll never forget about you, you’re the love of my life!’ But never once do they choose the right thing.”

“Oh? The right thing is choosing love over money? You do realize I’m doing this for the both of us.” Semi uttered, his anger bubbling. Why couldn’t she understand? “I have to go and do this!”

“Then go! You certainly don’t seem to need me at all, why even stick around when you’re gonna choose something else! What about me?”

“What about you?” He said, snark laced in his voice. “You’re practically nothing next to me. Compared to other musicians I could’ve been with, I chose you. Out of pity.”

Y/N took a step back, staring at him with her eyes wide. “This isn’t you that’s talking. The Semi I know wouldn’t say stuff like this. You aren’t the man I fell in love with anymore.”

“I never fell in love with you.” Semi spat. The words sunk in, a stunned silence breaking in between them. Once they were out in the open, the wound had been struck, there was no taking them back anymore. “Wait, Y/N--”

Too late. She had turned around and walked out of the house without anything. Semi had half a mind to go after her but after what he said, it’d take a miracle for Y/N not to run away from him. 

~

Months later, coming back from his tour, he had hoped that Y/N had it in her heart to welcome him back in her arms. It was something of a stretch when he knocked on the door and someone else had opened it. A complete stranger. Semi’s eyes widened as he stammered, “S-Sorry, wrong address” and quickly went onto the street, calling Y/N.

The wrong number picked up. He ended the call as soon as he started it and started panicking, looking around. He could only think of one person that he could stay with while he tried to find Y/N. “Kawanishi!”

“Hey, Semi, what’s wrong?”

“I-I--” Semi had just seen Y/N walking down the street, chatting animatedly with another man who he had never seen in his life before. She stared at him and with a shadow over her face ignored him. 

Kawanishi asked, “What’s wrong? Semi? Semi, answer me!” 

Semi dropped his phone and his chest felt like it was folding in on itself. There was no way Y/N would’ve taken him back and he knew it. And yet, watching him find another man during the time that he was gone. He sat down on the curb, grabbing the phone and putting it to his ear, his voice cracking. “I lost her…”

“What?”

“I lost Y/N...all because I was stupid enough to say something that wasn’t true and now--” He hiccupped, shutting his eyes tightly to try and hold back his own tears. He tried to speak, but a small cry came out of him. He dissolved into hysterical tears right then and there, burying his face in his knees as the pain started arriving in intervals. He stayed on the phone, sobbing his eyes out.

Y/N watched him from afar, tears falling from her own eyes. The man she had been walking with was an old friend and he meant nothing to her. Watching Semi Eita break down in the middle of the street was the last thing she wanted to cause. Even then, she couldn’t go back to him. Not even as she almost reached out for him.

Nothing stayed forever and with the job that he did, it was bound to happen. Y/N was the only thing keeping him from becoming like the other celebrities. Now he was crawling into the dark place and there was nothing stopping him. Y/N had not stayed. It was useless.

I wish I could give you all you deserved, I wish you stayed with me, I wish so many things, none of them come true.

~

Taglist: @skyguy-peach​ @jovialnoise​ @versatilewindow​ @tsukiibaka​ @jaegersblogh​ @kodzuken-pie​​ @kara-grayson04​​ @attixca​ @volleybloop​ @selca11​ @osterfield-hollandwriter @seiijixcia​ @sunareii​

[uwua3]

snap.

🍁📸 fushimi omi

summary: 5 times omi pretends it’s fine, and 1 time he snaps

warnings: anger issues, therapy, fights

notes: i wrote this based on a personal experience i’ve been recently had with a friend! although they are dear to me, i get tired easily from serious fighting and it brings back bad memories. so, this is just an one–shot that makes my frustration productive instead of taking it out on people!

omi is definitely one of the most patient people in mankai, but i feel like even he has limits and snaps every once in a while. this is just an example of being so mentally tired of fighting that you have no control over your anger anymore ♡

word count: 2,387

music: down in flames – aj mitchell

1.

Omi had been friends with you for as long as he could’ve remembered. You moved to Yosei University two years ago during his freshmen year, and Omi quickly became your tour guide after becoming the resident photographer of the academy, meaning he knew every possible spot on campus.

The first time Omi met you was in one of his classes, where he found his way to the classroom and had one goal in his mind: sit at the seat closest to the door. Omi never liked confrontation, but he’d rather have the professor call on him for sitting front row than have to rush past countless students to barely make it to his next class. His schedule was so packed to the point he needed a break, so when he turned and saw you sitting in his seat, Omi nearly groaned in frustration. It wasn’t a big deal, calm down, Omi.

Omi hated getting angry. The emotion of rage was so common, but he understood it was second to whatever feeling he felt first. Omi carefully took a few deep breaths just like his therapist instructed as he made his way to the open seat next to you, sitting down with a practiced smile to mask his slight annoyance. Omi didn’t like anger, he didn’t want to subject any of his frustrations onto you, especially a stranger who didn’t know him.

It was ten minutes into class before the professor put everyone in pairs to discuss the topic with the person next to you as an icebreaker.

You turned as Omi remembered his lessons: put your hand out, have a friendly smile, and lightly shake their hand. That’s how you make friends, after all! The moment you took his hand, everything changed as you two started talking immediately and got off–topic way too fast. You two clicked! Omi’s underlying tension with you disappeared as his brain recognized you as a new friend.

As he waved goodbye and hurried to his next class, Omi looked forward to seeing you every class.

2.

You’re included in Omi’s friend group after no time at all. You fit in well without any problems, you got along with everyone and Omi was so relieved because he quickly found out you were... problematic.

Omi didn’t realize this at first, but you had a temper. It was an issue he understood, but Omi has spent his entire life trying to not let it explode out of no where. You, really didn’t care. You would initiate arguments over things that really didn’t matter, like miniscule things even Omi didn’t hyper–fixate on. You’d raise your voice, convinced you were 100% right and there was no room to disagree.

Omi would just apologize even if he didn’t mean it and move on from the topic, subtly changing subjects because really, arguing exhausted him. Omi grew up with an all–male house, so the testosterone within his family was tiring, to say the least. Omi had to be the peacemaker, the balance between all the boys (puberty was hell). So, deterring fights with you weren’t exactly difficult, it was just taxing.

One time, you were criticizing Omi for a joke he made. He couldn’t even remember what it was, but you were adamant that he was completely wrong and you began explaining why. Omi glanced around the room, you two were having lunch in the courtyard with his friends. They didn’t seem to notice, used to your outbursts and talked amongst themselves. Wow, thanks guys.

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Omi tried to calm you down, but you got even angrier (how was that possible?!). You got into it like it was a debate, so Omi just silently ate his food as he half–listened to you and tried to focus on passing students. You went on and on, but Omi couldn’t find it in himself to fight back. He didn’t like that, Omi didn’t like anger.

Omi breathed in and out three times. Omi counted to ten in his head. Omi didn’t look at you. Omi hated getting angry.

So, Omi just kept saying sorry.

(But, was it even his fault?)

3.

You guys moved to texting to stay in touch outside of Yosei University. At first, it was school updates on events that you two wanted to hang out together at. Then, it became like every 21st–century friendship: sending memes. You and Omi had a similar sense of humor, so it wasn’t hard to send him something that made him laugh out loud. He didn’t really follow that many modern online trends because he was often preoccupied with schoolwork, but he understood the appeal.

It wasn’t until he questioned some picture you sent that you blew up his phone with texts, yelling at him for not knowing what joke you were referring to. Omi blinked, he wasn’t used to phone rants. You didn’t even explain the joke, you just made fun of his inability to understand things. Omi almost felt insulted until he remembered this was common, you just liked doing this. You were just tempermental, that’s it.

You were like his brothers. Omi knew what to do, trying to push aside his feelings of hurt as he apologized. You took it this time, much to his relief.

Omi decided to research more stuff about your favorite references so he could stay updated. You were much better with him the next time around and Omi avoided asking questions because you’d only get mad. Omi didn’t want you to be angry, Omi hated getting angry.

Omi hated anger.

4.

Your anger moved to the classroom. The students around you guys liked talking, so you five often grouped up for projects and always talked about “a C is passing”. But sometimes, you liked starting fights even in public with mere acquaintances.

Omi wouldn’t say your stubbornness was a fault. Omi once asked about it in a moment of bravery, and you surprisingly told him you felt silenced most of your life, so you didn’t hesitate sharing what makes you uncomfortable and what hurts you. That was fair, Omi became more understanding of your stubborness and inability to compromise without emotions clouding your judgement. He’d just have to work on managing it.

Omi’s therapist didn’t seem to like you, oddly enough. When Omi shared that you liked fighting, they almost looked concerned. They asked if what you started made Omi angry, and Omi always shook his head and denied it. Yeah, sure sometimes you got him riled up, but he’s never seriously yelled at you in public. He knew how to control his anger management issues, he knew how to be calm again.

He was close though, that day. You were in class, picking on him for something he didn’t even know about. Omi just laughed, trying to play the whole thing off as a joke as you tried to get him mad.

You always hated how, placid, Omi was. He never fought back and didn’t have the drive your other friends did. It was confusing, he was clearly passionate about his hobbies, so it’s not like he lacked energy. He’s yelled before, but always out of exaggeration or acting. Omi was a gentle giant, but you wanted to see him angry, for once.

When you said something particularly embarrasing, Omi’s eye twitched as his heart rate sped up. His blood pressure rose when people started laughing, taking the fun out of the joke when the attack suddenly felt serious. Omi was about to snap, say something he knew he’d regret before he took in a deep inhale through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth. In and out, just like his therapist taught him.

Omi just laughed, much to your chagrin. What was there to laugh about? How could someone be so composed, no matter what?

You gave up, not noticing Omi’s tight fists and practiced breathing next to you. Omi refused to get angry, Omi hated getting angry.

5.

University was closed because of quarantine. Omi missed seeing his friends and often relied on texting now to stay in touch. Omi wouldn’t say he was clingy, but he definitely liked sending messages and shared everything on his mind as the older brother figure. You didn’t seem to like that.

You: Why do you always come to me for these situations if you don’t even listen to me?

Omi stared at his phone screen, confused. Why were you suddenly angry? Everything was going so well, you hadn’t lashed out at him in forever. It was before quarantine, you were enjoyable when you weren’t suddenly mad at him. Omi typed, furrowing his eyebrows.

Omi: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad.

You had sent a message immediately, something about how you couldn’t listen to his rant today and left. Omi was distraught, had he said something wrong? Omi scrolled through his messages, but it’s like you got angry out of no where. Did you like doing this?

Omi muted your contact. For once in his life, he felt like maybe this wasn’t his fault, this time. You exploded on him when he was sharing a vulnerable moment, it almost offended him to the point of writing a long message to show he was hurt.

