#because it’s been a day already and I can’t stomach another argument

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

nothing like disassociating in the kitchen while your drunk mother goes on and on about your wasted potential & how difficult you are to love.

[classyrbf]

THE MAN I USED TO KNOW! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...you’ve noticed suguru has changed, his attitude, his demeanor, he isn’t the same anymore. his coldness towards you won’t change and it breaks your heart

INFO...geto x fem!reader, angst (no seriously), arguments, yelling, break up, cheating, crying, cursing, no comfort, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

The metal scraped against the ceramic plate as Geto played around with the food you had made for him. His face stoic as he sits there and stares at it. Your eyes flicker up to his fingers, taking a bite of your food. He hasn’t said a word to you since he’s walked through the door, completely ignoring your presence and advances. He didn’t even respond when you said hi.

He’s been acting cold towards you for months know, not responding to your texts, coming home late, always tired, shrugging you off when you try and show him affection. You didn’t want to overthink it, knowing that he does go through phases where he’d rather be by himself. But this, this was different. Usually he’d talk to you, explain what he’s feeling, and now he can’t even do that. He treats you like a stranger, like you’re a roommate rather than his girlfriend. As you sat there in your bed late at night, staring at his sleeping figure, you began to wonder if your once loving boyfriend was cheating on you.

The thought of it broke your heart in two, made you sick to your stomach and put an empty feeling in your chest. You’d walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind you to cry, hoping you don’t wake him up. The man who was sitting across from you right now wasn’t the man you fell in love with.

“Not hungry?” You broke the silence, placing your fork down on the plate.

“No,” he bluntly answered, tossing his fork down. A long sigh left his lips, pushing the plate of food away from him. “I already ate.”

“At work?” You asked, puzzled. He didn’t come home until nine at night, six hours after he was supposed to leave work.

“Yep,” he plainly replied.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking back down at your plate as Geto sat there, arms folded across his chest. You weren’t sure what to say to him anymore. Anytime you tried sparking up a conversation he never showed interest, completely shutting you down. He was pushing you to your breaking point, leaving you nothing left but to lash out on him about his behavior towards you.

“You really shouldn’t have waited up for me.” Yet another sigh leaves his lips, like he was annoyed with the fact you were present in his life. Your brows furrowed, his words not sitting right with you. He’s made you feel useless, unwanted, like you were nothing but a placeholder in his life.

“Well, I wanted to. We never spend time together anymore.” You grab your cup, taking a sip of your water in hopes to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“We do,” he quickly said.

“We don’t.” You avert your gaze, unable to look at him.

“What is your problem?” He asks, voice sharp.

You found it in yourself to meet his gaze, taken by surprise from his question. You scoffed, almost laughing in his face. “What is wrong with me?” You ask.

“Yeah!” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What is wrong with you, Suguru? You come home and ignore me, can’t even find it within yourself to say hi. You come home late every single night, walking right past me like you have something to hide. You don’t even eat the food I cook for you anymore even if it’s your favorite! You can’t even hold a conversation with me! And we haven’t even said I love you to each other in I don’t know how long!” You’ve reached your breaking point, all the months of holding everything back now unleashing.

“Because I am too tired! What don’t you understand?!” He yells, a scowl on his face.

“Too tired?! Too tired! You stay six hours later than you need to every fucking day doing who knows what! That’s your own fault! I’m your girlfriend, Suguru, sorry that I have to remind you! I’m not some damn roommate of yours that helps pay the bills! You’ve been treating me like some stranger for the last few months!” You quickly respond, tears brimming your eyes. You stand up from your seat at the table, letting out shaky breath as you turn to look away from him. The room becomes silent. All that could be heard were your broken sobs. Suguru looks at you, chest heaving up and down as he tries to control his breathing.

“It’s hurts,” you whimper, sniffling. “I love you so much and I don’t even think you feel the same way anymore.” You turn to look at him. “What happened to the man I used to know?” A frown forms on your face as you try so hard to hold back your tears. “What are we?”

He stares at you for an unreasonably long time, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know,” he answers after what feels like hours. His words make you sob even harder, embarrassed that it’s come to this.

“Are you seeing someone else?” You have your back turned towards him, heart beating rapidly in your chest. It feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest as you wait for him to answer you. You can’t bear to look into his empty eyes, knowing that the love he had for you is no longer there. He’s an empty man. Anxiously, you bite on your nails, leg bouncing up and down. Your dinner was cold, and so was the room. Everything seemed cold.

“Yes.” He almost sounds ashamed when he answers. Tears pour down your face upon hearing that singular word. You knew it all along. Suguru is still sitting there, holding his head in his hands before dragging them down his face.

The room is spinning and your chest hurts. You feel nauseous, the food you just ate threatening to come back up. Though your knees are weak, you find the strength to walk towards your shared bedroom, tears blurring your vision as you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing whatever clothes you had in, not bothering to fold them. Anger flows through you, remembering all the times you desperately tried to fight for his affection and love, all the times when you cried to yourself as you sat alone with your thoughts. He didn’t care.

You hear footsteps approach from behind you as you angrily rip your clothes off of the hanger and from the drawers, throwing them to the floor. You can’t stop crying no matter how hard you try. He doesn’t deserve your tears. “I’m sorry.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, slowly turning to look at him. “Now you’re sorry?!” You inch your way towards his brooding figure. “Why did you even stay?! Did you get enjoyment from me trying to get your attention, huh? You’re a fucking joke.” You stare up at him with hatred, venom lining your tone. “Fuck you!” You push him causing him to stumble backwards. “I hate you!” Your voice cracks as more tears well up in your eyes. “I really hate you!”

“I know.” He stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

You shake your head at him, returning back to packing your things. Suguru doesn’t know what he expected, he can’t seem to find an explanation for why he did what he did. You were perfect, loving, beautiful, caring, and he took all that away from you in a span of five minutes. He took it away from you his hands touched that other woman. He knew you’d catch on, you weren’t stupid. He felt guilty, but couldn’t stop himself from indulging in the attention of others—the woman.

“Who is it?” You ask, sitting on the floor as you hold your crumpled up shirt in your hand. As much as it would hurt to know, you needed some type of closure.

“I met her the night we had that argument.” He bit the inside of his cheek. It was a petty argument the two of you had, something about him leaving his clothes all over the floor. It escalated into a full blown fight, yelling at each other about that things that had zero correlation with what you first started fighting about in the first place. Hurtful things were said and he left to blow off some steam, finding himself at a club while you were at home texting and calling him, wondering where he was. That’s where he met her. Declining your calls while he was entertaining another woman. That entertainment shortly turned into him ending up at her place, their clothes discarded on the floor and his lips on hers, sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

After she fell asleep, he checked his phone to see you had texted him over ten times and called him over five, concerned for his safety. When he came back home, he found you sleeping on the couch, no blanket, no pillow. You fell asleep while waiting for him. It spiraled down from there.

A sob raked through your body as you remembered the argument he was talking about. “You were fucking her while I was here…waiting for you to come back home.” You felt sick, hands shaking as the thought formed an image in your head. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t know who you are anymore,” you said with disgust. Zipping up your suitcase, you stood to your feet and bumped shoulders with Suguru as you walked towards the front door to grab your coat and put on your shoes.

You left the house key on the small stand by the door before walking out, slamming the door shut behind you. The house stood silent, Suguru standing in the hallway as he stared at the front door. Remnants of your perfume filled the air, the dinner you had made still left on the two plates, the gifts he had got you were left behind, your side of the bed still messy from where you slept this morning, your towel still hanging in the bathroom along with your shampoo and conditioner.

He understands how much of a shitty person he is. He knows that he deserves a life without you as he casted you aside. As to why he stayed? Suguru was unsure of that himself. He questioned it multiple times when he heard you crying in the bathrooms all those nights. He hurt you deeply. Maybe he was waiting for the moment you broke up with him, afraid of doing it himself for whatever reason. He feels a sort of emptiness as well now, standing as silence consumed him. He was unsure of how to feel or react. Is he broken in a way? Is that why he did what he did?

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him away from his thoughts. He slowly pulls it out, staring at the name on the screen. It was her. He sucked in a breath, thumb hovering over the screen.

He declined the call.

Part 2

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[nadvs]

I'm really sorry to request this for sleeping with the enemy but I'm a sucker for angsty fics.

But what about their first fight as a couple? Maybe they're fighting over a stupid thing and they are both petty and don't want the other person to be right?

(or they have makeup sex and everything turns out fine lol)

OMG I LOVE IT SO MUCH. DON’T BE SORRY. angst will always be my fav 🙂‍↕️ (the length of this blurb is proof)

they got into arguments as friends but as a couple, they get way more emotional. they’re both confrontational and stubborn and have commitment issues that come out in different ways so it gets ugly 🫣

based on this fic

they’ve been official for almost a month now. as friends, their arguments were silly and usually short-lived, but this fight is nothing like those.

it was a saturday night at a house party on rafe’s college campus. they split off at one point in the night and when she went searching for him, she found him in the backyard, standing with a group of guys she hadn’t seen before.

the smell of weed hit her instantly. panic set in. if he gets caught doing drugs, his future is shot. one random drug test and he’ll be kicked off the team.

she approached him, resting her hand on his bicep, and said to him quietly but sternly, “what are you doing?”

rafe was drunk but caught the sharpness of her tone, looking down at her with a scowl.

“what’s with the attitude?” he muttered.

“are you serious? you can’t smoke. don’t be stupid about this.”

one of his friends overheard, letting out a dramatic hoot as he held a lit joint to his lips, clearly taunting rafe for being scolded.

“just go back inside,” rafe snapped.

his buddies jeered, chuckles scattering over the group.

“what?” she said.

he wriggled out of her grip, looking away from her. she huffed in disbelief before storming off, anger rushing through her.

it’s tuesday afternoon and they still haven’t spoken. all over a ten-second conversation. it’s how their arguments would always go as friends. both of them get mad, fast, then don’t talk for a few days.

but this is different. it hurts way more.

rafe went looking for her at the party later on and realized she left. he was her ride there so he called her a few times, worried about how she was getting back.

when she didn’t answer, he texted her: at least tell me you got home. she replied: home.

now, she’s sitting at a cafe on her campus, working on a paper. she opens their text conversation a few times a day, hoping maybe she just missed a notification from him. but all she sees is their last bitter exchange.

and even though she’s pissed beyond belief that he disrespected her, she’s following his home game today. she watches every game she can.

it’s been a close one for three quarters now. she has the stream playing, taking up half of her laptop screen. when the fourth quarter starts, she watches rafe continue to dominate the court.

but her stomach drops when she sees him fall after a collision with another player. because he doesn’t get up.

she makes the stream fullscreen, watching with wide eyes. he limps off the court. he doesn’t come back out for the rest of the game. her heart is twisted in a knot.

even though she’s angry and hurt that he hasn’t looked past his pride and called or texted, she already knows that she’s going to go over to his place later to check up on him.

it’s almost sunset when rafe parks his car, her campus blanketed in a warm orange glow. the past few days have been hell. now his ankle is throbbing in pain. and he still hasn’t talked to his girl.

he hates this. the way he’s always the first to make contact after an argument. it makes him feel like he has no backbone. he should stay mad at her. she assumed the worst. embarrassed him. she should be running after him.

he’s parked in front of her dorm building. he pulls out his phone and stares at his call history for a moment before tapping her name.

it rings a couple times. then he hears her voice.

“hello?”

“come downstairs,” he says sternly. “i’m in front of your building.”

she pauses before she answers.

“i’m not home. i’m at your house,” she tells him. “i just got here. liam told me you went out. you should be resting.”

rafe rakes his hand through his hair. even though their tones are terse, his stomach flips knowing that she probably still watched his game today. that she came over to see him after his injury. she sounds worried.

“stay there,” he says.

she hangs up, looking at liam from her spot on the house’s front step.

“i’ll just wait in his room,” she says. rafe’s teammate nods and steps aside so she can come in. after she asked him if rafe was home, her next question was what happened.

apparently, he sprained his ankle. she’s glad it’s not as bad as she imagined.

as she climbs up the stairs, liam calls her name.