Never mind that, Omi just dialed it down. Maybe, his friends didn’t want to hear all about his problems, maybe he pushed too much onto them. Omi breathed out, bringing his pointer finger up eye as he pulled it back, seeing the glisten of a tear. Without warning, Omi felt himself start producing tears out of frustration. Omi didn’t know why he was so emotional, it had been so long since he felt emotions this intensely after the many, many one–sided arguments.

Omi laid his head down on his pillow, trying to stop crying. Omi didn’t like all the fights, pretending like it didn’t bother him, that you found it funny to try and test his patience. Omi hated anger, Omi hated getting angry.

But, this time, Omi wasn’t even angry. Omi was just confused why you were angry at him all the time.

You tried messaging Omi the next day. At first, he tried ignoring it, wanting to get some satisfaction from being the petty person for once. But, he relented, getting back in the same cycle.

You seemed to be avoiding the topic of what happened. Omi felt confused, and wanted to resolve the slight tension. Omi apologized first, and for once, you even said sorry back! You explained why what Omi did was hurtful (Omi really didn’t understand, but he tried to), and Omi responded in a similar fashion.

(You ignored it. You sent him a meme.)

Was it fair to say his feelings were hurt? Did his feelings matter to you? Omi sighed, knowing this was the best he was going to get. You were probably just emotionally drained like he was. At least, you weren’t angry.

+1

It was the next day, and Omi snapped.

No, scratch that, it had been mere hours before you got angry at him in a groupchat. For once, Omi’s friends were defending him, saying he was just making funny associations with some T.V. show Taichi made him watch and it was all fun and games. You got angry, saying you felt uncomfortable being associated with a character and that Omi always remembered things based on colors.

Omi stared at his phone screen, again. Omi just liked colors, he hated to admit it, but colors often were essential to his memory. So, no wonder he got into photography! It was just a different way of thinking, and Omi tried explaining that as best as he could. But, he could tell even the others knew his patience was on thin ice as he monotonously texted back.

Omi: Please calm down, it’s just a joke. I wasn’t personally trying to attack you at all. Why are you angry?

You had responded, again and again until Omi sighed, resigning himself to apologize rather than play into your games. Was this all a test? Why were you angry so soon after you two apologized to each other?

Omi said sorry, and you stopped saying anything. Later in the day, you tried to send him multiple memes you knew would make him laugh. Omi just left them on read, trying to go through his day without lashing out at you after the whole episode. It was one thing to fight with him privately, but in the group chat? Omi almost felt betrayed.

Omi was overcome with rage. Omi was just re–reading the messages before his vision went red. His blood was boiling, his heartbeat was drumming in his ears. It had been so long since Omi felt like he wasn’t in the wrong, like the argument wasn’t his fault. Omi sat up, trying to massage his temples as he breathed in and out. But, they came out uneven and haggard, making him even more on edge as he held his head in his hands.

Why was this the last straw? You had fought with him over worse, but this time, Omi couldn’t control his emotions as well as he wanted to. You starting fights with him wasn’t okay, it’s not fine. Stubbornness couldn’t excuse the mental drain he felt every time he talked to you and the way he’d tip–toe around everything instead of talking freely, like he deserved.

Omi picked up his phone, and texted you, despite all his anger.

Omi: I think we shouldn’t talk to each other for a while. I’m tired of being angry all the time. I’ve worked too hard to sacrifice all the progress I’ve made for myself to be calm, you can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to be angry at you, I just want to be friends. Please, let’s talk again when you don’t see me as your inferior, but a friend.

Omi muted you for good and didn’t bother checking your messages. Maybe you won, you got him mad, but Omi felt the anger in him fade away as he realized there’d be no more arguments, fights, or sides to choose tomorrow.

Omi was tired of saying sorry when he didn’t mean it. Sure, he hated anger and getting angry, but sometimes, Omi needed it to say “no”.

[cheeri0-queeri0]

My First Two Loves (WLW version): Chapter 3

Is she gaping? Emma has to be gaping.

“Ava… y-you and… Mason? Are…”

Ava grins rakishly, rubbing a hand along Mason’s back. “Madly in love? Or, well, lust - we haven’t gotten to that other L-word yet.”

Nails. Nails are being driven into her heart.

For his part, Mason looks taken aback by her reaction. “I meant to tell you last night, Emma.”

“You could’ve texted!” A lump is rising in her throat.

Mason scratches the back of his head. “I wanted to tell you in person. I tried to call, but when the line kept dropping, I thought…this is better?”

No. No it is not. It is one million times worse.

“Yeah, you’re right!” Emma forces the words to come out chipper, forces a placid smile. “I… I’m speechless. Congrats, you two.”

Congrats on secretly shattering her heart. But hey, what’s another secret to the now-sure-to-grow pile?

Mason’s shoulders relax, the tension falling from his face as he turns to Ava. “I almost forgot, babe! I got a little something for you.” He reaches over on the hood of Ava’s car where he put a cute little thermos.

Ava tentatively takes it from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Caramel macchiato?”

Mason gives her a shy, crooked smile. “With two shakes of cinnamon.”

Ava’s favorite.

The girl slings her other arm around his neck and rests her head against his cheek. “You remembered! Best boyfriend ever!”

Emma...is going to combust from agony.

“You guys are just so...perfect together,” she grits out, hoping it sounds passably pleasant.

Ava’s eyes find hers, softening just a bit.

Mason lets out a breathy laugh that seems more like a sigh of relief. “See, Ava, I told you she’d be happy for us!”

Ava blinks, breaking her gaze away. “I knew she would be. She is my bestie, after all.” There’s something off about her tone. If she hadn’t told Emma in the car that they were still solid despite Lauren dying to usurp her place, Emma would worry that maybe they weren’t best friends anymore.

Hell, maybe she’s still a little worried. And now for more than the Lauren reason.

“I should leave you alone for some...couple time. Catch you later!” Cue an ungraceful escape.

Mason jogs to catch up. “There’s so many times I tried to call. To tell you.” His voice turns plaintive. “Emma, I just want to double check. Are you okay with this?”

No! I am unequivocally not okay with this! God, how badly Emma wants to shout that at the top of her lungs. If she said it, Mason is exactly the kind of guy who would follow through and break up. He’s good. And that’s the problem.

“Mason. I’m happy for you. And for Ava.”

“...Yeah? Because your happiness means a lot to me.”

And now she has to sell it. “Yeah. I’m stoked. You’re so cute together. I should’ve played matchmaker years ago.” That...might have been overkill. “I just have some things to take care of right now. Talk later, okay?”

Mason nods. It worked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Emma power-walks away, tears pricking at her eyes as she let her feet take her anywhere else.

After a short time, she rounds a corner, realizing too late that she’s behind the gym near the back parking lot she usually avoided.

And she wasn’t alone.

“Hey there, princess. What brings you to my place of business?” The boy is smarmy, leaning against the brick wall, hair gelled so thickly it wouldn’t move even in a tornado.

Emma stills, confused. “Your...uh, what?”

He frowns, pushing off the wall and wandering closer. “My store. My shop. My livelihood. What you buying?”

Oh. Shit. “I’m not - I’m just trying to get away from some people - ”

The boy comes to a stop too close. “Save it. A sob story won’t get a discount.” He looked her up and down, calculating. Though he definitely didn’t look like someone who was good at math. “Adderall. Has to be. A study buddy. Everyone needs one, right?”

He yanks a plastic bag out of his pocket.

“Oh, no thanks. I appreciate it, but I am not interested.”

His jaw works, clenching and unclenching. “The offer isn’t optional anymore. You saw what I’m selling. You’re part of this.” He takes one more step, his Axe body spray stinging the inside of Emma’s nose. “Now open up that bag and find me two hundred bucks.”

Several thoughts race through Emma’s head. The first, unhelpfully, is two HUNDRED dollars for one bottle of pills? Shortly followed by If I run, will he grab me?

Sensing the direction of her thoughts, the boy huffs. “I don’t like having to hurt people, really.” But he would, hung unspoken in the air.

“Leave her alone, Darren.” The voice is unfamiliar, low, with a rasp to it.

Emma whirls around to the girl stalking toward them. She’s...dangerous looking, leather jacket slung around her broad shoulders, green eyes boring unwaveringly into the aggressive pill-pusher.

The boy - Darren - backs up quickly. “N-Noelle? I didn’t know you were back in town. I’m just trying to run a business, okay?”

Noelle doesn’t speak, just wrenches the bag out of Darren’s hands and flings it onto the roof.

“You bitch!” Darren hesitates, glaring, then turns tail and runs.

The other girl watches him go, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. Up close, she’s taller than Emma, but only just.

It’s like the bubble of nervous energy inside her just bursts, and Emma blurts out, “W-wow, that was...kind of amazing -uh, amazingly stupid!”

Noelle hums, glancing at her. Emma doesn’t miss the way her eyes drift down to her stomach and back. “You gotta fight like with like.”

Emma laughs, a tittering little sound that she hates. She bites her lip, hard. “You’re lucky it didn’t come to a fight.”

The other girl shrugs, unbothered. “I like my chances better than yours.”

Okay...fair.

Noelle sighs, swiping a hand through her bangs to push them out of her chiseled face. “You should get out of here. I can’t spend all day playing guardian angel.”

“Oh.” The comment rubs her the wrong way, but Emma brushes it off. After all, she did call the girl’s heroics stupid. Maybe...maybe there’s a way to make it up to her? “Unless…you’re new, right? Maybe I can repay the favor and show you around?”

Noelle raises a brow. “How do you know I’m new?”

Not an outright rejection, Emma can work with that. She smiles. “I happen to know pretty much everyone here.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“So you’ve been invisible the past four years? I would definitely have remembered you.” The last part comes out without her even thinking it.

Green eyes drop to the ground, expression shuttering off. “I’ve...been away.”

“Like on a trip?”

“Not exactly.”

Emma pauses. She honestly can’t tell what the other girl is thinking. “You...don’t seem to like answering questions.”

Noelle’s lips twist into a humorless smile. “I’m told it’s one of my best character traits.”

Emma’s heart pangs. That’s messed up. “I’m not sure who told you that. It’s...sad. It keeps people away.”

“Sometimes it’s better that way.” Her voice is flat, either matter-of-fact or defeated. Who’s to tell?

“Not always,” Emma shoots back, challenging.

Noelle studies her curiously, weighing her words. She runs her tongue over her lips, then clicks it against her teeth, coming to a decision. “Fine. So, hypothetically, let’s say I take you up on this offer. What are you gonna do? Draw me a map or something?”

Emma snorts. She’s dismal at drawing. “I’d give you a tour. The campus has changed a lot the last few years, and I know all the best new spots. Besides, I’m not letting you get away that easy.”

She means it as a joke, but - she means it as something else, too.

Noelle’s back straightens, and there’s a renewed interest in her gaze. She gives her an easy grin. “I like the sound of that. Alright, I’m in.”