“not my business,” he says when she turns to look at him, “but please figure this shit out. he’s been extra bitchy lately.”

she chuckles despite herself.

“did he tell you what happened?” she asks.

“no. he just keeps sulking. a bunch of us tried to get him to talk about it, but we got told to fuck off,” liam says with an indifferent shrug.

“i’ve never seen him like this, so i hope you guys fix whatever’s wrong. i know he can be…” he doesn’t find the right word. “but i can tell he really likes you. for what it’s worth.”

“thanks,” she says.

when rafe enters his room and sees her sitting in his desk chair, his body goes warm with a mixture of anger and longing. he missed her. looking at her. hearing her voice.

“you went to my dorm?” she asks.

he shuts the door behind him, leaving his keys and phone on his nightstand before sitting on his bed.

“yeah,” he says flatly. “to talk.”

he almost says something about how of course he’s the one who reached out first to try to mend things, but she must’ve come over with that same intention. or maybe not. maybe she came over to break up with him.

her eyes dart down to his ankle, her face crumpling with sadness.

“liam told me it’s a sprain. how bad is it?” she asks.

“bad,” rafe says, mostly so she’ll feel bad for him. when he sees her frown, he realizes it worked, and then he feels rotten for trying to manipulate her.

she has that effect on him. she makes him want to be a better person. he doesn’t want to be manipulative or cruel or angry. not with her.

“it’ll heal in a few days,” he adds to ease her worry. “i’m good. it’s nothing.”

“okay,” she says, clearly relieved. “i brought some ibuprofen in case you don’t have any.”

“why?” he says, still on edge.

“i’m still gonna worry about you. no matter how much you hurt me.”

she looks down as she rifles through her bag, pulling out the pill bottle and tossing it on his mattress.

“i hurt you?” he mutters, his tone sharp. “you think this is on me?”

“are you for real?” she matches his intensity immediately, her voice going louder. “you basically told me to get lost in front of your friends. they laughed at me.”

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he scoffs with a pissed off, disbelieving smile. what she did was way worse.

“do you have any idea how humilating that was?” she snaps. rafe stares at her with a tight jaw. “i was worried. they do random drug tests all the time. what if they found it in your system? and you fucked up your future just because you wanted to get high at a random party?”

“you think i need you to do that for me?” he shouts. “think back. did you see me smoking? did i look high?”

“you were standing in a circle of guys who were passing a joint around,” she says. “it’s not crazy of me to assume.”

he shakes his head and scoffs.

“rafe,” she says evenly. “you disappeared. you looked like you were on something. i got freaked out.”

“and then called me stupid.”

“i didn’t call you stupid,” she counters. but she knows her argument is flimsy. her impulsive words were harsh. telling him don’t be stupid was basically calling him stupid.

“oh, my god,” he mutters angrily. he stands up, hands on his hips as he paces over to the door and back to the bed, trying to cool down, even on his sore ankle. “imagine i came up to you like that in front of your friends. you’d lose your shit way worse than i did.”

“please sit down,” she says. “you need to keep your weight off your foot.”

he doesn’t listen.

“i didn’t find you to fight with you that night,” she continues. she takes a deep breath, anger rushing through her veins. “i was just worried. and then you were mean to me, saying something about my attitude-”

“yeah, because you came over with a stick up your ass,” he says. “it was so embarrassing that you talked to me like that in front of people.”

“what, because i’m a girl?” she scoffs.

“because you’re my girl,” he snaps.

she stills, staring at him as he stands in the middle of his room. a few moments of tense silence sink between them.

“i had a few drinks,” he says. “that was all. i know about the drug tests. i’m not an idiot. i’ve been playing since freshman year. i was hanging out with some guys i know from one of my classes. they were smoking. i wasn’t. that was it.”

she lets his words wash over her.

“please sit down,” she finally says again, tears pricking her eyes. “please. i don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

she sniffles. he gives in and sits back down, elbows on his knees as he sits hunched over.

rafe swallows the lump in his throat, his gaze on the floor. he’s not used to someone caring about him this much. he’s always only had himself. even when he’s yelling at her, she’s pleading for him to rest.

he hates the feeling of being told what to do. but when it comes from her, it’s because she gives a shit. and that makes it feel almost okay.

“i’m sorry,” she says, her tone wobbly. “i shouldn’t have used that word. i shouldn’t have embarrassed you. i don’t think you’re stupid. i just hated the thought of you losing everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

she sighs shakily.

“but when you talked to me like that…” she says. “it made me feel so… small. they were laughing at me and you weren’t on my side. it reminded me of how those idiots started treating me after we started seeing each other.”

rafe’s lips twist tightly. so many of the guys on the team she cheers for and even some of the girls on her squad started alienating her, treating her like she was a traitor just for hanging out with rafe.

he knows how much that messed with her head. then the person she went through all that for embarrassed her in front of some guys who don’t even matter.

finally, his gaze meets hers. her stomach sinks once she sees that his eyes are glossy. she’s never seen him cry. he’s this affected? she thought he was just mad at her for being a bitch to him in front of his buddies.

“you told me before,” he mutters, “that you expect every relationship to crash and burn. you expect the worst from every guy you date.”

she blinks back tears. she did tell him that, word for word, back when they were just friends. it was a moment of drunken vulnerability when she was talking about how every man she’d ever been with just let her down. she didn’t think he’d remember it. that he’d apply it to himself.

“it was like you made your mind up,” he says. “you were already sure i was hiding something from you, already fucking something up.”

her forehead crinkles. she didn’t think that he’d see it like that.

“listen, i…” rafe exhales slowly. his anger has almost completely dissolved now that she actually apologized. now that she said it, he feels like he doesn’t deserve the sorry. she was just looking out for him. “i’m sorry, too. i was an asshole.”

she bites her lip. he doesn’t say more. she waits. and waits. and waits. but that’s his entire apology.

“okay,” she finally says, unsure of how to resolve this. she’s still carrying the weight of pain he caused her. he doesn’t seem to get how badly he hurt her.

“okay what?” he asks. his mind is racing. “okay like, this is over? you’re done?”

“no,” she says, her brows furrowing.

rafe looks miserable, sorrow etched into his features, and even though she’s still hurting, still mad at him, she seals the distance between them, moving to settle on the bed across from him.

“you know how shitty these past few days have been?” he says. “hoping you’ll text me but at the same time, hoping you won’t because what if the message says you want to go back to being friends? or just never want to see me again at all?”

the ache in her heart doubles.

“it didn’t cross my mind once to break up with you,” she says.

“really?” rafe meets her eyes again. he looks genuinely shocked by her words. she had no idea he was so afraid of being left. so sure that she’d give up on him so quickly.

“of course,” she whispers.

the tension in rafe’s chest slowly loosens from her reassurance. he comes closer, his guard crumbling. her hand is on his knee. he puts his hand over hers.

“this has been rough on me, too,” she says, sniffling. “i kept waiting for you to call. i hated that you brushed me off like that. and now it’s like you don’t even get how much you hurt me.”

this is a punch to his gut. but he deserves it.

“i was pissed. i wasn’t thinking straight,” he says. “and i… i called that night, remember? like five times. you only texted me that you were home and you never called back.”

her breath shakes again. he didn’t do enough. he can see that now.

“i should’ve kept calling,” he says. “i’m sorry, baby. i am. you were just looking out for me. i fucked up.”

his words make her anger lose its sharpness.

“so did i. i don’t expect the worst from you,” she mumbles. “i know how hard you work. i know you’re serious about basketball. i just… panicked.”

rafe needs to kiss her, to have the tangible evidence that she still wants him as bad as he wants her.

he leans forward, giving her the softest kiss he’s ever given her. he doesn’t have it in him to pull back. not when he’s missed her so bad that it hurts.

he gently presses his palm against the back of her neck, guiding her to nuzzle into him. he kisses the top of her head as she rests her cheek on his shoulder.

“i miss you so goddamn much,” he admits. “you have no idea how much i think about you.”

he feels her nod against him.

“me, too.”

“i’m sorry, okay?” rafe says.

“me, too,” she echoes.

they stay like that, curled into each other, hearts starting to beat in unison again.

as she breathes rafe’s scent, a warmth that she’s committed to memory now, she realizes they’re carrying more baggage than she would’ve expected.

maybe she does assume he’ll lie to her and disappoint her. it must be a knee-jerk reaction after so many failed relationships.

and he clearly has a fear of being left. he looked like he didn’t even believe her when she told him she wasn’t considering breaking up with him. maybe he never let anyone in before because he was sure they’d eventually bail on him.

but she knew they were both stubborn. both explosive. both their own version of damaged. it took three days and a long, tense argument to get here, touching again.

beneath the ache they share, she has hope. they came to each other to resolve this. this was their first fight as a couple and they made it out to the other end.

it might be hard sometimes. but as she feels his arms encircle her, heavy and warm and comforting, she knows it’s worth it. he’s worth it.

she lets out another shaky breath and he kisses the top of her head again. he can’t lose her. he won’t survive it if he does.

[rbfclassy]

THE MAN I USED TO KNOW! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...you’ve noticed suguru has changed, his attitude, his demeanor, he isn’t the same anymore. his coldness towards you won’t change and it breaks your heart

INFO...geto x fem!reader, angst (no seriously), arguments, yelling, break up, cheating, crying, cursing, no comfort, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

The metal scraped against the ceramic plate as Geto played around with the food you had made for him. His face stoic as he sits there and stares at it. Your eyes flicker up to his fingers, taking a bite of your food. He hasn’t said a word to you since he’s walked through the door, completely ignoring your presence and advances. He didn’t even respond when you said hi.

He’s been acting cold towards you for months now, not responding to your texts, coming home late, always tired, shrugging you off when you try and show him affection. You didn’t want to overthink it, knowing that he does go through phases where he’d rather be by himself. But this, this was different. Usually he’d talk to you, explain what he’s feeling, and now he can’t even do that. He treats you like a stranger, like you’re a roommate rather than his girlfriend. As you sat there in your bed late at night, staring at his sleeping figure, you began to wonder if your once loving boyfriend was cheating on you.

The thought of it broke your heart in two, made you sick to your stomach and put an empty feeling in your chest. You’d walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind you to cry, hoping you don’t wake him up. The man who was sitting across from you right now wasn’t the man you fell in love with.

“Not hungry?” You broke the silence, placing your fork down on the plate.

“No,” he bluntly answered, tossing his fork down. A long sigh left his lips, pushing the plate of food away from him. “I already ate.”

“At work?” You asked, puzzled. He didn’t come home until nine at night, six hours after he was supposed to leave work.

“Yep,” he plainly replied.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, looking back down at your plate as Geto sat there, arms folded across his chest. You weren’t sure what to say to him anymore. Anytime you tried sparking up a conversation he never showed interest, completely shutting you down. He was pushing you to your breaking point, leaving you nothing left but to lash out on him about his behavior towards you.

“You really shouldn’t have waited up for me.” Yet another sigh leaves his lips, like he was annoyed with the fact you were present in his life. Your brows furrowed, his words not sitting right with you. He’s made you feel useless, unwanted, like you were nothing but a placeholder in his life.

“Well, I wanted to. We never spend time together anymore.” You grab your cup, taking a sip of your water in hopes to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“We do,” he quickly said.

“We don’t.” You avert your gaze, unable to look at him.

“What is your problem?” He asks, voice sharp.

You found it in yourself to meet his gaze, taken by surprise from his question. You scoffed, almost laughing in his face. “What is wrong with me?” You ask.

“Yeah!” He shrugs his shoulders.

“What is wrong with you, Suguru? You come home and ignore me, can’t even find it within yourself to say hi. You come home late every single night, walking right past me like you have something to hide. You don’t even eat the food I cook for you anymore even if it’s your favorite! You can’t even hold a conversation with me! And we haven’t even said I love you to each other in I don’t know how long!” You’ve reached your breaking point, all the months of holding everything back now unleashing.

“Because I am too tired! What don’t you understand?!” He yells, a scowl on his face.