Something in Emma’s chest swoops. She can’t help but beam. “Welcome to Eastridge High tour extraordinaire.”

She takes the other girl around the school, pointing out landmarks important and trivial. Noelle opens up, not by much, but enough that Emma gets a glimpse of who she is underneath all the stoic backtalk. Intuitive, dry humor in spades, and…

And maybe...very, very attractive.

Emma’s only ever really had a crush on Ava, so she’s not totally sure what her type is, but damn. Apparently badasses check a lot of her boxes.

They wind up at the greenhouse, bequeathed by wealthy alum’s generous donation. It’s dubbed the Garden of Truth, the legend going that questions asked near the fountain in the center must be answered truthfully, with a magical limit of one a day.

Noelle chuckles, like legitimately chuckles. “You have to be making that up. Right?”

Emma tuts, kneeling to dip her fingers in the fountain’s water. “One question only, so choose wisely.”

Noelle looks up at all the hanging plants, the vines climbing towards the ceiling. “You first.”

Are you into girls?

“Have you ever been in love?” Close enough, right?

Noelle stiffens. “No,” she says, sharply, then reconsiders. “Maybe. I had feelings for someone I- someone I shouldn’t have.”

No pronouns. No closer to an answer for that, then. There’s silence for a moment, Emma tracing patterns on the water’s surface.

“You looked upset when you showed up at the parking lot today. Why?”

Emma jumps, drenching her sleeve. She stands. “I wasn’t - ”

Noelle sends her a look. “We’re in the Garden of Truth, remember? Be honest.”

Emma takes a deep breath. It might be nice to tell someone, someone with no stake in the fight. “I found out the girl I like is dating my best friend.” She wraps her arms around herself, holding Noelle’s gaze. “N-no one knows that I’m… Don’t tell anyone.” Her voice actually quivers.

Noelle reaches out and puts a hand on Emma’s arm. “I won’t. I’m good at keeping secrets.” She takes her hand back, and Emma immediately misses its warmth. “This girl… Does she know how you feel?”

Emma’s vision clouds with tears. “No.”

Noelle tilts her head, eyes crinkling in sympathy. “Figures. It’s hard to imagine someone turning you down.”

It isn’t hard for Emma - that seems to be all she has been able to imagine. The way Ava’s mouth would hang open, the way she would back away, turn her down. How it would get out, first to the cheer squad and then to the whole school. There’d be whispers, cruel jokes, pity. Everything would change.

They walk back out. Emma spots a few cheerleaders lounging around a picknick table in the courtyard. They wave her over.

Noelle slows, shoving her hands in her light-wash jeans pockets. “Looks like that’s the end of the tour. Bye for now, Cheer Squad.” She walks off before Emma can reply.

“...Bye?”

Her steps felt lighter as she joined the group. Like Noelle had lifted the weight since the Ava-Mason bombshell went off this morning. A distraction, if only for a few minutes.

Ava’s watching her with a somewhat shell-shocked expression. “Emma, I can’t believe you were talking to Noelle Harris!”

To her right, Lauren looks delighted. She twirls a lock of black hair in her manicured fingers, eyes sharp. “Don’t you know who she is?”

Emma searches the team’s faces for a hint, but she can’t find one. “What, is she famous or something?” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but she’s so confused it comes of as genuine.

Toni clears a spot for her, patting the bench. “You’d better sit down. You need to hear the truth about her!”

Taking trepidatious steps, Emma has the sinking feeling she’s gotten herself further into a mess.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m creeping close towards the end.  We got some smut, some angst, more smut, and a whole ass load of fluff coming down the pipeline.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]

Part 5 

 Lead to Big Changes

Evie stood in the bathroom, brushing her long hair before plaiting in into a braid. She took one last look at herself and satisfied everything was in place as it should be, she entered the bedroom where Maxwell was sitting on the bed putting on his cuff links.  He looked up to watch as she walked over to his dresser, where her items were laid out neatly.  She began put on her necklace before moving on to other items.

Like that first morning together, it felt natural to him to see her puttering around his room, getting ready for the day.  His long hours prevented him from really feeling how empty such a large house could be for one person, but there were times when that coldness, the loneliness touched him.  But not now, not when she was here, and she warmed rooms she wasn’t even in. He watched her intently, noticing the subtle bounce of her breasts, the sway of her hips, and that cute little hop she does when she walks.

“Why do you hop when you walk?”  She turned her head towards him, a look of confusion on her face.  “You have this little hop when you walk.”

“Oh, the hop.”  She laughed and went back to what she was doing.  “A gift from the pier.”

When she finished putting on her accessories, she turned around to see him still watching her and she smiled.  Walking over to him, she began to knot his tie that he had yet to do up.  Her brows furrowed a bit as she worked and he sat patiently, placing his hands on her jean-clad hips, sneak his thumbs under the hem of her tee shirt to rub along her skin.  She had only been in town for less than one day and he was already dreading her return to Poughkeepsie.

“What’s your plan for the day?”  When she arrived, Evie insisted that he didn’t need to stop his world just to babysit her, that she could find things to do while he was at work.  He tried to protest, but when he looked at his schedule, he found things he couldn’t cancel or more.  So, he became more pragmatic about it.  He his schedule to have his late afternoons and evenings free and if two deals went through today, he was going to have a nice long weekend with her, uninterrupted.

“Not sure yet, it’s so warm for October that I might go to a park. Maybe museum hop or stop by an art gallery.  The city is my oyster, so whatever strikes my fancy I guess.”

“Take my credit card.”

“Max, I don’t need you to pay for anything.”  She laughed as she patted down the knot and straightened the tie, admiring her handwork as she talked.  She proceeded to button up his vest since she was standing there, and she thought there was no need for her to do any of this.  But the idea of being part of Maxwell’s routine felt right, as if she had always been a part of it.

Never in all her relationships had she ever felt at such ease with someone as she did with Maxwell.  It was as if they had known each other for years, rather than only a couple of months. Silences weren’t awkward, they were already developing their own group of inside jokes and waking up in his bed seemed like the most normal thing in the world.  

Evie loved her life in Poughkeepsie, but the idea of going back seemed sad to her.  Other than her job, there wasn’t a life for her in her hometown anymore.  Her best friend moved to Boston last year and her dad moved to Lake Placid to wind down toward retirement.  She sat on a non-profit board and occasionally joined a book club at the library, but the last couple of years it had just been home and work. Change might be good, she thought on the train ride into the city.

Here, the city offered so much more, including Maxwell.  Whose thumbs continued to rub against the skin of her hips, and it was starting to drive her a little crazy.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“Of course.  I’m a big girl.”  She leaned down to kiss his lips softly and before she could pull back, he was chasing her lips for a longer kiss.  His tongue snaked out to swipe against her lower lip and she smiled as she opened to let him in.  Soon their kiss turned breathless and Maxwell pulled back so he could breathe again. Their eyes were darkened by lust, but Evie – as usual – broke the spell first by gently kissing his forehead and stepping away from his touch.  His hands dropped onto his thighs as he watched her head to his closet to take out her sweater.

“Yeah, I know.”  His tone was husky and more than a little feral sounding.  She smiled a little wickedly as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. It was her turn to watch him.  Even at home, Maxwell carried himself with command and authority and Evie realized that this was a natural posture for him. He wasn’t putting on a show, he was just finishing his morning routine.  She felt a shiver of pleasure run through her.  He was all man and for now at least, all hers.

After finishing up, he turned to Evie and held out his hand.  She slid it into his easily and they left the room to start their day.  They stopped off in the kitchen so Evie could meet Marnie, his cook, and after a rapid-fire ten-minute conversation, Maxwell ushered her out of the kitchen, a couple of breakfast sandwiches in tow.  He shook his head, not believing that in such a short amount of time, Evie learned the names of all Marnie’s grandchildren, how long she was married to her husband, and her favorite thing to cook.  

Like with Bennett, Evie easily inserted herself into the lives of his staff and they all seemed to love her.  He pretended like he didn’t see Marnie’s pointed look that said, how did you snag someone like this?  Maxwell didn’t know the answer and he wasn’t stupid enough to question it.  As they exited the house, Bennett was waiting with the doors open and in the crisp October morning, the warmth of the car was quite welcomed.

“Bennett, drive Evie wherever she wants to go today.” Maxwell pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar and starting to prepare for the day. Without either him or Evie realizing it, her Max was stepping back into the role of Maxwell Lord, CEO of Chimtech.

“Max, no!  I can take a cab, it’s not a big deal.”

“Evie, he will drive you, it’s what he’s paid for.”  Maxwell’s voice was harsh and left little room for compromise. She was taken aback, although he didn’t seem notice as his eyes never left his cell.  She was more than a little shocked because in the entire time they had known each other, he never talked to her in that way.  Before she could say anything, Bennett spoke from the driver’s seat.

“Yes Mr. Lord.”  He didn’t miss a beat as he drove them to headquarters and Maxwell kissed Evie on the cheek before he got out, acting as if nothing happened.  He slipped his credit card into her sweater pocket before she could say anything.  As he walked away, Evie turned to the driver, a sly smile growing on her lips.

“Bennett, what are Bette and Lorraine doing today?”  He looked back at her, surprised.

“Well Lorraine is on break from school and Bette’s home with her, why?”

“Let’s make this a family day.”

“Wait.  What?

“Call up Bette and see if they’d like to join us for day on the town.”  She waived Maxwell’s card.  “His treat.”

“Okay, where to you want to go?”

“What does Bette and Lorraine like?”

“Well my Bette loves flowers and Lorraine is wild about flamingos.”  Bennett snapped his fingers and looked at Evie.  “We can go to the Bronx.  They got the Botanical Gardens and a zoo!”

“Perfect, let’s go!”  Evie sat back and looked out the window.  She was still dwelling on the tone he used and how it stung her.  She looked at the credit card in her hands as Bennett drove them to Brooklyn to pick up their passengers.  If he wants to act like a dick, then he can pay for it, she thought. Literally.

---***---

Bette was just as vivacious a person as her husband and the two women immediately recognized a kindred spirit in the other.  They chatted through the whole ride to the park as Lorraine sat up front with her father, forever a daddy’s girl.  The day was sunny and gorgeous, and the foursome strolled through gardens, enjoying the sights.  Bennett had been modest when he said his wife loved flowers.  

Turns out she was a horticulturalist and worked for City University of New York as a professor in their science department at the Bronx campus.  Evie hung onto every word her new friend said about the plants they viewed, and she could see Bennett bursting with pride.  Evie believed that the morning’s adventures wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable had Bette not come along.  They left the park briefly to grab something to eat.  During lunch, Evie’s phone rang and when she saw it was Maxwell, she picked up.

“Hi Max.”  Evie smiled into the phone and turned away from the table as not to be rude, but she didn’t miss Bette mouth, ‘Max?’ to Bennett with a look of surprise.  He shrugged with a look back at her.  His voice was low enough that Evie didn’t catch anything he said.

“Hey you.  How is the city treating you?”

“Good.  I’m at lunch right now. But we visited the botanical gardens this morning and after lunch we’ll stop by the zoo.”

“We?”  The word caused a twinge of jealousy to course through him and his words came out hard. One day in the city and she’s already gallivanting off with others, a wicked voice in his head hissed at him.  “Who could you possibly be with?”

“Yes, we. Bennett and his family joined me and we’re having a blast. Lorraine is going to teach me about flamingos when we go to the zoo.”  She was shocked at his tone and she returned it with a neutral one of her own to tamp down any confusion that could be sparked by an argument.  She stood up and walked way, positioning herself near a window and away from people.

“You’re with my driver and his family?”  She told him to go to work today and she was out and about with his driver and allegedly his family?  Did she plan this all along?  Maxwell’s face grew warm as his jealousy boiled beneath the surface.

“Yes.  If Bennett is going to be with me all day, then why not?  Who am I hurting?  And besides, I want to learn about flamingos.”  Her tone turned pointed and she refused to explain any further.  She waited until he spoke, stretching their silence out – one that was filled with tension.  Behind her, Bennett and Bette exchanged another look and kept eating lunch while Lorraine continued to read her book.

In that silence, something changed and suddenly the tone he took with her was back to normal.  The whiplash it caused Evie almost made her dizzy, but she could still sense a strain lacing his words.

“Ah.  Well, Marnie called me and said she was cooking dinner tonight.  That ravioli dish you two talked about this morning.  It should be ready by seven.  Will you be back in time?”

“Yep.  See you then.”  She ended the call without waiting for him to reply and sighed.  She wasn’t stupid, she knew Maxwell was used to getting his way and was used to making comments and remarks that were curt, hard, brusk, even downright rude was more akin to his normal way of speaking.  The softness he directed towards her was the anomaly.

While she wasn’t above using a sharp tone when the situation warranted it, she felt bitterness in her mouth when confronted with unnecessary rudeness and maltreatment.   For the first time, the little niggles of doubt that had been on the edge of her mind since Maxwell Lord first came into her life began to crawl out of the shadows.

“Ready to go see the zoo and check out some flamingos?”  She smiled brightly again and turned towards her lunch companions. Everyone nodded and as Evie paid the bill with Maxwell’s credit card and felt a lot better.

Little Lorraine was much like her mother and as they wandered through the zoo, the young girl threw out facts and stories about many of the animals, most excited for the flamingos, of course.  

As they moved from exhibit to exhibit, Lorraine and Evie unconsciously matched up with the former having an audience for all that her brain had offer and the latter excited to learn new things.  Once they arrived at the flamingo enclosure, the young girl sighed with happiness.

“Lorraine, why do you like flamingos so much?”  Evie asked as they leaned on the rail watching the birds walk elegantly through the enclosure, their bright pink plumes a perfect complement for the deep blue autumn sky above them.

“Cause they’re stupid looking and dance like morons.”  Evie began laughing loudly in surprise.

“How do you know they dance like morons?”  Evie smiled as Lorraine took out her cell phone and pulled up youtube. In her library were dozens of videos about flamingos.  The young girl clicked on one video and there it was, the stupid flamingo mating dance.

“You’re right, they do dance like morons.  I can see why you love them.”  Evie smiled down at her.  Lorraine grabbed her hand and they moved onto the next exhibit with Bennett and Bette trailing behind and holding hands like teenagers.  They were enjoying their impromptu date and Bennett brought their clasped hands up to his lips, smiling the whole time.

While Evie gave her full attention to Lorraine, seeing Bennett be so generous and open with not just Bette, but everyone around him gave her heart a little twinge.  She squeezed Lorraine’s hand and refocused herself on the conversation at hand.  She wasn’t about to let Maxwell Lord detract her from learning about the lemurs next.

By the end of the afternoon, everyone was pleasantly exhausted and the drive back to Maxwell’s house seemed all the quieter after Bette and Lorraine were dropped off at home, with promises of seeing them soon from both Bennett and Evie. She was giddy to have made a friend in the city, giving her another reason to come to visit.  When Bennett dropped her off, she waved good-bye and trudged up the stairs into the house.

The cozy atmosphere enveloped her as she opened the door and then closed it behind her.  The day was catching up to her and she leaned against the door, her thighs starting to ache from all the walking.  I’m entirely too out of shape for this city, she thought.  She closed her eyes a moment and before she could open them, a set of plush lips brushed against hers.  

Evie opened her eyes to find Maxwell standing in front of her, looking relaxed. His tie was off, and his sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets.  Outside of sleeping in bed, this was probably the most relaxed Maxwell had been in front of her.  He rocked back on his heels, looking at her with a smile on his face that also seemed relaxed.  His aura seeped into her own body and she relaxed, too.

“Did you enjoy the zoo?”  Whatever tone he took with her earlier in the day was gone and in his place was the attentive partner, supportive and loving.  It was as if the Maxwell from earlier had been conjured up by her brain to sow the seeds of doubt in her mind.  In fact, as Maxwell stood there, he didn’t even think of his comments earlier or his tones.  He was interested in what she had to say, wanted to know how her day went.  

As he waited for her answer, she realized he was interested in what she had to say.  After their date, he all but admitted that he never conversed with people and yet with her, he was fully invested in everything she did or said.  It made her feel wanted and loved in ways other partners hadn’t. The thoughts from earlier in the day and the worries that had crowed the edge of her mind seemed to disappear.

“It was a beautiful day, Bette and Lorraine are so smart.  I learned more from those two in one day than I could probably learn in a lifetime on my own.  I like Bette and I think we’re going to try to meet up for coffee again before I go.”  He grabbed her hand and they walked into the dining room.

“Tell me all about it.”

---***---

Maxwell wasn’t sure what woke him up, but he lurched out of a dead sleep and sat up in bed.  The room was quiet, and his clock told him that it was early in the morning, hours before he had to get up.  What could have possibly triggered this, he wondered.  It was then that he realized that he was alone in bed and when he saw the bathroom light off and the door open, he was confused.  

Getting up, he threw on a shirt and walked out into the hallway, the faint late October chilliness permeated the house and creeped along his skin.  A gleam of light from the first floor caught his eye and he descended the stairs, entering the living room where he saw her on the couch.

Evie sat curled up at the end, a book in her hands.  He recognized it the title and his heart clenched a little because it had been his father’s favorite, although she could have never known that.  As he got closer, he noticed that she was sleeping, with little snores coming out of her slightly opened mouth.  The lamp light made her hair look like burnished copper and once again, his heart squeezed at the sight of her, that feeling that she belonged all the stronger.

He leaned down and brushed her hair away from her face, the movement causing her to stir.  Her eyes opened and she gave a sleepy smile when she saw who it was.  She sat up from the slumped over position, her body grumbling at being in such an uncomfortable position for too long, already upset with her after her long day in the city.  He smiled back at her.

“Evie, what are you doing?  It’s two in the morning.”  He squatted next to the couch, picking up the book after it slid off her lap and setting it on the coffee table.

“I wasn’t tired, and I didn’t want to bother you, so I came down to read here instead.”  He laughed as her comments were punctuated by a yawn.  He wondered how long she had been sleeping instead of reading.

“You wouldn’t have.  Come to bed.” He stood, reaching his hand out to her.

“Okay.”  She stood and swayed at the sudden movement, reaching out with her other hand to grip his to stay upright.  Once she stopped swaying, he bent his knees and swept Evie up into his arms, her look of surprise clear on her face.

“Max!  I can walk! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Yeah, but it’ll be fun.”  He lightly kissed her temple as he turned around and began taking her upstairs.  “Besides, I’ve already carried you upstairs, what’s one more time?”

She laughed but gripped his shoulders harder just in case.  They entered the bedroom and Maxwell gently laid her down on the bed. He leaned down to kiss her on the lips, but her hands grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her.  She wrapped her hands around his waist and reached her head up to return the kiss.

“I’m too heavy for you.”  He tried to roll off, but she tightened her arms.

“You’re never too heavy for me.”  She snuggled further under him, his bulk like a weighted blanket.  He threw her a skeptical look but didn’t move.  If anything, he curled around her more, their mutual warmth seeping into each other.  Evie’s eyes began to droop, and she tried to hide a yawn in his shoulder but failed.

“Just go to sleep sunshine, you had a long day.”  She hummed as her eyes closed and before long, the sound of her even breaths reached Maxwell’s ears.  He waited a few beats longer before rolling off her and to her side. She seemed to chase him in her sleep, also rolling onto her side to face him, although she never woke up.  

He gave into the temptation of touching her again, brushing her hair away from her face and the silky strands seem to pass through his fingers like water. He trailed them along her jaw, skin soft under his touch.  As he laid there, his brain wandered back to his comments earlier in the day and he closed his eyes, shame washing over him.

There was no reason for him to have acted that way and to make her feel so small and hurt.  And he rolled on to his back, staring at the ceiling.  He mentally kicked himself for acting like such an ass to her and then never apologizing for it.  You never apologize when you act like an ass, a small voice in his head reminded him and he could feel his face on fire.  He looked over at her.  He should have apologized to her.

You shouldn’t have been such a dick in the first place.  It’s not like you’re actually dating or anything, the voice inside his head reminded him.  It’s not like you ever want more from them.  Maxwell looked back up at the ceiling.

He wanted more from her, though.

[superhusbands-are-my-life]

godless, not faithless

(hello hello! welcome to the story where nat is a bro and there’s a lot of pining and in denial tony! i’m a lil rusty so forgive me if this doesn’t seem to flow or something doesn’t make sense. @starkrogerrs and i were feeling just a tad under the weather, so i decided to write a lil fluff to try and make things a little brighter! hope you enjoy!!!)

Yes, when it comes to self-destructive tendencies, no one is better at it than Anthony Edward Stark. Frankly, it might as well have been his middle name or another alias, like the Invincible Iron Man.

Yes, he thinks, his gaze trained on the backside of a certain blond man punching away at a reinforced sandbag. When it comes to self-destructive tendencies, he is absolutely the number one man to go to.

He watches. It’s all he ever does anymore.

He watches as the man subjected to his gaze remains oblivious to it, solid thumps resounding each time his taped hands make contact with the bag. He watches as he ducks his head low, azure eyes focused intently on one thing and one thing only, intense, unrelenting, and rapid. His hair gleams in the light, like spun gold, and Tony wonders quietly if it’s really fair for someone to be so… Perfect.

Strong brows furrow in concentration, his full lips as soft and as colored as pink rose petals that part as he breathes in and out, his broad shoulders hunched and chest heaving. He clenches his teeth, showing a chiseled jawline that would make Adonis weep. He moves faster, almost a blur, pushing, straining, and Tony knows that he won’t stop until he’s at the brink of breaking.