“Too tired?! Too tired! You stay six hours later than you need to every fucking day doing who knows what! That’s your own fault! I’m your girlfriend, Suguru, sorry that I have to remind you! I’m not some damn roommate of yours that helps pay the bills! You’ve been treating me like some stranger for the last few months!” You quickly respond, tears brimming your eyes. You stand up from your seat at the table, letting out shaky breath as you turn to look away from him. The room becomes silent. All that could be heard were your broken sobs. Suguru looks at you, chest heaving up and down as he tries to control his breathing.

“It’s hurts,” you whimper, sniffling. “I love you so much and I don’t even think you feel the same way anymore.” You turn to look at him. “What happened to the man I used to know?” A frown forms on your face as you try so hard to hold back your tears. “What are we?”

He stares at you for an unreasonably long time, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know,” he answers after what feels like hours. His words make you sob even harder, embarrassed that it’s come to this.

“Are you seeing someone else?” You have your back turned towards him, heart beating rapidly in your chest. It feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest as you wait for him to answer you. You can’t bear to look into his empty eyes, knowing that the love he had for you is no longer there. He’s an empty man. Anxiously, you bite on your nails, leg bouncing up and down. Your dinner was cold, and so was the room. Everything seemed cold.

“Yes.” He almost sounds ashamed when he answers. Tears pour down your face upon hearing that singular word. You knew it all along. Suguru is still sitting there, holding his head in his hands before dragging them down his face.

The room is spinning and your chest hurts. You feel nauseous, the food you just ate threatening to come back up. Though your knees are weak, you find the strength to walk towards your shared bedroom, tears blurring your vision as you pull your suitcase from the closet, tossing whatever clothes you had in it, not bothering to fold them. Anger flows through you, remembering all the times you desperately tried to fight for his affection and love, all the times when you cried to yourself as you sat alone with your thoughts. He didn’t care.

You hear footsteps approach from behind you as you angrily rip your clothes off of the hanger and from the drawers, throwing them to the floor. You can’t stop crying no matter how hard you try. He doesn’t deserve your tears. “I’m sorry.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, slowly turning to look at him. “Now you’re sorry?!” You inch your way towards his brooding figure. “Why did you even stay?! Did you get enjoyment from me trying to get your attention, huh? You’re a fucking joke.” You stare up at him with hatred, venom lining your tone. “Fuck you!” You push him causing him to stumble backwards. “I hate you!” Your voice cracks as more tears well up in your eyes. “I really hate you!”

“I know.” He stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

You shake your head at him, returning back to packing your things. Suguru doesn’t know what he expected, he can’t seem to find an explanation for why he did what he did. You were perfect, loving, beautiful, caring, and he took all that away from you in a span of five minutes. He took it away from you his hands touched that other woman. He knew you’d catch on, you weren’t stupid. He felt guilty, but couldn’t stop himself from indulging in the attention of others—the woman.

“Who is it?” You ask, sitting on the floor as you hold your crumpled up shirt in your hand. As much as it would hurt to know, you needed some type of closure.

“I met her the night we had that argument.” He bit the inside of his cheek. It was a petty argument the two of you had, something about him leaving his clothes all over the floor. It escalated into a full blown fight, yelling at each other about that things that had zero correlation with what you first started fighting about in the first place. Hurtful things were said and he left to blow off some steam, finding himself at a club while you were at home texting and calling him, wondering where he was. That’s where he met her. Declining your calls while he was entertaining another woman. That entertainment shortly turned into him ending up at her place, their clothes discarded on the floor and his lips on hers, sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

After she fell asleep, he checked his phone to see you had texted him over ten times and called him over five, concerned for his safety. When he came back home, he found you sleeping on the couch, no blanket, no pillow. You fell asleep while waiting for him. It spiraled down from there.

A sob raked through your body as you remembered the argument he was talking about. “You were fucking her while I was here…waiting for you to come back home. Worried something happened to you.” You felt sick, hands shaking as the thought formed an image in your head. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t know who you are anymore,” you said with disgust. Zipping up your suitcase, you stood to your feet and bumped shoulders with Suguru as you walked towards the front door to grab your coat and put on your shoes.

You left the house key on the small stand by the door before walking out, slamming the door shut behind you. The house stood silent, Suguru standing in the hallway as he stared at the front door. Remnants of your perfume filled the air, the dinner you had made still left on the two plates, the gifts he had got you were left behind, your side of the bed still messy from where you slept this morning, your towel still hanging in the bathroom along with your shampoo and conditioner.

He understands how much of a shitty person he is. He knows that he deserves a life without you as he casted you aside. As to why he stayed? Suguru was unsure of that himself. He questioned it multiple times when he heard you crying in the bathrooms all those nights. He hurt you deeply. Maybe he was waiting for the moment you broke up with him, afraid of doing it himself for whatever reason. He feels a sort of emptiness as well now, standing as silence consumed him. He was unsure of how to feel or react. Is he broken in a way? Is that why he did what he did?

His phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him away from his thoughts. He slowly pulls it out, staring at the name on the screen. It was her. He sucked in a breath, thumb hovering over the screen.

He declined the call.

repost from my old account

[lexirosewrites]

Steddie as rival lawyers who have very different careers.

Steve became a prosecuting attorney after graduating from a top school at his parents’ insistence. It pays well and makes them happy, even if it’s joyless for him to fight for things he doesn’t believe in.

Prosecuting innocent people and fighting for the sake of money without morals.

On the other end of the spectrum is free-spirited Eddie Munson. He’s a defense attorney who shows up in ill-fitting suits that show off his many neck and hand tattoos. Piercings in his ears and hair that’s not tidy or tamed in any way.

He’s a rebel who barely graduated from some lower tier law school with no prestige whatsoever.

Steve naturally assumed their first trial would be a breeze.

But somehow— sheer dumb luck, bad jury selection, or just stupid fate— Eddie wins. And he keeps winning.

Over and over for months.

Steve’s long uninterrupted winning streak becomes a losing one. If Eddie’s in the courtroom too, Steve knows he’s already lost his case.

It’s humbling.

Actually, it’s frankly embarrassing to lose to someone who’s so unprofessional and doesn’t take the law seriously like Steve.

Eddie is respectful of course, but he doesn’t use lawyer-speak unless he’s referencing a precedent of a law. Other than that, he’s overly casual and friendly. Everyone’s favorite lawyer.

He doesn’t lack passion though. No, the guy all but hops up on tables to make speeches about freedom or the American dream during every trial. Utterly ridiculous.

It works though. The juries fall for his bullshit about being down to earth and his clients walk free because of it.

Steve can’t stand it. He can’t stand Eddie and his mockery of his career.

This ultimately culminates in a confrontation in the parking lot one night after a particularly tense trial conclusion.

Once again, Eddie’s guy walked free and Steve knows he’s gonna hear about it from his boss (who also happens to be his dad).

So he might snap a bit when Eddie comes out whistling and looking happier than anything.

“Hey, jackass!”

Eddie looks around like Steve might be referring to some other jackass, despite the otherwise empty parking lot.

He points to himself in question and Steve rolls his eyes in answer.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Eddie finally greets him with a smirk. “Chinese takeout for tonight sound good?”

Steve’s stomach growls at the mere suggestion.

He’d accidentally skipped lunch earlier so he could make changes to his closing argument. Fat load of good that did him.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You’re not off the hook that easily though. What the hell was that brutal cross examination on my witness, you dickhead?”

Eddie smiles extra sweetly and presses a quick but affectionate kiss to Steve’s forehead first.

“All’s fair in love, war, and court, baby. You can whine about it later when we’re home if you really want to. I happen to know some very nice pillows that would love to muffle your pretty little moans.”

Asshole.

He blushes, glancing around to make sure they’re still alone before he pulls Eddie into an embrace.

They’ve barely spent any time together this week because of the tense trial and he really missed his boyfriend (not to be mistaken for the jackass who argues with him daily in the courtroom).

As much as they can separate their personal and work lives, it’s hard to not be on the same side of things.

“What if I want you to hear me moan, Eddie? I think it’s only fair since you seem to get everyone else off and I’m the one always suffering for it,” he mumbles snarkily into Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie laughs at the pun. He knew that he would.

“Is that why you’re sulking, babylove? You want me to get you off too?” He nods with a pathetic whine. Not getting to cum for a few days can do that to a person. “I think that can be arranged. You’ve been such a good boy for me lately. You’ve earned a treat.”

Steve melts into his boyfriend’s arms, feeling loved.

“I missed you.”

Another kiss to the forehead, but this time Eddie’s lips linger there as he speaks.

“Missed you too, sweetheart. Not sorry for winning, but I am sorry that you lost.”

Steve knew the defendant was innocent. There wasn’t much of a case to be made anyway. It still stings though.

“Yeah... I’ve been thinking about that and it might be time to quit my dad’s firm. I’d much rather be on the same side as you,” Steve confesses.

Eddie pauses.

“Does that mean…”

Steve looks up smiling and confirms, “Yes. I’ll accept the job offer if it’s still on the table.”

The rival lawyer had offered him a job months ago, before they even got together.

By accepting the position, it means they’d finally be allowed to be a couple publicly and they’d be sitting on the same side of the court for once.

It would also free Steve from his dad’s control and disappointment.

“Stevie, I’d love nothing more than to have you as my partner. In both the court and life. I love you, sweetheart.”

He can’t resist.

“I love you too… jackass.”

Eddie makes good on his promise to get Steve off that night. He even brings out the handcuffs for accuracy sake.

[shahrwrites]

Call me delulu for this one, but the parallel occurred to me whilst studying for an upcoming test and now it’s all I can think about so of course I had to post it.

The two times Dick went berserk over what had been done to Jason and I’m all here for it.

The panel on the left is when Joker kidnapped Tim and made the mistake of mentioning Jason’s name. That famous moment that Dick *killed* Joker.

The panel on the right is Gotham War when Dick finds out Bruce kidnapped Jason and psychologically manipulated him.

Funny thing is, both times Tim stopped him, and the one he was a little late for. Makes me wonder how far Dick would have gone if Tim hadn’t been there to stop him beating Bruce.

[Im gonna put a little headcanon in the following, so beware.]

The parallel kinda occurred to me because I was imagining a scenario actually. Post Gotham war where Dick’s taking Jason away from Gotham and all it’s crazyness. So they’re in the car and Dick’s driving, looking out at the roadside and the sun’s beating down on lush green grass and he’s reminiscing about a forgotten memory buried deep in the treasure trove of his most cherished memories of a time long bygone. A memory of himself and Jason picnicking out near the manor grounds one day with Alfred and Bruce. And they were playing some game of chase or another that ended up in a bit of rough housing and lighthearted bickering and hearty laughter and—It turned out to be such a good day. A rare memory.

And what if they stopped on the way to picnic on the roadside, for old time’s sake? Because they’ve got a blanket in the back and they’ve already packed food for the road and basically they’ve got everything they’d need, and wouldn’t it be such a shame if they let that opportunity to go to waste?

So here they were now, stomachs full and lying on their backs, staring at a partly cloudy sky, playing a childish game of pointing out the shapes of passing clouds to each other. It’s a little stupid, and because it’s stupid they start arguing over pointless stupid details. A harmless argument that—ironically enough—develops into a round of rough housing, again. And maybe for just a moment they’d both allowed themselves to forget what they’re running away from. But a frown flashes over Jason’s expression for the barest of seconds and Dick just—stops.

They’ve ended up with Jason on his back and Dick over and above him, and Dick can’t help but caress his hair, touch the side of his face, checking his expression and body responses to make sure that Jason’s alright.

And Jason’s fine—Dick stop fussing, it was just a moment!

So Dick’s hand just drops and he’s moving away, not looking at Jason, not able to meet his eyes.

He’s holding himself in that way he does when his thoughts are chipping away at his soul, a sight that’s become recognizable to Jason over the years. “What happened?”

Nothing but the usual, he wants to say. Once again something terrible happened to you and I wasn’t there to stop it. To protect you. But I made sure to take out the simmering rage running through my vains out on the man responsible with my fists. Because that’s what I can do. Twice you needed me, and twice I wasn’t there. But I made sure they paid for it, right? I made sure of it.