It’s moments like these that Tony is in awe. Steve Rogers is a force to be reckoned with, unstoppable and unending. He is, simply put, a force of nature.

When Steve finally stops, he’s breathing even harder, leaning forward with his eyes closed, hands on either side of the punching bag to support himself, sweat soaking his shirt and causing the thin fabric to stick to his body. Tony’s eyes flicker down from his nose to his chin, down the line of his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. His throat is probably dry after that rapid session. His eyes move on to sweep over Steve's collarbone over to the strong shoulders, tracing over the curve of his biceps and muscled forearms to large hands. Steve has an artist's hands. Steady and poised, his fingers are long and slender. It always catches Tony off guard.

His waist is a lot more trim than people think. For a brief moment, Tony wonders how Steve would feel—rolling muscle under pale skin—against his hands. He banishes the thought. Steve is a coiled spring, full of smooth power and sinuous grace. His hips are wider than one would suspect, with prominent hipbones peeking out just above the hem of low-slung sweats and Tony wants to dip his tongue along the creases of them. He isn’t sure he’s seen anyone with an ass as glorious as Steve’s, and he wonders again if it’s legal to be so perfect.

Steve has long legs. The first time he had noticed was when he watched him outrun Sam and Rhodey one day, laughter bright in his eyes and lips. His thighs are filled out, and it’s no wonder that every bit of his body is hard and muscled. The peak of human perfection, like Aphrodite herself has blessed him. There’s no other way to put it. He’s like… He’s like Apollo. Tony starts for a moment at his own mind but then smiles ruefully at how true that it.

The god of the sun and light. The god of medicine, and healing. The god of pestilence and plague. The god of prophecy and truth. Every time he smiles or laughs, it makes him feel warm like the sun has dappled itself over his skin. Sometimes, it’s more than he can take, especially when his smiles or laughs are directed towards Tony, and suddenly, things aren’t so dreary anymore. Those times, it makes something inside Tony swell so much he can’t breathe for a long moment or two, heat ravaging his body to the point where it was almost painful. The god of light and the sun.

There are times when they make contact. Perhaps a warm hand on his arm or his shoulder, fingertips brushing against each other, sometimes, palm against palm when they share a rare high-five. Other times, it’s when Tony’s trying to take measurements to tailor his suit to him perfectly. It makes Tony feel as if… As if he’s not as broken a man as he is. It makes him feel whole.

They haven’t touched much but for very brief instances in a while, not since… Not since that one day in the lab when his body had complained of his constant activity and lack of sleep that he’d been ignoring. He’d taken Steve’s hand and trailed his fingers down his forearm to his hand, trying to think nothing of it, inspecting his fingers for his gloves, murmuring numbers and calculations to himself in a low voice that Steve had mistaken for something Tony had wanted him to know and had bent down closer to listen because Tony had been hunched lower than usual. Tony had looked up at exactly the wrong (or right) moment and their lips had almost met, a mere inch apart, eyes meeting and holding. Steve’s hand had been suddenly very warm in his own, the mesmerizing blue of his eyes drawing Tony in deep. He’d never stood a chance.

Warmth had spread through his entire body, and suddenly, it had been like he was taking a breath after a long time underwater. Steve had breathed out softly, reaching his hand up to brush over Tony’s cheek. The contact had shot an electric current through Tony and he jumped, the spell broken, letting Steve’s arm go in an instant and drawing back, something akin to panic rising from deep within. Steve had jumped away as well, an emotion flickering over his face and eyes too fast for Tony to process after seeing the expression on Tony’s face. He’d schooled his expression to something placid and had smiled, saying that Tony should get more sleep, and then, he’d been gone. After he’d left, a mere ten minutes later, Tony had suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion unlike any other that he’d felt, and so, he’d slept, sprawled over the couch, though the last flitting thoughts in his mind had been of how close Steve had been and how warm and electrifying his touch had been. He’d awoken to his headache gone, reinvigorated and more inspired than he had been in a while. The god of medicine and healing.

More memories arise. He remembers when they had fought together in the Battle of New York and every other battle that they’d faced, fighting against challenge after challenge, and Steve? Steve had moved with a grace and ferocity that Tony had never seen before, sweeping through enemies without pause, his shield creating magnificent arcs that felled their opponent left and right, always returning. He fought seamlessly and without rest. In battle, it had been so easy to read Steve, and when he had approached him, Tony had known exactly what to do each time. No words had to be exchanged and they had moved on, their actions like a deadly dance that had been choreographed beforehand perfectly. The god of plague and pestilence.

Tony breaks away from his thoughts only when his leg is nudged, causing him to jump in surprise, his eyes tearing away from Steve before he comes face to face with a red-headed assassin. Natasha. He lets out a cough and the woman rolls her eyes, sitting down across from him. How long has he been staring at Steve? He’s lost track of time. Damn. He swallows and slumps down a bit into his chair as Natasha fixes her piercing gaze on him. He feels her slowly picking away at his very being as if she can see right through him and read his thoughts. He looks away from her wordlessly to rid himself of the feeling of his skin prickling, but looking away doesn’t do much for him. It still remains.

It’s silent. Steve is still oblivious, or so it seems from the brief glance Tony gave before looking away. He’s pounding away at the punching bag. Natasha’s sharp eyes catch it. There’s a long, heavy silence, and then she sighs. She speaks first.

“This isn’t healthy, Tony.”

Tony’s first instinct rises. He retorts back. “What is?”

She fixes him with her pointed gaze once more, but this time, Tony doesn’t back down, meeting her eyes defiantly. She seems to cut through his feint in less than a second, speaking slowly.

“You know what I mean, Tony.” She says carefully, then she taps the side of her mouth.

His hands immediately snap up, alarm ringing in his head, was he drooling-? When his hand touches nothing, he notices the small smile on her lips. He scowls hard enough to scare the fur off a cat, but Natasha only takes it in stride and brushes it aside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, and after a moment, she raises a brow. It’s all Tony can do to keep from saying more to defend his honor, lips pressing into a thin line. They lock eyes again. Tony wavers. He looks away.

“It’s- It’s not like that.” He mumbles, and Natasha’s gaze softens. He can feel the prickling lessening, that’s the only way that he knows that it has. He takes a deep breath and looks up again, meeting her eyes. A silent conversation ensues.

It really isn’t like that. Yes, sure, Steve is… He’s beautiful, there isn’t any other word to describe him. Inside and out. He’s kind, generous, humorous, and caring. He has an edge that no one expects, and he’s a lot more sarcastic and deadpan than he lets on in public. He’s not- He’s not perfect, no one is, Tony knows this. He’s stubborn, stubborn enough to go toe to toe with Tony himself, he’s strong, so very strong, but sometimes- Sometimes during sleepless nights when Steve sits silently in the kitchen, staring with a scarily blank expression at the countertop, Tony slips down. He’s only going down for himself. He needs chamomile tea, even if he despises the taste of it. It’s only convenient that he knows Steve likes his chamomile tea with a bit of honey. It’s only a coincidence when he can’t sleep and JARVIS informs him that Steve has been in the kitchen for 30 minutes, still as stone.

No, it doesn’t make his heart ache with an indecipherable emotion when Tony one day meanders into the kitchen with no purpose after starting awake for the third time that night and paces a bit, where he finds Steve already there with a cup of chamomile tea and honey, another cup of black tea with a splash of milk and three cubes of sugar waiting for Tony across from him. Damn JARVIS. He must’ve told Steve when he’d asked why Tony had always grimaced sipping chamomile tea.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony purposefully searches out things that he thinks will make Steve laugh or smile, finding him little snippets of the past after hearing him murmur a soft complaint that he wishes he had an older radio. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony finds an old radio and repurposes it to function as it would have back in the old days but much better, and it finds its way quietly settled next to the bedside table of Steve’s room. It doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when he finds films that Steve’s missed and watches with him when they both have time. He’s just helping him catch up, and it doesn’t mean anything like that when his heart skips a beat when Steve laughs softly every time Tony shows him some new Disney film and he ends up singing the part of Dr. Facilier from The Princess and the Frog. It’s not anything like that when he makes random Disney references from the movies they’ve watched that Steve immediately gets at the breakfast table, making him grin or chuckle while the others look at them like they’re insane. That’s okay. He doesn’t mind being a little insane if it makes Steve smile.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes to the surface from the lab and finds Steve spread over the couch, eyes shut and serene, unable to stop from smiling before he searches out a soft blanket and returns with it to cover Steve before going back to what his initial task is. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he sees Steve after an especially hard battle that pushes him further into a slump that Tony has come to recognize to be the overwhelming realization that things have changed so much and that the years have moved on without him, and it causes a tightness in Tony’s chest that he just can’t seem to relieve. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he goes up to the top floor where he just knows Steve is, drawing or just sitting, hidden away in a corner.

Tony usually has a couple of sandwiches and water, because he knows that Steve has come directly here without eating or cleaning, and after all that activity, he’s bound to be hungry and thirsty. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve looks up with his glassy blue eyes, Tony stays, sitting next to him without a word. Sometimes, they talk. They talk about anything and everything. Sometimes, Steve tells him what’s bothering him, other times, he doesn’t. Tony doesn’t push, but he nudges and coaxes when he feels he needs to, and after a while, Steve leans in to brush their shoulders together, and when he cracks a feeble joke about how this has become a usual occurrence, Tony knows that he’s going to be okay. Other times, Tony leaves the plate of food and water and leaves him be because Steve doesn’t look up when he comes in, and that means he just needs some peace before he bounces back.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when at charity galas or parties, Tony has to come and rescue him from whatever fox decides to attempt to seduce him. It’s a bit funny to watch, but something strange in him twinges every time he sees someone by Steve’s side, arm hooked with his. He does take strange relish in the way that Steve often frantically looks around, polite as he is, in an attempt to look for Tony so he has an excuse to politely decline whoever is vying for his attention. He attempts subtlety, but Tony knows he’s looking for him because the instant their eyes meet, Steve’s shoulders slump slightly in relief, and by then, Tony is chuckling and inserting himself smoothly into the conversation, defusing it and stealing Steve away with all kinds of excuses. The twinging in his chest dissipates only after a while when every time he turns or moves, Steve is always a foot or two behind him, moving when he moves, like magnets, for the last half of the event. It still doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve comes down to the lab with sketchbook in hand, and for some reason, joins Tony and sits on the couch sketching and drawing whatever comes to his mind. It’s a comfortable silence and Tony often just falls into that mechanics of whatever he’s working on, and sometimes, he switches playlists to songs that he knows that Steve enjoys. He doesn’t mind it, though it’s a bit annoying when the music becomes stuck in his head and repeats sometimes. It isn’t like that at all when Tony feels his heart give a pang when he looks up to see Steve dozing, and when he gets closer, he sees the subject of his drawing has been him. It doesn’t mean anything like that, so he just closes Steve’s sketchpad and adjusts him carefully into a more comfortable position before Tony returns to his work.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes down to the gym with Steve when he looks more worn down than usual and ends up going a couple of rounds with him, which usually ends with him flat on his back, slick with sweat, and panting while Steve has forgotten all about what was bugging him, grinning as he pins him down. He leans in close and tells Tony to concede, and Tony only gasps out a no before going completely limp and causing Steve some alarm, his guard down and grip loosening- And then Tony strikes. He suddenly throws his weight upwards and derails Steve, and even though he ends up getting pinned again, he holds his own wrestling and grappling for purchase with Steve for around two minutes and he’s damn proud of it. He tells him as much and Steve laughs as Tony sighs and concedes Steve's victory. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony’s heart seems to be pounding even faster than before when they’d been giving it their all to dethrone each other.