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 11

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, arguments. Angst. Toxic behavior. Johnny is struggling. Everyone is going through it. Johnny struggles.

"No contact?!" Johnny chokes, and you hesitate on the other end of the line, sharp breath rattling through the speaker phone. 

“My… my therapist thinks it would be good, to try it. For thirty days. Just to see how I feel.” Johnny’s fingers stretch across the front pocket of his pants. 

Thirty days? 

You’ve already been gone five, and it feels like five years.

He balks. No. No, this. This can't be. You have to be home, with them. Where you belong. Where they can fix it. 

“Ye… no, I thought… I thought this was just a break?” He doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s ragged and torn to shreds, and now fear makes it tremble. 

What does this mean? 

“It is, it is. I just… I have to try this.” You sound as sad, as fucked up as he does, and he wants to scream, throw the phone against the wall, say screw it all to hell and go over to your rental, bang on the door until you let them inside. 

“Of course, darling.” Simon soothes, and Johnny stares at him like he's lost his grasp on reality. Of course? Of course?! “We understand, we… we can do that. We’ll do whatever you want.” 

“No.” Johnny cuts in, he can’t stop himself, can’t control his mouth. He can’t agree to this, to not talking to you, or seeing you for thirty days. He can’t do it. “I-“

“ Johnny.” 

“Johnny-“ You both say his name at the same time. Yours is a plea. Simon’s is cautionary, finger seeking the mute button, cutting you out of the conversation for a split second, long enough for him to utter a warning. 

“Do not push her on this. We need to let her decide right now. She’s in control.” 

“Hello?”

“We’re here.” Simon assures you, unmuting the phone. “We understand. No contact, thirty days. Will you reach out, afterwards?” 

“I… I will, I promise.” 

“And you’ll take care of yourself?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a gulp. Simon’s façade cracks, enough that Johnny can see the fear that lurks there, the worry. 

“Ye-yeah. I am. I will.” 

“Will you come to bed?”

Johnny’s thumbs press together, overlapping where his fingers stay knitted tight, grasping onto one another like he’s holding onto himself for dear life.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and then releases it slowly through his nose. It’s a self-soothing technique, one he’s seen you do a million times. But once he’s done, his response is no less acidic. “I cannae sleep.”

Silence is his answer, until-

“Johnny.” Simon’s forearm wraps across his shoulders, pulling him backwards from the stool and into the cushiony warmth of his chest, heat burning into his back. Simon’s always been a furnace, a giant, weighted, heated blanket, his touch one of safety, security. Care.

But right now, all it feels like is anguish.  

“Si.” He croaks, tears welling up behind his eyes. “I cannae do this any longer. I cannae… I need her back.”

“We need to be patient, and respect-“

“Respect?” Johnny blurts, incredulous. “No, No, I… We should be there, right now. We should be standing outside her door, we should be fightin’ for her, nae sitting ‘ere, waiting. Showin’ her how much she means; how sorry we are.” The warmth pulls away, an exasperated sigh blowing across the back of his neck.

“I’m not having this conversation again.” Simon is curt, growing cold, and it fuels the burning rage building inside Johnny’s stomach.

“Of course, because why would ye? It’s already settled in yer mind, isn’t it? That we just sit here, and wait, and let her slip away because ye coudnae keep yer mouth shut!” He’s said the same thing a thousand different ways over these last three weeks. Dressed Simon up and down six ways to Sunday over it, different verbiage each time.

The conversation always ends the same.

“Can you forgive me?” 

“Of course I can but I’m still mad at ye.” 

The anger foils away, ebbing into sadness, despair, and Johnny’s sight goes black when he buries his face in his hands.

“I miss her.” He whispers to the floor. The warmth returns and wraps him in a snug embrace, soft words hummed against the shell of his ear, each one punctuated with a kiss.

“I know, I know you do. I do too.”

“You nearly got yourself blown up!” Simon roars, and Johnny nearly flinches, steeling himself against his partner’s anger. “You can’t be makin’ stupid decisions like that. You jeopardized-“ 

“I knew what I was doin’. Dinnae question me, ye dinnae know anything about the tech behind those explosives, and ye know it.” He stands a little straighter, indignant, insulted, and Simon’s eyes narrow, before squinting, tension shoving his shoulders down in a slump. 

This isn’t like them. They’re always in lock step. One unit. One person, two hearts.  

The cot creaks beneath Simon’s weight, elbows against his knees. 

“Johnny, what’s going on?” 

“What do ye mean?” Dirty, cheap laminate flooring stares up at him, patterns in the grit swirling together like sand. 

“You’re not yourself. Price mentioned-“ 

“Ye and Price talkin’ ‘bout me?” Unsettled anger rattles him, immediate demand rising through his blood. Simon holds his hand up. 

“No. He was concerned, said you were a little rash the other day, on the recon. Asked if everything was alright.” He blinks. Blinks over and over, tries to quash the surging agony, the upheaval of his stomach. He fights it, tries to breathe through it, tries to stop it in his tracks, but a big grip wraps around his wrist, and tugs. 

He’s settled into Simon’s lap without another word, his nose to his neck, fingers stroking through his mohawk. 

“It’s going to be alright. You’re alright. We’re going to get her back, love.” 

“I cannae do this. Ye dinnae know-“ 

“I know.” He squeezes him, calming him, and Johnny melts a little, sharp blade of the pain turning dull. “I know that the best thing we can do right now is be patient, and respect what she’s asked us to do. When she’s ready, she’ll let us know, and we’ll do everything we can, to try to fix it. To make it better.” 

“I feel like there’s a hole-“ His hand rubs his chest, over and over, until the skin burns. “Like there’s a piece missing. I dinnae think I can do it, without her.” His voice breaks, and Simon’s attempt to calm him comes out like a strangled cry. “It hurts, Si.” 

“We won’t. We just have to be patient, Johnny. We have to. We have to show her we can do it.” Simon murmurs, and then they both slip into a sad silence, Johnny huffing through his tears against Simon’s chest until he’s dragging them both down into the little cot, escaping into the comfort of uneasy sleep. 

The flat is too quiet.

Lately, he’s been putting your favorite movies on in the small hours of the morning. Simon sleeps in now, restless until the sun starts to come up, and then he finally sinks beneath pull of dreams, or nightmares, whichever comes first.

So, Johnny curls up on the couch by himself, with your favorite tea, flip flopping between the rotation of movies that you always had rolling in the background, when you were painting, when you were cooking, or even reading.

But today, he paces. Back and forth from the bedroom, the kitchen, to the art room, the one you left half barren, the one that still holds nearly finished paintings, dried tubes of paint, stiff bristled brushes, long discarded for new ones, but not thrown away.

“I’m going to the gym, want to come?” Simon is hovering just outside the door, brows fixed together. He hasn’t stepped foot in here, Johnny has noticed, not since you left nearly a month ago. In fact, he avoids this room like the plague.

“No, ye go on.”

“You sure?” His head cocks in consideration, and then he nods.

“Yeah. Love ye.”

“Love you too. Be good.”

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” Johnny seethes, arms crossed. Their half-eaten plates still sit cold on the table, mocking him since Simon left in the middle of the meal an hour ago. 

“Out. For a walk.” The hoodie comes up and over his shoulders, and Johnny catches a whiff of it.

Cigarette smoke.

“A walk, eh? Ye out walkin’, and smoking?”

“Johnny.”

“Dinnae Johnny me, ye’ve been smoking, I can smell it.”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” He snaps, turning his back, heading into the bedroom, the bathroom.

“Ye dinnae want to do what?”

“This. Fight. Argue.” The shower clicks on, steam slowly building from the floor as Simon shucks his joggers, his boxers, Johnny’s eyes struggling to stay fixed on his partner’s face.

“I’m not arguing, I… I dinnae understand how ye can be so casual about this, it’s-“ 

“What am I supposed to do?” Simon turns on him, still angry, still hurt from their conversation earlier. It brews beneath the surface like a finely veiled stormed, just barely held back. “Lose my head? Fall apart?” 

“I dinnae, talk to me?” Simon’s jaw clenches. Every scar on Simon’s back speaks to him, tells him stories, corroborates his witness accounts. Johnny wishes he could take them away; wishes he could kiss them. 

But Simon feels so far away now. He’s felt miles away since you left, since the bed slept three, table slept three, couch held three. 

“I’m right here, Si. I’m here.”

Johnny knows what he’s doing is wrong. He’s fully self-aware, but completely out of control. His legs carry him down the street on autopilot, barrage of requests and demands from his rational self trying to break through the encasement where he’s locked them away.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t. 

He can’t help it. He can’t do this… anymore. It’s killing him. It’s killing Si.

He worries it’s killing you.

He tells himself he’s just going to check on you, make sure you’re okay. He’s not going to bother you, just make you’re alive. He’s not going to stay, he’s just going to say hi, ensure you’re safe, healthy, and then leave.

If you even open the door.

Guilt, anxiety, fear all turns over in his stomach, freezing through his blood as he climbs the stairs to your long term rental. He just needs to see you, needs lay eyes on you, just once, and it will all be okay. He’ll be okay, once he knows you’ll be okay.

Simon is going to be so bloody pissed. He grimaces. He knows there will be hell to pay. That Simon will be enraged, disappointed. That he’ll be upset.

They made a promise. He made a promise. 

And now he’s going to break it, just like that.

He stands outside your door for too long, contemplating. Trying to sift through every decision he’s ever made, that led him to this point. He could still turn around, still go home, even though his finger is itching to ring the bell, a burning desire searing through his mind, urging him forward until his forehead is thunking softly against the wood, eyes closing.

Darling.

He can still see your face, your smile. The ways your eyes light up, the way your voice sounds when you say his name.

“I need ye, we need ye.” He whispers to no one, and then his finger presses the button, breath holding in his chest.

A few seconds pass. He strains to listen, latching onto the sound of footsteps inside, the click of a lock, the creak of the hinges, and then the door opens wide, revealing you on the other side.

“Darling.” You’re haunted, a flicker of a memory, a sharpened shadow sawing into the soft matter of his brain. You blink like you're trying to clear your vision, like you're struggling to see him, and he offers you an uneasy smile, something nervous and unsettled. You shake your head, mouth open in surprise, confusion, eyes wide.

“Johnny.”

[angstywaifu]

Love Doesn't Suit You - Brennan Sorrengail

Just a little idea that came into my head the other day, and just had to get written down for you all. That and I missed writing for this man. If any one has any Brennan ideas please send them my way. Pre Fourth Wing and Iron Flame (no spoilers), mentions of blood/violence, maybe bring tissues...... Requests Open.

Masterlist

Never in his life had Brennan thought he’d be in this situation. Especially not with you. But here he was, stuck in this situationship with his childhood friend. Too scared to man up and tell you how he really felt. In stead you slept together, kissed and flirted. But the second it came to a label on it, you bailed. Every single time he had to watch you enjoy the company of another person. Gods, he did it too sometimes. But none of them were you.

”You’re going to get caught one day if you keep this up.”

I jump back, hand clutching my chest as Brennan steps out of the shadows. The moonlight reflecting off his reddish brown hair. He knew I liked to do these late night flights. Knew I used them to clear my head of whatever chaos was going on in it at the time.

”Only if I do something stupid.” I reply before walking past him.

I hear him sigh behind me before walking after me. “Well considering some of your choices you make, it might not be long.”

”What’s that suppose to mean?” I ask as I turn on the steps to look up at him.

I knew exactly what he meant. It was the same argument we had every few weeks or months depending how it was going. Brennan wanted more but…. I couldn’t. The thought of being with someone more than just a casual thing terrified me.

”You’re in a situatioship with what, two or three people now?” He says without even looking at me. “What happens when one of them meets and figures it out? Or you get bored and come back to me?” His voice laced with anger.

”I was pretty open about it not being exclusive. I’ve always made it clear with you and them I wanted nothing more than sex.” I say through gritted teeth before turning my back to him and walking back down the stairs.

Brennan’s footsteps are quick to follow me, and I can tell by the sound he’s angry. I’ve hit a nerve. Good. It’s better that he hates me. I’ll only break his heart if I haven’t already.