He’s just being a good friend. What anyone would do. He cares for Steve. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything at all that his throat seems to convulse and something twists painfully in his chest as he claims silently to just be a good friend. His and Natasha's “conversation” has only lasted perhaps a minute or so at most, however, it feels like it’s been hours, and Tony has to swallow to get rid of the rubbery feeling in his throat. Natasha just looks at him. She’s frowning. He just stares back at her.

Why is she frowning? He suddenly feels like he’s on the brink of something, at the very edge, and with the slightest bit of a nudge, he’ll fall off and into a deep, deep abyss he knows that he’ll perhaps never drag himself out of. Something tightens in his chest even more as he continues to watch Natasha, whose gaze has gone from exasperated to amused. She knows something he doesn’t know. Tony tenses. He’s teetering. He suddenly isn’t sure if he wants to know. Natasha looks away from him for the first time since she’s taken a seat across from him.

“Tony…”

His name sounds delicate on her tongue, suddenly. It feels as if he is on a very, very thin sheet of ice, already cracking and breaking, and the weight of his name is only causing it to break faster and faster. His fingers tighten, curling into his pants, holding his breath. He only has a moment to think helplessly that there is no going back from this before Natasha nudges him.

“You already know.”

Things fall apart around him. In a moment or two, everything just collapses. He falls through the ice. He is pushed off the cliff. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. Who is he kidding? Everything just… Slides into place. Tony is centered. He knows, he knows, and he’s always known. Natasha knows exactly when everything clicks, a small smile appearing on her lips.

He swallows.

Tony groans, letting himself drop, his face burying into his arm. Natasha gives a soft laugh and he knows that she’s laughing at him. “It’s not funny.” He murmurs thickly, his heart squeezing painfully but fluttering simultaneously. He’d been in denial long enough. He’d hoped to remain in that state, but damn. Natasha never lets things go his way.

“It is. You should do something about it.”

The smirk in her voice is obvious. He huffs. He turns his head to look at Steve who’s oblivious to his careening and desperate demise. He’s just tilting his head back, towel around his neck, gulping water down, and every nerve in Tony’s body seems to tighten.

Apollo, the god of prophecy and truth.

The god of prophecy had told him that he’d fall in love since the moment that he’d seen Steve smile. The god of truth tells him now that he is in love every time his heart dances when he even sees a glimpse of him. He sighs. He’s too old for this.

Yes, Tony is as destructive as he gets, letting himself fall in love with Steve.

The tale of Icarus plays in his mind as he watches Steve. Icarus, the man who coveted what he could not have and vyed for the love of a god. The mortal who loved the sun and flew too close and fell to his doom. Just then, Steve turns his head to meet his eyes, smiling brightly and gives him a little wave, and suddenly, Tony can’t breathe. It’s only when Steve turns to nod to Natasha that he drags in a shaky breath.

Well, he thinks, I’ll happily be Icarus for this Apollo.

Tony is godless, but he is not faithless.

Of course, later, he finds out, he is not Icarus who plummets to earth with the words "just once" on his lips. Later, he finds out that they can craft their own tale of Apollo and Icarus when Steve asks him to go for dinner and kisses him sweetly when he answers with a breathy yes.

Tony is godless, but Steve is his faith.

[dedicatedfollower467]

DIRK’S PESTERQUEST ROUTE REACTIONS AS THEY HAPPEN

spoilers etc. yada yada yada i’ve been waiting for this for fucking EVER.

this is fucking massive, for the record.

“The one and only” lmao suuuuuuure whatever you say dirk.

i fucking adore his metal scuba suit though holy SHIT

“[talking in meatspace] isn’t exactly my forte” akdfsljkadsfhksadf you bet your ASS it isn’t mr. strider. (at this point i’m assuming this is actually hal, wouldn’t be the first time that we met “dirk” and it turned out to be hal)

the power of his own “voice” is almost too much for him MY CHILD.

OH HELLO HAL. GOOD TO SEE YOU USING YOUR USUAL RED. LOVE THE THEME MUSIC CHANGE TOO. IT’S GOOD MUSIC.

i fucking KNEW it i fucking knew that was hal lmao

so in that case HI DIRK HELLO MY ASSHOLE BABY CHILD.

“The use of the speaker system is new, but it makes sense he’d up his game for interfering with relationships I’m busy forging in 3D. I guess I should go ahead and be proud of him for it.” god i really wish dirk and hal could get along but they both hate themselves and therefore each other way too much for that...

“Every line of muscle in his body is held in excruciating placidity. You’ve never seen a jaw so purposefully unclenched” dIRK!!!!

“you’ll prove it to him with your deeds. it seems like that might be his love language” BOY FUCKING HOWDY IS IT. also how did i never put that together before ofc dirk’s love language is acts of service practically everything he does is an attempt to serve his friends in some capacity and he’s SO BAD at telling them with words.

(his secondary love language is gifts, evidence: brobot and detective pony)

god i’m so excited and so nervous lmao

i love this sprite with the verrrrrry slight smile he looks so sweet.

hell yes the fucking ROCKET BOARD.

“this is a much more comfortable thing for him than the conversation was” I’LL FUCKING BET IT IS.

“with Dirk it’s almost like he’d be less penetrable without [his shades]” oh well now THAT’S an interesting thought/observation.

holy shit that’s a cute fucking smile holy shit holy shit look at that grin AHHHH I’M DYING MY BOY IS SMILING.

“Not sure how well my deep, personal beef with the imagery of the sea will land for you, but there it is.” WELL THAT CERTAINLY MAKES THAT ONE LINE FROM HOMESTUCK 2 A LOT MORE EMOTIONAL, WHICH IT ALREADY DEFINITELY FUCKING WAS.

“Ace Attorney monologue” OMFG HAS DIRK PLAYED AA??? WHO’S HIS FAVORITE CHARACTER? WHAT’S HIS FAVORITE GAME?? i mean he’s definitely got the hair to be a fucking ace attorney character especially in pesterquest lmao

OH MY FUCKING GOD IS HE HOLDING BACK A LAUGH. IS THAT WHAT THAT MOUTH IS. HOLY SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. I LOVE HIM. I LOVE THIS ALKJADSFLADHADS

“He’s leaning forward, laughing, dimples carved into his freckled cheeks. There’s a small twist in your heart about it, and you can’t place why.” A *SMALL* TWIST? A SMALL TWIST? TRY A TWIST THAT’S WRENCHING MY HEART WIDE FUCKING OPEN AND SPILLING ITS CONTENTS ALL OVER THE FUCKING PLACE.

“At least make me try and earn it first.” THAT’S THE MOST DIRK THING I’VE EVER HEARD AND ALSO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

“I can just fold [my hand] and hope your shit works out instead.” Ah yes, dirk’s incessant and almost pathological need to be in control at work again.

“I want to be the only one in charge of endangering my own life. You got me.” oh dirk. oh honey.

“How much has this boy wanted to be known?” oh okay yeah that’s fine i didn’t need my heart anyway pesterquest, you can have it.

oh. hi ultimate dirk. i fucking knew this was gonna fucking happen.

“i can’t believe i was ever this pathetic” LEAVE HIM ALONE. (but also i know you can’t because you fucking hate yourself and it’s fucking tragic)

OH. OH OKAY WE’RE NOT JUST GONNA BE FUCKING NARRATIVE WE’RE GONNA BRING THE ACTUAL FUCKING DUDE HERE.

AND WE’RE GONNA PLAY AN OMINOUS-ASS VERSION OF "BEATDOWN” HOLY SHIT. CHRIST CAN WE GET ANY MORE HEAVY HANDED HERE????

also holy shitting christ ultimate dirk is swole. ‘twink ass bitch’ my ass, he’s at least a twunk.

“You fuck off and let people live their arcs.” NO FUCKING WAY, NOT IF HIS IS GOING TO END UP AS YOU, DICKHEAD.

“Oh fuck.

You remember it.

You remember Homestuck.”

well, probably not all of it, it’s pretty goddamn long, and very hard to remember all the details. i should know, i’m currently re-reading it.

oh no.

oh no, this looks like regular dirk but ominous “beatdown” is playing which makes me very fucking nervous.

“You cared about him before you knew every tiny fucked up detail about his life, and now, with a reminder of where his story leads leaning smugly against the railing, you find you still do.” YOU BET YOUR FUCKING ASS I DO!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!

“He’s intense and pushy and profoundly complicated, and right now he is helping you to your feet, his hand steady and firm on your back as you find your balance.” I’M CRYING.

“This isn’t as simple as an evil Dirk and a good one. If you’ve learned anything from your travels it’s that everyone has the capacity for hurt inside them, and everyone the capacity for love.” I’M STILL CRYING.

“The combo of all splinters of Dirk, fermenting in his flesh container and not holding onto his shit nearly as well as he likes to pretend” an apt and succinct description of ultimate dirk.

“No, I can see it. If anyone was going to pull off an “I’m you, but stronger,” it would be all of me, combined.” DIRK I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

“Your allegiance is not to the story, but to the people within it.” A-FUCKING-MEN MSPAR!!!

“The ends always justifies the means, Dirk.” I feel like that’s the breaking point there. IDK what’s going to happen next but that line sure was a line about philosophy, aka one of Dirk’s biggest special interests.

“[Ultimate Dirk] doesn’t have to work overtime to create more pain just so he can feel like he’s in control of how much punishment he gets and how badly he deserves it!”

oh.

oh wow.

oh WOW that’s hitting it on the fucking nose, MSPAR.

“He’s going to drown in [longing and loathing and Ultimate Dirk] if you don’t do something” STOP COMING BACK TO THAT GODDAMN LINE PESTERQUEST YOU’RE FUCKING KILLING ME HERE.

“You know how he loves -- though it’s fierce (to a definite fault), he does not do it easily.” STOP MURDERING MY HEART WITH PERFECT SNAPSHOTS OF DIRK AS A PERSON EVERY TWO SECONDS MSPAR I CAN’T HANDLE IT.

AHHHHHHHH IT’S DAVE!!! IT’S FUCKING. CANDY DAVE. I JUST. I CANNOT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. HOLY SHIT!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!

“you look like someone ironed the mayor so that’s a million more points in your favor” DAAAAAAVE!!!!

“Dave pulls him into a short, back-thumping bro hug which Dirk weathers like a wet cat not trusting a towel to dry him off.” AAAAAHHHHHHHH I’M FUCKING DYING I’M DYING I’M DYING HELP I’M DYING GOD HELP HOLY SHIT, FIRST OF ALL, THE SPRITE/ILLUSTRATION, SECOND OF ALL, THAT DESCRIPTION OF DIRK, THIRD OF ALL I’M FUCKING DYING

CANDY DAVE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

you deserve so much better than the raw hand the candy epilogue dealt you jfc.

“Bringing fucking guns to a knife fight here.” I mean, did you really expect MSPAR to play fair when the health and happiness of all their best friends is at stake, UD?

SAD ENDING IS SAD.

“Be good to that me, will you? Treat him right?”

dirk, this is yourself. you’ve never treated yourself right. ever. tbqh you probably never will. ultimate dirk is absolutely no different.

(but also this makes me wonder if we’re gonna see “Trust yourself” timeline Pesterquest Dirk showing up in Homestuck 2? That would be fucking wild I’d love to see that.)

“are we anti-ocean here”

“Oh yeah, extremely.”

YES, WE FUCKING ARE, AND AGAIN WITH THE REFERENCES TO HOMESTUCK 2 JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

oh, of fucking course ultimate dirk’s a sore loser, he’s ultimate dirk, fucking duh.

“You did it. You got him a good end.” i fucking love that this game is literally just. explicitly saying exactly what i was freaking over and desperately wanted.

like i’m just gonna take a moment here to admit that i was really nervous that dirk would end up like candy timeline dirk and just off himself. i was really afraid that a good end just straight up wasn’t possible.

i love that it’s not. and i equally love that the game acknowledges that a FUCKTON of us really wanted to give him that.

“Maybe [Doc Scratch] and Ultimate Dirk were working together the whole time.” maybe doc scratch has been ultimate dirk this whole time. or vice versa.

“There are just so many details to remember” lmao i made that point like a dozen paragraphs up.

i.... do not recognize the text style of whoever just say “hey. we can talk about this.”

IT’S HUSSIE. HOLY SHIT. IT’S DEFINITELY 100% HUSSIE.

i....... don’t know who that is? the woman?

is this like. the person who’s been running pesterquest?

it totally is.

i don’t know who that is i don’t know enough about the homestuck machine to know who that actually is.

lmao ultimate dirk and the irl director are fighting over how incredibly self-indulgent this metanarrative is, which is fucking amazing. i kind of love this? i really kind of adore this.

i can’t help but notice that the director has blank white eyes.

i.e. the Author is already dead, yo.

“They’re just an artifact of the medium” HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS FANTASTIC. I AM HAVING SO MUCH FUN HERE.

“I’d say thanks but I feel like you all got more out of it than me” I’M DYING I LOVE THIS HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY.

“Stop flirting with my audience you anime ass motherfucker” LMAOOOOOOOO

“I wouldn’t look like this if you didn’t want me to” I KNOW I’M JUST QUOTING BASICALLY THIS WHOLE THING BUT LISTEN I LOVE IT, I FUCKING LOVE IT, IT’S FUCKING PERFECT, GOD. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS SO GOOD.

“I actually let the artists have a lot of creative license” somebody’s horny for ultimate dirk.

eridan DESERVES that gender arc and i’m excited for him.

“Happy people don’t get stories told about them.” I’m sorry, I’ve read enough Domestic Fluff fanfic to tell you that’s just blatantly not true, Ultimate Dirk.

wait.

wait wait wait wait.

pesterquest is a RETCON???????????

THAT was not something i was expecting

you click “don’t” betray your friends and pesterquest just fucking closes like this is fucking undertale jesus fucking christ.

but....

i don’t wanna betray my friends.

but i wanna see what happens....

god dammit this is exactly like the murder run of undertale, i don’t wanna do it but i have to know.

“Andrew Hussie would never do this to me” yeah well, Andrew Hussie barely ever interacted with you soooooo...

and if i throw the beta in the sewer again pesterquest quits. again.

i mean, i knew it would but... *sigh*

that’s a fucking depressing ass ending.

... except that “Savior of the Waking World” still hasn’t been unlocked...

Huh.

I’m... gonna see what happens if I start John’s route over again.

oh duh, of course it’s a retcon, MSPAR touched the Homestuck juju. i forgot about that.

(a big part of me wants to look up the process of getting the true ending. but a bigger part of me wants to figure it out for myself.)

hmmm. okay so replaying john’s ending once didn’t do it.

i guess i coooooould try replaying the whole thing? that sounds. like a lot of effort.

or i could try not betraying my friends approximately five million times let’s see what happens if i do that.

i’m going to do that experimenting in another post cuz this is already huge. see ya in part two.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Meaningless

Bakugou x reader (???)

Warnings: angst, swearing, light violence

A/N: I HURT

“I gotta go.”

“Nooooo you don’t!”

Bakugou clenched his jaw, a familiar aching in his wrists disturbing his intention of being ‘damn fine’ but he wasn’t fine. Not after stumbling upon you in the common room with that shitty purple haired bastard you were hanging around too damn much. Why was he even here? This was the class A dorms and that wannabe shitstain wasn’t even in the hero course… yet.

Bakugou massaged his wrists and turned away from you as Shinsou gave you a piggyback ride to the door. He needed to punch something.

“Gaaahhhh, do you really have to leave? We were having a fun day!” Bakugou hated that your annoying sickly sweet tone wasn’t for him. Why wasn’t it for him? Obviously Bakugou was stronger than that low-life and he’d even go so far to say that he might’ve been more handsome! He’d known you for so much longer. The two of you used to get along so well. You’d even hang out with him one on one; you’d share food with him and tell stories and laugh together. The two of you were practically dating until that dirtbag came along!

“We were, weren’t we?” Bakugou could hear the smile in that smug-as-fuck Shinsou’s voice. He wondered if Shinsou knew that he won. Bakugou maybe didn’t let his feelings for you be obvious to everyone else around him but paranoid thoughts of Shinsou thinking that he had something over Bakugou got his blood boiling.

“Maybe I could come back here when I’m done with training? But you’ll have to deal with a sweaty me laying on top of you.”

If he was halfway decent he would shower before coming near you again. Besides that, it’d be too late for a visit!

“The sun will be down by the time you’re done!” Yes, exactly.

“Is that a bad thing?”

What was Bakugou doing, listening in on a conversation that was only pissing him off?! Your light giggles and whispered words made his chest hurt but he couldn’t walk away yet. Bakugou turned his head back in your direction and saw you whispering something into that jerk’s ear. It was shameless! There were people around!

Bakugou watched as Shinsou’s cheeks bloomed a light pink. It burned Bakugou not to know what the hell you were saying even if he knew it would probably break him.

Shinsou grinned down at you. “In that case, maybe I shouldn’t leave.”

“Then don’t!”

Bakugou recalled a time when you were adamant on having him stay longer with you. Did that mean that you could’ve had feelings for him that he didn’t know about? Had Bakugou missed his chance? Damn it. Thinking that way was stupid and deprecating but… addicting in its own right. Had. Bakugou. Missed. His. Chance.

“Ohhh but I gotta!” A peck on the lips. Something inside Bakugou broke.

“I’ll miss you,” you silently sang at him.

“I know you will.”

“Just FUCKING LEAVE!” Bakugou knew that his impulsive outbursts were to be expected but that didn’t mean he wasn’t cursing at himself for doing it. Showing weakness. Though, the glare you shot at him eased a bit of a heartbreak. Even if it was out of surprise, anger, or annoyance, it felt good being acknowledged. The two of you weren’t the only people in the room.

But Shinsou ignored Bakugou. “I’ll see you later tonight?”

A pregnant moment passed before you looked back up to your boyfriend. He hoped that maybe something small and stupid like that could make you reconsider him but that was childish, wasn’t it.

“Maaaybe… if I’m not asleep by the time you’re done…”

“I could sleep with you,” that asshole suggested.

“Fucking Christ,” Bakugou hissed under his breath and stormed out of the room. When did that guy become so fucking complacent anyways? He spends a couple hours a day building his body up and he thinks he’s the king of the world?! It was bullshit and Bakugou saw right through him.

Bakugou locked his door, threw on his headphones, and laid down in his bed, shutting his eyes and tried to the best of his ability to not think about anything but hexed thoughts of you alone in his bedroom yammering on about a show you really liked clouded his mind. Bakugou always listened to whatever you had to say even if it was stupid or meaningless. He never had much to say in return but he always listened. Was Shindou the same way? Or did he have ways of contributing to the conversation? Was he intellectually stimulating? Did the two of you share deep conversations or were you two always just cute with each other like you were downstairs?

Stupid. You were so damn stupid. Bakugou would be so good to you if you would let him… maybe. He turned over on his bed and fingered the edge of the poster he kept on his wall.

There was a knock on the door that Bakugou decided to ignore. It was either Sero or more likely Kirishima. Bakugou might’ve let Kirishima in on his stupid little fucking crush on you and that loud mouth blabbed to Sero about it and before Shinsou came along, the two of them were bent on torturing Bakugou about it forever; Kirishima more so with offering unwanted advice and Sero with offering even more terrible advice with the intent to poke Bakugou’s buttons.

Another knock.

“I’m busy!” Bakugou called back.

“Oh… alright.” Shit fuck. It was you. Bakugou battled the guilt and reassurance of knowing that his tantrum got your attention before racing back to the door.

Thankful you were still standing there looking as perfect and awful as ever, he growled out, “what do you want?”

You kept a placid expression, completely in phases by Bakugou’s bad mood. “I just wanted to say ‘hi.’”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “Hi?”

“Hi.” You crossed your arms. There was absolutely nothing about you that Bakugou found particularly threatening but your cool demeanor did have him intimidated for the slightest of seconds. It was like you were daring him to do something but he couldn’t figure out what.

“Alright,” Bakugou mimicked your motion, “hi.”

“Can I come in?” You glanced past his shoulder into his empty room and Bakugou stepped to the side.

“I’m not stopping you.”

You glided in and Bakugou tried to repress the longing ache he felt as your conditioner tickled his nose. You stood in the middle of his room and looked around, probably some kind of front because Bakugou hadn’t changed anything since you were in it last. “What’s new, Bakugou?”

“Nuthin’,” he said, shifting his weight to the side in hopes of easing his discomfort. He didn’t bother asking you the same question. He knew what was new with you and he hated it.

“Are you doing alright? We haven’t hung out in awhile.”

That’s because you spend all your time with that Gerard Way looking fucker. “It seems like we’ve both been busy.”

“I invited you out to karaoke the other night but you didn’t wanna go.”