”You and I know very well that they’ve fallen in love with you. Don’t act all innocent with me.” He tells me as he practically breathes down my neck.

I turn and push Brennan back, causing him to stumble into the step behind him.

”You mean falling in love like you did?” I snap, watching as he winces at my words. “I’ve always made it clear I wanted nothing more than something casual. Love doesn’t go well with our line of work. You know that.”

Brennan just shakes his head, scoffing at the comment. “Love just doesn’t go well with you.” He mutters quietly before pushing past me and walking away. “Maybe I was stupid for even thinking you would ever commit to something.”

I barely catch the last part. Knowing he didn’t intend for me to hear it. But I do. I stand frozen to the spot as Brennan’s footsteps disappear. His words echoing in my head. My heart feeling like it was just ripped to shreds and thrown on the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears start to roll down my face. If only he knew. If only he knew how much I actually cared. How much I wanted to put a label on us. But I can’t. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts from my mind before slowly following Brennan down the rest of the stairs to the quadrant to try and get some sleep before tomorrow.

I’ve fucked up. My mind not focused on the my challenge. My mind still focused on what happened last night. Brennan’s words still echoing in my head from the night before. And because of that I hadn’t been fully focused. And now I would pay for it.

I can feel the blood dripping from the wound as my challenger pulls their knife out of my stomach. My hands rushing to apply pressure to the wound. Blood instantly seeping through my fingers as I drop to my hands and knees in the pool of blood forming on the floor. This is it. This is how I die. Black dots start to fill my vision as I feel myself slipping away. Over the ringing in my ears I hear someone calling, no screaming my name. Their voice is pained, as if they’re losing someone they love.

I cough, blood splattering the ground beneath me. Shit.

The last thing I see before I black out is a familiar pair of amber eyes looking at me in panic as they scream my name, trying to apply pressure to the wound as they pull me into their arms.

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: Things with Joel come to a head when you're forced on a patrol together. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5k chapter warnings: CANON TYPICAL CONTENT/VIOLENCE/SUFFERING. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, descriptions of being ambushed, blood and injuries. Keeping these vague so as not to spoil but if for whatever reason the show was 'too much' for you, this might be a good chapter to skip. If you want a TLDR I can give you one in the DMs. a/n: I didn't really proofread this chapter because I fought with it a bunch and just wanted to get it out to ya'll. Please enjoy!

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-April 30, 2024-

It’s an uncharacteristically chilly day, but something heavy still hangs in the air as you walk downtown with Ethan. Well really, – Ethan is walking, you aren’t. At least, not quite. He’s so tall, and his strides are so long, that every couple steps you have to jog a pace or two just to keep up with him. Years ago, when it had just been the two of you on your own, he had been a lot better at waiting up for you. But this is the new norm. There’s no imminent danger, so it’s not necessary to watch each other’s backs. Even so, you find that you’re still always looking out for him out of habit.

A group of younger women pass by you, arms looped through one anothers as they giggle and talk – you can’t help but feel a little bitter at the sight, nostalgic for what that sort of camaraderie felt like. But before you can dwell on it too much, one of the girls’ face lights up and she waves to your nephew. 

“Hey Ethan,” she grins. 

Ethan does a double-take, pace faltering as he looks over his shoulder to give her a smile. “Hey.” 

The moment is over as quick as it began. For the most part, you know most of Ethan’s friends, and most of the people in the community. But you don't recognize this girl. 

“Who was that?” you ask. 

“No one,” he answers quickly. 

“Really? You don’t know her name?”

“Shhh!” He pushes you forward to put more distance between you and the group that has already passed, and it’s funny how you always seem to forget he’s a grown man whose strength far outweighs your own. “Can you just be cool?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Can I not ask a question?” 

“You can….at a lower volume.”

You snort, but continue on, whispering. “Okay, fine. She’s cute. Is she new here?”

“I don’t know,” he says, tone bordering on defensive. “Why do you care so much? Isn’t she a little young for you?” 

“Oh my god, Ethan,” you’re slightly offended by the insinuation. “All I was going to say was she seemed happy to see you.” 

“Yeah, well…” he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks over his shoulder. “Cool, whatever.”

“You are just like your dad,” you say. “He was always so bad at playing it cool.” 

This softens Ethan a bit, and you watch his shoulders sag. After Vincent died, you had made it a point to tell Ethan everything you could about his father. Even though it hurt, and reminded you of how much you missed him everyday, surprisingly, it ended up feeling like a good way to mourn him, and work through everything you had been through. 

"Oh, yeah?" he teases. "And you are?"

You have a feeling you know what he's going to bring up, so instead of questioning him further, you change the subject.

“God, it’s kind of cold,” you comment, wrapping your jacket closer around you as a breeze whirls past you. 

“What, can’t you handle it?” Ethan teases. “It might even rain. That’ll be a long day.” 

You’d walked into town with him to begin with because he was going to eat breakfast in the mess hall, and you had a patrol shift. “I’ll be fine.” you say, even as your stomach flips. Every shift comes with its own set of nerves. For as much as you don’t like the feeling, you know that the apprehension keeps you sharp. 

And really, you like being outside the walls. Years spent in the wilderness have made the remote area feel like home – you love the feeling of the breeze rustling through your hair, the ever present smell of the pines. Plus, you're usually partnered up with good company, even if things get stressful. 

Still, today….something feels off. Maybe it’s the low barometric pressure. 

“I oughta go, I’ll see you tonight, okay?” you turn to look at Ethan, and he gives you a nod and salute before ducking into the mess hall.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Tommy, no,” you put your hands on your hips. “Me and Joel? That's a terrible idea.”

“I don’t have any other options,” he says. “Eugene is out sick. There’s no one else available for me to pair you with.” 

“Yeah right,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “I know how much you love to meddle.”

“Who, me?” he asks, incredulous, but there’s a grin on his face.

Being in Jackson has domesticated you, because a different version of yourself would’ve probably slapped the grin off of Tommy’s face, turned in your cowboy boots and stomped out of the barn. But you feel such aggressive retaliation will only betray your feelings for Joel. 

It’s only been a few weeks since dinner at Tommy and Maria’s and despite the small moment you shared with Joel on their back porch, nothing much has changed. You’re not sure why you desperately want things to. You’re not even sure what you’re hoping for anymore – kindness seems unlikely, but even his cruelty would be preferable to being ignored.

“I can go by myself,” you offer. “I know the area. No one needs to take Eugene’s spot.” 

Tommy scoffs. “If I did allow that – which I won’t, because it’s rule number one – and Maria found out, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Tommy, it…” you sigh. “He wants nothing to do with me. It’ll be horrible, and awkward. For the sake of everyone, it’s better we keep our distance.”

“He’ll come around,” Tommy says. “I promise.”

“I don’t need him to,” you say, and it’s convincing enough that you believe it, even if only for a second.

“Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?” Tommy asks. “It might be awkward, but you’ll scout some places out, find a couple cans of food, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

You set your jaw, tilt your head. “Fine. But you know I’m not going to be the easy one to convince.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he says. 

Almost as if on cue, you turn at the sound of footsteps, and find Joel standing in the doorway to the empty stall you were arguing with Tommy in. 

Great. 

“Joel,” Tommy says. “I’ve paired the two of you up today. Two of our other rangers are out sick.” 

Joel looks at you. “Absolutely not.” 

“There it is,” you purse your lips, and glance knowingly at Tommy. 

“Well, I don’t have any other options.” Tommy begins. “Plus, we usually pair newbies up with our more experienced rangers to help them."

Joel lets out a barking laugh. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

For a second, he meets your eyes, and you avert your own to the floor. Hearing him be so vehemently against interacting with you, even though you’d expected it, isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

“It’s not babysitting,” Tommy says. “She’s been in the community longer, so she knows the terrain better than you do.”

“Who else is there?” 

“Joel,” Tommy says. “This is not a negotiation. It’s an order.”

Turns out it is a negotiation, because there’s quite a bit more back and forth between the two of them – so much so that you end up brushing past Joel to go saddle up your horse, Neptune. You catch snippets of the conversation, whispered in hushed tones, but you’re too annoyed to piece them into anything coherent. 

Eventually, though, Tommy mutters something about looking after Ellie and Joel gives in, the barn falling silent as he goes off to prep for his shift.

You had seen Ellie several times at Tommy and Maria’s over the past few weeks, and she even approached you once when she found you eating alone at the mess hall. The two of you don’t really talk much about Joel, but she did give you a bit of an explanation about how they ended up together. According to her, he was tasked with bringing her out to some Fireflies base camp because her family was there, but when they arrived the camp was overrun. The story begs more questions than it does answers, in your opinion, but you don’t bother trying to poke holes in it. There’s certainly parts of your past you wouldn’t want to explain to anyone if questioned. 

In some ways, she does remind you of Sarah…it sort of makes sense they ended up together, even if they’re quite the odd pair. Like Sarah, Ellie is smart and clever – but where they differ is where she reminds you more of yourself at her age. Very passionate with a bit of a mean streak. It was a defense mechanism that, as you got older, you had gotten better at channeling, but only when you needed to. 

Tommy sends you and Joel both north to scout an area you’re pretty familiar with. Joel keeps his horse several paces up ahead of you, which becomes frustrating, especially since you know where you’re going and he doesn’t, and you have to keep calling out and instructing him to change the course. He does so wordlessly, but refuses to let his horse fall into step beside yours, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head hung low. 

You think back to the beginning of the outbreak, and all the things you had lost. At that point, you still had Vincent, but even your brother couldn’t offer the support you had needed. You had wanted Joel, had craved the feeling of comfort and safety that only he had ever been able to give you. And even though you’d been forced to give up looking for him, you had always hoped he could feel you. Even now, it’s all you want. But he seems oblivious. And as your patience wears thin, you know something between you is bound to snap. 

In some areas of the mountains, the terrain is so rough you have to dismount to lead your horses through it. This area isn’t frequented often, mostly because the loose and large rocks you tread over is a natural repellent to both humans and Infected. But it’s not impossible to traverse, so you still have to keep an eye out. 

You don’t find much, but the farther into the woods you get, the darker the sky becomes. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you hope the storm skips over you, even though it seems unlikely. Despite dressing for the occasion, you’re still cold as the wind picks up, and when you feel the first drops of rain, you pull up alongside Joel. 

“Might want to keep an eye out for shelter in case this gets any worse,” you say to him. Joel turns to look at you, and you catch, for a minute, a forlorn expression in his eyes. It disappears as he nods wordlessly, and you’re surprised he doesn’t argue with you. 

The storm grows more intense, the drops of rain turning into a full-on downpour, and lightning illuminates the sky. A spring thunderstorm. If you were at home today, you might’ve been curled up on the couch with a good book and a window cracked. But instead, you’re out in the middle of nowhere, forced into the company of your former lover who now hates you, torrential downpour soaking through your water-resistant jacket and making you shiver. 

Joel crests over a ridge, and pauses to point to a cabin maybe a quarter mile away. You’re in unfamiliar territory at this point, and it’ll probably need to be cleared out, but you’re desperate for a place to wait out the poor weather. 

As you near the cabin, you see it’s clearly abandoned. Inside, it’s been picked over. Furniture is strewn about, drawers and cabinets hanging open, but other than that…it’s in pretty decent shape. Good enough to be fixed up for an outpost, and you draw a rudimentary map to take back to Tommy, should any other rangers be sent to the area. 

Once the house is secured and you get the horses settled in the garage, you do your obligatory sweep of any drawers, cabinets, and closets. It’s mostly picked over, and nature has begun to take over in some of the rooms, the tree roots peaking through cracks in the wooden floor. 

Letting another cabinet fall closed, you sigh. 

“Find anything?” you’re surprised to hear Joel ask, as he comes down the stairs. 

“No,” you say. “You?” 

“Nothing,” Joel says, and sits onto an ancient couch. For a split second, you admire him, as he runs his fingers through his damp hair to push it off his forehead. You’re ashamed that you’re still attracted to him, potentially even moreso than you used to be. Maybe you always imagined growing old with him, and it was nice to see, even if the context was different. You knew that daydreaming about what could’ve been wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but thinking about your time with Joel, and the future you’d never have with him had gotten you through some of your darkest days. You wonder if he had ever thought about it, just to feel something other than sorrow. But with the way he’s been acting, you question if he ever even cared about you at all. 