Why would Bakugou go anywhere with you if he had to watch some other guy drape his lanky ass arms over you? “Karaoke sucks.”

“That’s true but you’d always come with us before…” you stopped your meaningless room scanning and looked Bakugou dead in the eyes. “So, what did I do?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting that. Sure, you weren’t exactly afraid of confrontation but to come here so suddenly and ask him that threw him off guard.

“Why do you think you did something?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me,” you accused, boldly taking a few steps closer to him, your expression unreadable. “And if I’ve pissed you off, I thought I could count on you letting me know what the hell I did or tell me a way that I can fix it.”

Bakugou huffed. To hell with it. “You can start by not being so lovey-dovey with that wannabe when other people around.”

“You mean Hitoshi? He has a name, Bakugou.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright. I’ll ease up on the PDA. Will that make you feel better?” Your passive aggressive tone ignited something in Bakugou. He grinded his teeth together in hopes to stop himself from blowing up.

“... no.”

You rolled your eyes, and Bakugou felt relieved with you showing him some hint of emotion even if it was bitter, even if it was annoyed. You marched up to him, challenging him, invading the space that he always wanted to keep everyone besides you out of.

“Then tell me what the hell is really your problem!”

A toxic part of Bakugou liked this. He’s wanted to set things straight since Shinsou came along and he knew he blew it and what better time to say what he needed to say when you were mad? “You really wanna know.”

“Yeah. I really wanna know.”

Bakugou fronted you as he glared down at your waiting stature. “I don’t like him,” he paused and swallowed hard, “I don’t like you dating him.”

“Why not?”

“Because-!” His throat dried up. Shit, it wasn’t as easy as he thought it was gonna be.

“Because? Yeah, okay, Bakugou. Thanks for clearing that up. If you wanna get pissy for no fucking reason, that’s your problem but don’t go yelling at my boyfriend anymore, okay? He’s a good guy and you being shitty to him really bothers me.”

“I’m not being shitty, you are! So fuck you and your boyfriend!”

That’s when you pushed him. Hard. It wasn’t bad, you and Bakugou had gotten rowdy with each other plenty of times in the past and Bakugou… missed it. He needed it.

“Fuck you! You’re acting like a child!”

“Am I? Alright L/N, I’ll tell you why I don’t like you dating that asshole!” He towered over you and you took an involuntary step back so your back was to the wall. Bakugou put both arms against the wall, caging you in. You didn’t look the least bit scared but your face did flush. He leaned in close to your face, the heat radiating off of your body was near intoxicating. “I don’t like you dating him because you should be dating me!”

Before you could say anything back, his lips pressed hard against yours with bruising force. It was wrong and he knew it but maybe, maybe now you’d understand. Maybe you’d see him like he sees you.

Bakugou felt a bit triumphant when your lips parted and allowed him to give you a better deeper kiss, brushing against your soft lips that he’s dreamed about. He pulled away and cupped your face. “I love you, you idiot.”

He kissed you again with less force, tears stinging his closed eyes as your rested your hands in his shoulder.

“Bakugou… stop.”

So he did. But he didn’t pull his hands away. He didn’t let you look away. He needed you to see him.

He could tell you were trying your best to stay composed but he saw similar tears in your eyes. He didn’t mean to make you cry. He never wanted that.

“Why?” You gulped. “Why are you telling me now? I was waiting for you… god…” you closed your eyes. “I’m sorry Bakugou… why did you say that?!”

Bakugou’s heart sank back into its familiar pit. He sighed. “You’re the one who came here lookin’ for an answer. So now you’ve got them.”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have asked.” You pushed his hands away and his arms fell limp at his side. He felt utterly defeated.

You pushed past him and headed towards the hall. Bakugou watched you, trying to think of something, anything to say, to make up for what he did.

“Are you gonna tell him? That I kissed you?”

You paused at the door, hand on the knob. “No.”

“Why not?”

You didn’t look back him and Bakugou needed you to. He needed some sort of validation. He just did something he never thought he’d be able to do to you. What were you thinking?!

“Because… it didn’t mean anything.”

With that, you were out the door, not bothering to even close it behind you, leaving Bakugou alone in his room to stew. Again, his wrists started to ache. The kiss couldn’t have meant nothing to you. If it didn’t mean anything there would be a better reason to tell Shinsou. And you had been waiting...? Waiting for what. Maybe his timing was off. His heart was broken but he didn’t regret kissing you. Even if that meant you hated him not, he’d do it again a hundred more times.

At least now you knew.

Tags for EVERYTHING (closed): @yandere-inamorata @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelanore @kpanime @ayeputita @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland @iamthe-leaf @midnightfeline666 @bungou-stray-alies-tales-of-aly of-aly @rubyred-imagines @kattariapenn @heypartypeps @quirktaker @thecryingsombra @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @ghost-of-todoroki @geektastic84 @davalia @glixeo @rubycubix @mekakushi-dan-01-kido

[softboywriting]

More Than Anything | Shawn Mendes

Summary: After a year together, Shawn says I love you for the first time.

Word Count: 1.3k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn's hands are a gift from the Gods. You understand now what all the girls on social media were on about. His hands were amazing and easily one of your favorite things about him other than...well...literally everything. You would hold them, play with them, put your fingers between his. He knows they are your weakness, your absolute downfall, and he uses that knowledge to his advantage all the time.

It's a Saturday night and Shawn has been ignoring his phone for hours, even left it in the bedroom for good measure. He doesn't want to see anyone but you. He is fresh off tour, home for a full month, and he wants to spend as much time as he can with you. He used to call up the guys, go out, hit the clubs, but not since the two of you got together. Not since he's been missing you like crazy, being gone for increasingly long lengths of time.

The two of you haven't gone public, it's been over a year now that you've been together and you would rather not go public for as long as you can. It's convenient, living in the same building and dating Shawn. No one suspected the woman who was always coming and going, that clearly lived there. If the two of you went out, you just took separate cars and met up where ever you were going. It wasn't as hard to hide in Toronto as it may seem but still Shawn always worried someone would see the two of you together. He wanted to keep you to himself, didn't want to hear what anyone else had to say. It wasn't anyone else's business.

Shawn wanted a night in, time to relax for a while. You had no problem with that, actually preferring it over a night out. So here you are, laying between his legs, playing with his hand, fiddling with his ring and not paying attention to the movie on the big screen in front of you. He doesn't ask why you are so interested in his hands anymore, he just lets you do your thing. You like to play with his rings; what ever one he picks to wear that week, and you rub your thumbs along his palm, trace the bit of callous where his fingers hit the guitar strings. You just like it. You like his hands and they are so much bigger than yours that your favorite thing to do is put your palms together and see the size difference.

His other hand goes to your hair and you melt, head lolling against his chest. His short nails scratch gently against your scalp, lulling you into a placid state. He knows this will get you relaxed, putty in his hands. You drop his other hand and he slides it under you shirt, slightly rough fingers massaging across your soft stomach. He's got you wrapped around his finger and he knows it.

“You're always so soft baby,” he purrs, lips close to your ear, placing a little kiss on the outer shell. “And you smell so good.” He presses his nose against your hair and snuffles a bit. “Like coconut and vanilla.”

“Mmm I showered before I came over. It's probably my shampoo.”

“I love it.” He nudges his nose against your ear and places a soft kiss once more. “and I love you.”

Your heart stops. Neither of you had said that yet. It had never come up, and frankly you had wanted to say it very early on but didn't want to risk making things awkward. You feel your body swell with love, overwhelming you with emotion. You're about to open your mouth and say it back but suddenly the front door is opening and four of Shawn's friends are clamoring in loudly.

“Shawn! You alive dude? We've been texting you all...” Brian's words trail off as he spots you tangled up in Shawn on the sofa. “Fuck.”

“Yo dude, what the- oh shit.” Matt raises his eyebrows and the other two guys behind them fall silent too.

You flush, cheeks getting hot as you just stare as the guys before you. You realize how this must look, their friend tangled up with some girl they have never met. Silence fills the apartment. The awkward tension nearing palpable levels.

“Get the fuck out guys!” Shawn says loudly in annoyance. He sits you up and crawls out from behind you to deal with the brood that has just busted in. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I am so sorry man. I had no idea you had company.” Brain turns away from you and looks to Shawn. “We just thought you were ignoring us because you were in one of your weird moods.”

“Yeah, we didn't know you had company.”

Shawn sighs heavily. “Well you shouldn't be busting in people's apartments anyway. Now can you please go? I'm sort of in the middle of something.”

“You're not even going to introduce us?” One of the guys asks, looking over at you and you sink into the cushions in an attempt to hide.

“Fuck no. Get out, now.” Shawn herds the four guys to the door and they shuffle out like scolded dogs.

Shawn locks the door and walks back over to the couch. He scoots you over, settling against the cushions before pulling you back to where you were between his legs. “I'm so sorry about that.”

“It's not your fault.”

“It is. I should have replied to them and said I didn't want to hang out tonight. They never would have just showed up.”

You pick up his hand and he threads his fingers between yours. You bring it up and kiss over his knuckles. They look a little bruised. Probably from the gym. “Did you mean what you said before?”

“What did I say?”

“Shawn, come on.”

He giggles, kissing your head, a smile in his voice as he says, “What did I say?” And you know he's playing with you.

“You said, I love you.”

“And I do,” he says as he wraps his arms around you tight. He leans you to the side and kisses you softly, lips just a little off center due to the angle. “I love you more than anything.”

“Shawn, you can't possibly mean that.” You reach up, tangling a hand in his messy curls. “You love other things far more than me.”

“Mmm I'm pretty sure I don't.” He closes his eyes as you tug his hair just a bit. You know his weaknesses too. “You're special.”

“I-”

“I've said it before, in loads of interviews. I believe I'll know when I've fallen in love and that I'll know when I have found the one because it will consume me in a way only love can. When I couldn't stop thinking about you; and I couldn't sleep without telling you goodnight every night while I was on tour, when it was hard to focus on anything but you, I knew that I had found that sort of love that people only hope for.”

You turn around in his hold, positioning yourself so you're sitting in his lap, facing him. He puts his hands on your hips, staring at you with the softest love filled gaze you've ever seen. He's sure. He means what he says, every word of it. Your hands go to his face, cupping his cheeks, feeling the beginning of a light stubble against your palms. This is the man you've fallen in love with. The kindest, softest, most perfect but flawed, gorgeous man, and he's all yours. Tears form in your eyes and you feel you chest tightening up.

“Shh shh don't cry,” he murmurs, hands coming up and cupping your cheek, thumbs wiping away a stray tear. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I just love you,” you say quietly, lip trembling and voice threatening to break.

He grins, goofy and sweet. That handsome face glowing as he kisses you softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

You smile, letting out a little laugh. “I've loved you for so long.”

“Me too baby. Me too.”

______________________________

Please reblog and review! All comments, replies, asks and messages are appricated! Thank you! -A