With no other distractions to keep you occupied, all you can do now is sit across from him, and wait out the storm. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel picks up a well-worn book with broken binding off the shelf next to where he sits, and spares a glance your direction. You’re on a chair across from him, staring out the window. He can’t tell if you’re trying to keep watch or avoid talking to him. Either way, he doesn’t care. 

The book in his hands is a self-help book written by man who had lived in the wilderness for an entire year, and so generously detailed all the things he learned from the experience. Joel almost laughs at how ridiculous the description sounds. When he places the book back where he found it, you pipe up. 

“No good?” you ask. 

Joel shakes his head wordlessly. He’s been doing a pretty decent job of keeping you at arm's length. He tries to avoid the hurt he notices in your eyes whenever he brushes you aside, which is why he tends to keep his back to you, so he doesn't have to see it over and over again. It’s just the right thing to do. Letting Ellie into his life had been hard enough. He isn’t willing to make himself even more vulnerable. 

“Shit,” you say, looking disappointed. “Well if there’s nothing else to do, we might actually have to talk to each other.” 

Joel puts his arm over the back of the sofa, and looks out the window. “No?” you prompt. “Well then, can I at least ask you something?” 

“Depends.” 

“I guess I just have been thinking…” you trail off. “After everything….the fact that the two of us are together. Feels like….I don’t know. Do you think it means something?”

Joel looks over at you, finds you leaning forward in your chair. You discarded your jacket to dry on the railing of the staircase, and your flannel shirt hangs open as you lean onto your elbows, an expectant look on your face. 

Joel had learned long ago that it was senseless to look for meaning in this world. There was no rhyme or reason for why things happened the way they did – they just happened. All the good, and all the terrible. There was only so much he could do to control them, as much as he tried. And it made him feel helpless.

“It’s a coincidence.”

“Right,” you say, enunciating the T pointedly. He’s thankful when your jaw sets, and your expression gives nothing else away. “So what, then? We should just act like we’re strangers? Just pretend like…we never knew each other?”

“It was over twenty years ago. I’ve moved on,” Joel says. The more he can deflect, push you away, the more angry you’ll likely get, and the faster this conversation will end. 

But you surprise him. 

“Okay,” you say, looking at the floor. “I mean, I get it. I did too, because I thought you were dead. But you aren’t, so maybe we could just talk-”

“What is there to talk about?” Joel asks. 

You’re incredulous. “So many things, Joel. But you’ve been…so….” you struggle to find the words. “I don’t think this is a coincidence. And you’re right. It was a long time ago, so maybe it’s foolish to think that we could maybe-” you cut yourself off, shake your head. “I feel like I at least deserve to know why you want nothing to do with me now.” 

Joel notices how your knuckles are white from how tightly you have your hands clasped in one another’s. You’re probably angry. That’s what he wants. But you’re trying so hard to control yourself, to connect with him, and he’s shocked that you find him worthy of that energy no matter how many times he pushes you away. 

“I’m not the man you knew. You’re wasting your time.” 

You blink once. “Yeah. Okay. So that’s it?”

Joel remains stone faced.

“Well that’s,” you sigh, put your head in your hands for a split second, let out a choked sounding laugh, and look back over at him. “That’s so fucking stupid.” 

“How do you think I got here? How do you think I survived for as long as I did? I’m not the same woman that I was, either. But that’s just how it fucking works. You’re gonna spend the rest of your life using that as an excuse to push people away – a friend, your own fucking brother-”

Joel flinches at the confirmation you might be just as bad as he is. 

“Don’t bring Tommy into-”

“I’m not going to walk on eggshells whenever we’re together because you can’t deal with your own shit,” you raise your voice again.  

Joel feels his lip curl, wondering why you won’t just give up, why you won’t just accept the rejection. But your hypocrisy is what frustrates him the most. He thinks back to when you’d been together. You were the reason he never told you he loved you. You were like quicksilver, sitting in the palm of his hand, but you’d run the second he tried to hold you. He never really got you, all of you, like he had wanted. “That’s great advice from someone who was always so good at being vulnerable.” 

That one seems to hurt you enough, and you recoil slightly, sit up straighter. “Sure, yeah. I was young, and I was fucking….I was scared. But I-I’m trying to be better.” 

He can’t stand the broken look on your face, would rather keep you angry. “Do you think I owe you something? None of that stuff matters anymore.” 

“Really? None of it matters? Even Sarah knew–” 

That slices through the thread of restraint he has left. “Enough.” 

“I loved her, Joel,” you plead with him. “I loved her, too.”

Joel rises to his feet, his hands clench into fists, and you stand too. “Don’t-” 

“-And you won’t even,” you swallow hard to compose yourself as Joel paces to look out the window. The rain has died down considerably, like it knows there’s only so much energy allowed to exist in one place. “You pretend like we didn’t know each other, I knew you Joel. I know you. And I knew her, and-”

“I said that’s enough!” Joel grabs the closest thing he can find, a lamp sitting on the side table, and hurls it across the room. It shatters upon impact, glass shards spraying in the air. He’s desperate to scare you off, willing to do anything to get you to stop poking holes in his resolve, it feels like you can see right through him, and he has no place to hide. 

But you don’t even recoil from the outburst. In fact, you seem almost satisfied. In letting his emotions get the best of him, he's shown you how much he still cares. It doesn’t stop him from continuing on.

“You don’t know me, and she wasn’t your daughter. You will never understand what it is like to lose your own child.”

You exhale sharply, like he’s punched you in the gut, the color draining from your face. Eyes still red-rimmed, but the fire inside them is now gone. 

“Okay,” you say, voice trembling and you look out the window. “It’s not raining anymore, so I’m gonna head back.”

“We’re supposed to finish the-”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you,” you say, swiping at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to see you again, honestly. So just fuck off.” 

Within seconds, you’re gone, the garage door slamming behind you. Joel stays in place, even after he hears the measured beat of your horse running off into the woods. He’s done terrible things to a lot of people that didn’t deserve them – and he did them without a second thought. This had been exactly what he wanted, but this time, he’s filled with regret. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You can’t remember the last time you were this angry. 

Every nerve inside you is thrumming with electricity, and you are glad you’re alone, because you’re pretty sure the next person who touches you will get shocked. But even though you’re angry with Joel, you’re more angry with yourself. He had tried to warn you – and you just kept pushing. Why’d you allow yourself to grow so soft? To believe that you could both find a way to heal together? Bea had been wrong. Love was just another means to control someone else. Joel was no exception to the rule. 

Sure, there were things about you he didn’t understand. But you aren’t willing to give him any grace, not after the way he’d humiliated you, over and over….and you just let it happen. Maybe it was irresponsible to leave him there alone, but you didn’t care. He could find his way back, and even if he didn’t, it no longer mattered. 

The rage gives you tunnel vision, you can only see what’s directly in front of you, and even then, none of it registers. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been riding when you hear the gunfire rain down on you. 

It snaps you out of it – the sound of the bullets whizzing past your ears hitting the trees, ricocheting off the rocks at your feet. Almost immediately you leap off your horse and take cover behind a tree, drawing your pistol and listening closely to see where the attack came from. 

You hear voices – men’s voices, and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. You pinpoint three distinct voices, but there could be more. 

“Where the fuck did she go?”

“Doesn’t matter, we should go after the horse.” 

“What if she has friends? She looked too put together to be alone.” 

“Even better. Come on, she couldn’t have gone far.” 

Truth be told, it’d been awhile since you’d had to navigate an ambush like this all alone. If you’d been paying closer attention, maybe you would’ve seen it coming. You’re already at a disadvantage, outnumbered, but it helps that you at least know their intentions. 

The footsteps grow closer, to your right, so quietly, you shuffle to the left of the tree you’re huddled up against, so you’re out of view when two of them pass you. You imagine the third one is scoping out a different section of the forest. Idiots, you think to yourself.

The adrenaline kicks in, and you pounce. One of the men is wearing a scarf, and that makes things easy, when you yank him backwards, hiding behind his broad shoulders, you use the fabric to cut off his airflow, staying clear of his arms flailing about while the man he was walking with turns, hesitating, gun raised, but he doesn’t fire – he can’t, or he’ll risk hitting his friend.

“Hey, hey, we just want to talk!” the man in front of you pleads as you catch his eyes over the shoulder of his friend, whose attempts at freeing himself become weaker and weaker as he fights to breathe. 

“No you don’t,” when the man goes limp in your arms, you shove him forward towards the man whose gun is now trained on you. He fires twice, but it’s you who delivers the final blow, so you don’t see where his bullets go. The two of them collapse together on the ground. 

Your heart starts to beat faster, suddenly increasing your ability to focus. Warmth blooms in the pit of your belly, and you whirl around towards the sound of footsteps in the snow, the third man appearing in front of you – his gun also raised. His eyes flicker nervously between you and the two others – who are dead, if not incapacitated, but you can’t worry about that now.

He’s hesitating with his gun raised – why, you aren’t sure. But you are, too. There’s something about the fear in his eyes that makes you feel almost guilty. It’s me, or him, you remind yourself, a mantra you have had to repeat far too many times trying to survive. When his eyes shift behind you, you pull the trigger, and a second gunshot echoes your own. You brace yourself, thinking he fired too, but instead, his body jolts two times with the impact of two bullets before he goes down. They were inexperienced, clearly, but it was still a close call. 

You look over your shoulder to find Joel behind you, gun still smoking, something dark and feral in his eyes. He lowers his weapon as you turn to face him fully. 

“I had it handled,” you say, briskly. But Joel doesn’t answer you. In fact, the insult doesn't seem to register at all - his eyes are wide. You follow his gaze down, towards your stomach. 

That’s when see it. 

Blood, and a lot of it, blooming at your stomach, dripping down under the waistband of your pants. When you go to press your hand against the wound, you realize you can’t feel your right arm – your shoulder is bleeding too. 

“Oh,” you suddenly feel lightheaded, cold. Your teeth chatter. “Shit.” 

You slump against a tree, expecting to feel the bark scratching your skin through your jacket, but you feel nothing at all as you slide to the ground. Above you, the sun shines brightly – like it had never stormed at all. 

Life goes on. 

You look towards the light, but it’s quickly obstructed by Joel, hovering over you. 

“We gotta-” he stutters, “We’ve gotta get out of here.” He says it like it’s a real possibility, looking down at your wounds. You can see it on his face. It’s not. 

“That bad?” you say, when he meets your gaze again. He doesn’t answer, opens his mouth and shakes his head no, but you can tell he’s lying. You take in a ragged breath. “Just tell Ethan that-”

“It’s not that bad. Stop it. Will you?” Joel says, like he’s suddenly remembered how to talk. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t know,” you manage, and it’s hard to speak without feeling like you’re choking. “I-I don’t think so.” 

Joel’s hands find your shoulders, and despite the last thing he said to you before you left him, the gesture does give you some sense of comfort. “I’m so….I’m so fucking tired. Ethan’s alright. He doesn’t need me-”

“No, no,” Joel cuts you off. “He does, he does need you. Lots of people need you.”

None of his words even register, you can only think about your imminent future. The fight you’d got in seems suddenly inconsequential. “I don’t want to be alone, will you just stay until-”

“We’re leaving,” Joel drags you to your feet, presses a hand to your middle to stop the bleeding, and you feel the pain for the first time. It’s such a shock – so intense and all-consuming that you cry out. “I know, I know, I know…” he says, and his voice breaks into panic. 

“I should’ve never fucking let you go,” you’re not sure if he’s talking about you walking away from him earlier, or something else. Joel is half-carrying, half-dragging you along – so dizzy and disoriented you can’t move your legs, vision fading in and out. Joel stumbles over the uneven terrain towards his horse. 

“Please-” just let me be, you want to croak, but the words don’t come out. You think of everyone you’ve lost – Sarah. Vincent. Bea. All the others. What had it felt like for them, before it happened? 

“No, no, don’t close your eyes,” you feel Joel’s  hand on the side of your face, and you blink them open – you actually didn’t remember nodding off. “Stay with me, now….please. Please.” 

The more he begs, the less you understand what’s making him so frustrated. The less you understand anything at all. You wish you could answer, but you can’t. You can feel your body going limp. “Come on, girl, don’t fucking do this to me,” you hear his voice, harsh and desperate, your body being shaken. 

Your vision comes in snippets– blood on your hands, on the slope of his neck, the canopy of trees above you, Joel’s eyes, wet with tears. 

You can’t understand why he’s crying, and you don’t get to figure it out. 

-

-

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[unknownperson246]

love please do a part 2 for sociopath(the izzy fic) i'm begging you 🥺

Hii I hope you enjoy it I added plot twists lmfao

Part 1

Sociopath Part 2:

words: 744

warnings: *angst* *plot twists* *cussing* *izzy being cold to reader* *mentions of drugs and using drugs* *plot twist is a surprise* *anger*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

It has been a few weeks since Izzy left the house after the argument that occurred while you both were in the middle of making love. It turns out all the stuff you said about him being a sociopath was true and you had no idea about it whatsoever. He was a diagnosed sociopath. He always had hidden it from everyone around him for his personal gain. You were so worried about him after he left the house. You waited days for him to come back until one day he did come back. You were glad he was back but you were so upset about that night. You went up to him crying. You hugged him. He pushed you away and sat on the couch.

“Izzy, what is wrong with you? You're scaring me!” You begged for him to talk to you.

“Please talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. I love you and you don’t even talk to me!” You start crying more. 

“Me being with you is wrong.” He mutters.

“What was that?” You ask sniffling and not hearing what he said under his breath.

“Nothing. I’m just tired, okay?” He says picking himself off of the couch and going to the bed.

You follow him to the bed. You want to take a nap with him so you change into your silky white nightgown. You hug him trying to whisper sweet things in his ear to help him calm down. He pushes you away and you get upset. You turned around on the bed. Suddenly you felt sick to your stomach. You rush to the toilet to puke. You were a former heroin addict. You picked the habit from Izzy. You had quit ever since he left the house for a while because he took it all with him. All the withdrawals were almost over. By the time you got up from puking, you felt so cold and you were shivering. You got to bed and you covered yourself in the blanket you and Izzy shared. Izzy turned around looking at you after you got in bed again.

“What's wrong?” Izzy asked.

“Don’t get mad okay?” You told him. 

“I used to use some of your heroin and I got heavy withdrawals from it,” You say looking down because you were ashamed. 

“Well that’s not good for the baby,” He said, holding and rubbing your belly, realizing he accidentally slipped up.

“The baby? What baby?” You asked confused.

It all made sense to you now. You started to sob at the realization. Izzy had been cheating on you and he got another woman pregnant. He forgot that he wasn't at her place anymore. It was just a habit for him. He doesnt seem to care either. You realized that he was using you as a toy. You didnt know how many more girlfriends he had. In fact, he could have a wife and kids for all you knew. You just watch him sit there in silence. You turned around on the bed sobbing and not saying anything. You felt his hand gently stroking your shoulder but you shoved it away. You felt the front part of his body leaning against your back. You got up and had enough of him.

“I can’t believe I ever loved you” You finally stop sobbing.

“Get out of my fucking house” You yell. “Woah what are you talking about?” He says confused.

“Fuck” You yell.

He shows you papers with your name on them. “See these right here? You showed them to me a couple of weeks ago when I left. You're pregnant.” He says.

You grab the paper not believing him. You skim through it and find out he is right. Your mind was so fogged up that you forgot you were even pregnant. “When did I show you these?” You asked him, forgetting he already answered your question.

“When I left,” He said calmly. 

You were so confused. “I can’t be pregnant” You chuckle.

“You are,” Izzy said, pulling out ultrasound pictures you both went for the other day.

“When did this happen?” You ask Izzy.

“Like yesterday. Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah I’m fine” You lay down again facing the other way.

“You sure you stopped using it when I left?” He asked you.

“Yeah. Maybe it was the withdrawals messing with me” You say falling asleep. You feel Izzy stroking your hair and kissing your neck and shoulder.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Hey love! I really enjoy your writing specially another lie it was so good and i really loved it and enjoyed the two endings but can you please give us maybe a drabble about what charles' reaction to the 'announcement' maybe from charles' pov? No pressure if you don't wanna do it and thank you for giving us such a great work!

A/N: not proof read and written on my phone. It’s my baby girls birthday this weekend so I’m mostly offline 💕

Another Lie (Blurb) ||CL16 {5.1}

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five (Max’s Ending) || {5.1} Blurb || Five (Charles’ Ending)

Charles had never accepted that you were no longer his. Not even marrying Max had stopped him from thinking that one day you would be back where he knew you belonged. He refused to acknowledge your surname even two years after it had changed to Verstappen.

But this announcement crumbled those dreams.

He should have paid more attention. He knew your body better than his own yet he had been blinded to the changes. He should have questioned why you backed away from him, why you gave up the fight he knew you were always up to having. It was narcissistic but those arguments were the only time any of your burning passion was spent on him, so he would take the acerbic lacerations from your tongue just to have you speak to him.

There would be no more arguments.

Charles couldn’t shake the image of you standing with his son, exactly as it should have been. But those were not your features on Jules face and it was all his fault.

You would never be the mother of his child. You were already a mother to Max’s.

Charles fist collided with the tv screen in front of him, the image of Max kissing you suddenly turning to jagged lines of purple hues as it broke. “Fuck!”

Knowing why you backed away from the fight only made him feel worse. Had you really thought he would hurt you? He flinched as he remembered how your hand had floated across your stomach when he released your wrist. He had hurt you in so many ways, but he would never do that.

If he wasn’t so caught up in the anger he held towards Sapphire he would have noticed how the material of your shirt hung differently, or how your breasts were larger than the last time he saw you. He missed the signs that were right in front of him.

“Charlie? Have you seen Jules?” Sapphire asked with that grating voice of nails on a chalkboard.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled as she stared at the broken tv screen and the blood running down his knuckles. “He was roaming the fucking paddock alone!”

He didn’t need an answer as she tossed her bleached blonde hair back ready to make an excuse. The evidence was clear. Purple marks littered her pale neck, marks he knew didn’t come from him.

“Fucking whore.”

“Get off your high horse, you’re no better than me,” she scoffed, pulling her hair back into place.

Charles open his mouth to give his scathing response but he had none. His cheating was the very reason he lost the greatest thing he ever had and now any hope of repairing what he broke was gone.

“Get your shit and go,” Charles said quietly as he turned back to the broken screen, flickers of your face fading in and out. This flashes were just enough to catch the glimpse of pure joy for moment before it was gone again. He looked at his fist and sighed in defeat. “My lawyer will be in touch with a settlement and custody agreement. You’ll be taken care of, just get the fuck out of my sight.”

“You can’t be serious. Is this because of her?” she asked as she pointed to the TV.

“I don’t love you, I never have. In fact, just the sight of you makes me sick and the only good thing to come from you is Jules.” He took a step closer with each brutal slap of honesty, but it was all for nought as she knew this already. “We’re done.”

“I’m glad,” she spat as she stood a little taller and looked down her nose at him. “She is never going to choose you. Who would? You’re never going to be world champion.”

“Take your shit and go, Sapphire,” Charles growled as he took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back to the doorway. “Don’t bother saying goodbye to Jules, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

[lifewtr]

The one where Zuko is reluctant because Katara is an asshole and Katara is reluctant because Zuko is a hot single dad, but it all works out.

“Hey! Fancy meeting you here.” Katara smiles and hopes her greeting is not as eager as the stirring of dragonflies in her stomach. He’s alone, a mostly empty basket dangling from his wrist, and he looks good enough to fucking eat.

Jeans and a tee are devastating on that body, La help her.

“Hi.” Zuko says simply in return. That small smile on his mouth remains, and Katara very suddenly finds herself discreetly pinching the back of her thigh. Fuck, he’s pretty. “So.. The twins I presume?” He asks.

The mention of her niece and nephew pushes most of everything out of her mind; allows for all of the clarity in the world. Her gaze slides away from Zuko off towards where she can see matching light-up sneakers in front of the fruit stand, safe and sound and perfectly within her range.

Katara relaxes a little. “Yeah! It’s my weekend—we’re gonna make ice cream from scratch after dinner. How’s Izumi?”

Zuko raises the opposite shoulder of the wrist he’s got his basket hanging from in a mild shrug, drawing Katara’s attention to the short sleeve of traditional Fire Nation ink that swirls there. ‘Was a staring so hard that I actually missed that?’ She can’t help but wonder as she swallows; tries not to gawk.

“She’s been with my uncle all day.” Zuko is saying, casual and light as he seems to very pointedly hold her gaze with his. “He’s been distracting her from the fact that we’re already out of cinnamon-sugar bread, so I have absolutely no doubt that she’s going to be done moping by the time I pick her up tomorrow.”

“Ah, was the entire basket too much?” Laughter bubbles out of Katara. “I didn’t mean to cause any additional trouble! I hope she didn’t make herself sick with it or anything.”

The small smirk is back. “Nah.” Zuko lets off another chuckle, rumbly and low. The sound is absolutely catastrophic. “Izu hates cinnamon bread. She much prefers banana-nut.”

“Wh-?” Katara blinks owlishly. “She hates cinnamon bread?” Zuko merely nods as her vouce drops to a contemplative murmur. “But she was so excited about it..?”

‘Who was it for?’ she goes to ask, and ‘how are you? You look divine, can I take you out to eat?’ but in that very moment the unmistakable sound of the twins breaking out in an argument reaches her ears. Katara snaps her attention away, takes one bug-eyed look at Kei readying to throw a giant grapefruit at his sister, and promptly starts to excuse herself.

ALONG THE WAY | 3/31 | RATED T on AO3 «

for @zutaramonth 2024

[qierxing]

Painting the Roses Red

Commissioned by the delightful rainbowsillz Yan!Riddle x F! OC | Continuation of this TW/CW: Non///Con, Oral Sex, Manipulation, attempted murder, unhealthy relationships

And many a tear we shed Because we know They'll cease to grow In fact, they'll soon be dead

Her fingertips are oily.

It’s a gross thing to fixate on, but she can’t help it. For the past few days, she has been running her fingers through her hair out of an instinctive habit. Yuu keeps hoping that her fingers will snag on silk and the familiar tug of a hair strand will happen, but to no avail. Instead, her fingers only get stuck on tangled curls and greasy strands of unwashed hair. 

Automatically, her hands drop to her collarbone, but reality is still cruel. All her prized possessions are gone no matter how much she wishes for it. Perhaps if she closed her eyes, she’ll be able to find them in her dreams.

Three hollow knocks echo through the house.

Her stomach twists in on itself. She knows it’s silly to be so afraid. If she must get morbid, then she would know better than anyone that he would not be the one waiting on the other side of the door. No, in the end, it most likely will be her succumbing out of desperation. At least that’s what the writer in her mutters bitterly.

And yet, she pauses before the main doors of Ramshackle.

What if it is him? Then what will she do? Her eyes slide to the side of the door to the shoe rack before stopping at the umbrella leaning next to it. For a moment, she wonders if it’ll be enough if it’s used as a bludgeon. Yuu quickly snaps her gaze away, shaking her head. How crazy has she become these days?

When she opens the door, a familiar figure greets her eyes and she almost collapses from relief. 

“Can I come in?” Trey asks, head tilted in a weary smile while carrying a tin of cookies.

–

The cookies pair extremely well with the cheap tea bags Yuu got from Sam’s store.

“Sorry to disturb you like this out of the blue.” Trey is so polite, letting her snack on most of the lemon cookies he brought over. He’s barely even touched his cup of tea, which is a shame, because the tea and cookies are quite tasty together.

“No, no, you’re fine, Clover-senpai.” She says. “Is something the matter?”

Trey gives that sheepish looking smile again, meanwhile rubbing his hand over his neck. It’s a nervous tick that she’s familiar with. After spending so much time in Heartslabyul, it’s nearly impossible to miss it. 

“The thing is…” He starts slowly. “The dorm’s fine and all, but the mood’s been off these past few days.”

Cold chills run down her back.

“Ever since the tea party, Riddle’s been a bit…tense.” Trey sighs, finally meeting her eyes again. “Did…you guys have an argument or something?”

An argument. Despite the dread and nausea curling in her gut, she refrains from giving a sharp laugh. She settles on saying, “That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a pause while Trey purses his lips while clasping his hands.

“I don’t want to pry, and it’s not any of my business,” Trey finally says, breathing out a heavy sigh. “But Riddle is my friend and I don't want to see you two go through this.”

Her fingers are already shakily combing through her hair (she should really wash it soon). Another silence goes on. Trey clears his throat, fiddling with the teacup in front of him.

“…also Riddle wanted me to tell you that he has your hair ribbons and brooch.” Crushed flowers and grass flashes in her vision and the urge to vomit rises within her throat. How despicable. Knowing full well what those items meant to her and holding it above her head can only be a childish tyrant’s actions. Still, he has her right in the palm of his hand. It’s a subtle ultimatum that already speaks for itself.

“…will a letter suffice?” Humiliating defeat. Blood roars through her ears, and yet she can only manage a pitiful response. 

It’s obvious Trey is taken back, but after looking at the expression on her face, he drops his eyes and nods. “I can make sure it gets to him.”

Her lips curl into a cracked, sharp grin. If she couldn’t have the honor of saying what she wants to the culprit himself, then she can make sure the words written in smooth cursive will carry all the fire and spite she harbors.

“Wonderful.”

—

“You’re back.” 

Trey nods uneasily at Riddle’s greeting. His housewarden doesn’t have to say anything else, merely holding out a waiting hand. There’s a small pause, a questioning whether Trey should really do this, but it’s gone the moment Riddle’s eyes narrow in impatience, and the letter is in his gloved hand without another word.

Trey watches apprehensively as Riddle slices open the envelope with a letter opener. Bronze handle, with the blade being a sturdy iron. It’s a little thing that escapes most people’s notice, but he remembers. The gift is something Riddle cherishes deeply ever since he received it. After all, only two people send letters to Riddle: his mother, and the Ramshackle prefect.

Trey waits. Riddle’s eyes scan over the papers in his hands. He’s not sure what is going through Riddle’s head right now. He wasn’t privy to what Yuu wrote in her letter nor did he want to be nosy. But he remembers her face. That alone itself is enough for reservations.

Riddle laughs, jarring Trey from his train of thoughts. Trey watches in intrepidation as his housewarden chuckles as if he’s been told the funniest joke of them all.

“Yuu has quite a sense of humor.” Riddle’s laughs finally die down to amused chortles, still reading the paper as fondly as one would read a love letter. However, Trey is quite sure that the contents within that paper are not professments of affection. 

“Trey.” The vice housewarden straightens out of habit at Riddle calling him. His tone indicates an order to be bestowed. “Prepare for another tea party.”

The fifth day of the month has passed a week ago. There’s no Unbirthday parties scheduled in the near future. It’s evident this tea party will not be a public one. But what can he do now? He is only a subject under Riddle’s iron hand—and it is his duty to serve his Queen.

“Of course, Housewarden.”

—

Yuu arrived five minutes early, to account for unexpected matters.

Things such as being stopped for holding a cast iron pan and a dark expression. Thankfully, it seems that other Heartslabyul students knew better than to stop the Ramshackle prefect, and especially not when she’s mad. They quickly slink to the side as they side eye her walking past, casually swinging the pan back and forth in time with her steps. 

She’s sure at the very least it will give Riddle some pause, even if it’s suspicious. It’s not like she has any magic to defend herself with. So he must give some lenience where due.

Trey is waiting for her by the door to the garden. His gold eyes drop to the pan in her hands for a quick second before meeting hers again. He nods in gentle encouragement.

“Go on in. Everything’s set up already.”

Yuu still isn’t really prepared when she steps through the door. She thought the pan in her hand would give enough courage to get through the freezing fear of seeing red. It’s not the same setup as before. There’s no whimsical decorations. Just a simple table with refreshments. And yet, her grip on the pan almost loosens at the sight of the boy sitting at the table.

“You’re on time, for once.” He smiles over his cup of tea, not caring at how her face twists in instinctive disgust. If he’s noticed what’s in her right hand, he gives no indication. “Come, sit.”

Still, Yuu is annoyed–she should be the one driving this conversation, not him. She makes a point by deliberately setting the pan on the quaint table, right next to her teacup. Riddle finally acknowledges the action with a frustratingly fond smile that has Yuu’s blood boiling. She huffs, and allows Riddle to pour her tea.

“Where’s my brooch and ribbons.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t really care for where he has them, all that’s needed is for him to do his part and hand them over. That was part of the deal they made. She hoped that that rigid, upright part of him would still be somewhat intact, even after everything.

Riddle clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Patience, my love.” The nickname is enough to have her gripping her teacup too tightly. She’s starting to reach for her pan when thankfully, he reaches within his overcoat and brings out her precious items. They bear no sign of being under duress, all sparkling clean within his palm. Yuu pushes away the thought of how it was like the perfect crime scene; unblemished with no traces to the culprit.

But when Yuu reaches out desperately to grab the accessories, Riddle curls his fingers around them and pulls them out of her reach. Like a cliffhanger, she is left exclaiming in barely contained rage and confusion. 

“Give them back! You–” She has to stop herself, remind herself where she is on this precarious slope. “Riddle. Please. You promised to give them back if I came here.”

“I did.” Riddle once again raises his tea cup to take another agonizing long sip. “I’m simply adding some terms before I do.”

The urge to bash his head in comes back in a violent rush. Who does he think he is?

“And what exactly are those terms?” Yuu asks, curling her fingers once again around the pan next to her. Riddle’s steely eyes only glint in amusement. 

“First, you are not to associate yourself with those underclassmen ruffians anymore.” The verdict is delivered as a death sentence: cold, unfeeling, and absolutely unreasonable. Before Yuu could even try to protest, he continues without even pausing.

“Second, you are to stay by my side as often as possible.” This term has her stopping in her tracks. Ironically, it was more reasonable than the first one. But this is not a contractual term. No, it’s one of his beloved rules-meant to uphold the core of his world.

“My world does not revolve around you, and yours shouldn’t revolve around mine.” Yuu spits the words in choked frustration. “Even if you’re my friend, you’re going way too far.”

Riddle only stares, iron hues boring through her. Yuu feels like she’s being chipped away, slowly but surely against her will. Heartslabyul’s housewarden has always been noted to be headstrong and stubborn. These traits are what won him his throne, after all.

“To correct you, we’re not friends,” Riddle closes his eyes while taking another sip. “How can we be friends, after sharing such an intimate moment together?”

He’s not listening. Of course he isn’t. Why would a Queen deign to listen to a puny subject’s pathetic cries? It doesn’t make her any less angry though. 

“You’re crazy, “ she seethes. Riddle laughs, stern face breaking into a hauntingly delighted smile.

“Am I? I must say, you’re crazier for thinking you can just walk away from me.” His chilling words don’t match his smug face at all. 

She doesn’t hesitate or pause, yet by the time she’s grabbing the pan and bringing it over her head, Riddle’s eyes flash and she’s restrained by some unknown force. It digs into her wrist, making her release the iron pan by instinct and it clangs upon the ground, sliding away a good few feet. Damn him, she couldn’t even see how he activated his magic–his magical pen is nowhere to be found. 

“Oh dear, you weren’t going to resort to violence, were you?” Yuu snarls at Riddle’s condescending chuckle. “It would be most unladylike. Besides, I think you’re forgetting that I’m one of the more powerful mages at this school.”

“Spare me the lecture,” she hisses, tugging at her wrists, desperately trying to dislodge whatever is pinning her in place. Sadistic bastard. 

“There wouldn’t be a need for a lecture in the first place if you would just listen.” Yuu doesn’t miss the sharp edge to his scolding. She finally realizes something about this unknown force purposely digging into her skin, pinpointing her veins and nerves—it reminds her of curved rose thorns, sharp and unforgiving, and completely nasty to remove.

She had walked into a trap.

—

In a way, Yuu was glad to be inside. There were many outdoor elements she would not be fond of at the moment. 

She would still rather it not happen at all. The unknown force had returned at full power and dug into the junction of her wrist and waist when Trey asks her if she is okay. Yuu can only smile as pain flares from nerves being stretched to their limits, assuring him she’s fine. Riddle only took advantage of her inability to speak more to override her completely, sweeping her away to his bedroom with the excuse that she needed rest. 

He’s gotten better, she notes. As she lays upon velvet covers with hair and clothes fanned around her like a halo, it’s the only thing that she can really think of without wanting to vomit. A high pitched moan echoes in the room and Yuu realizes through groggy dizziness that it was from her. The realization is snuffed by another bolt of pleasure wracking through her body, making her arch her back and scream.

Riddle rises above her spread legs, ironed shirt and blazer discarded, humming in satisfaction. A lithe pink tongue peeks out and swipes away shiny liquids coating the lower half of his face. He runs a careless hand to push back his hair, smirking down at her boneless form and glazed eyes. 

“Good girl.” Shame floods her as more cum drools out of her hole in response, a deep seated wanting burning through her body. Gritting her teeth, she can barely even push herself up on a pillow in an attempt to orient herself when Riddle traps her with his arms on the headboard.

“Now, now,” he coos. “We’re not finished here.”

Her breath is stolen away in a single, feral thrust that has her scrabbling for hold on Riddle’s shoulders. 

—

Something shiny draws her eye from the nightstand. When she strains her neck to see what it is, her chest tightens. 

The antique letter opener was one of the most expensive items she had bought when she arrived in this world. Yuu would never have bought it, even for herself. It would’ve been a waste of madol and she could not afford to, what with caring for Grim and their living expenses. As much as she would have enjoyed it as an avid novelist, there simply would have been no point to, especially when she would be returning to her own world.

The circumstances just happened to line up. Riddle’s birthday was nearing, and she had been out for a lark in the town square. A quaint little antique shop had caught her eye, and despite Grim’s bored protests, she dragged her companion to the store’s door eagerly. She had only meant to be window shopping—but the letter opener was too beautiful to pass by. 

The storekeeper chirped something about it being a perfect gift for a significant other when ringing up the purchase. Something about how the creator first carved the symbols of roses around the handle for his wife (for those were her favorite flowers) and gifted it to her, so she would always remember him when she used it. At the time, Yuu only blushed and politely thanked her, and left the establishment with swirling feelings. She thought it preposterous that Riddle and her could ever have such a relationship.

It’s sitting askew on the nightstand, next to an opened letter. She knew whose it was without even looking. Who else sends him letters besides his mother? Yuu only wishes she could reach further and tear that paper to shreds, burn it all to ashes. Riddle stirs, face still buried in her bare chest, soft breaths tickling damp skin. 

She thought of how delighted she was that she had a pen pal in this world. Even if their letters were mostly nonsensical past times, Yuu thought she knew the Riddle everyone else was afraid of. 

Thankfully, Riddle doesn’t stir when she wriggles an arm free of the sheets, slowly, cautiously reaching out towards the nightstand. Her fingers brush against cold metal, barely able to tilt the handle enough to make it slide towards her opened palm. Yuu just barely is able to catch it, the awkward position making the sharp part dig into her flesh. 

Adjusting her hold, she raises the blade above her head. For a moment, she’s frozen in place as her eyes examine the sleeping body laying upon her. Not in hesitation(she is long past morality at this point)—but to figure out where best to strike.

The head is viable, but the blade might be too dull to do any real damage. If she aims just right, she could try going for the heart through his pale shoulder blades. But she’s a novelist, not a mad scientist. The chances she actually manages to pierce his heart is too low and risky (as much as she would love to try). 

His throat, however…

She swears he was sleeping. His eyes were closed, and his breathing slow and steady. But somehow, her aim still misses, just barely slicing skin and missing important nerves to be a fatal blow. Her wrist is caught in a tight grip as Riddle looks up at her with a wry smile.

“Using your gift against me? Rather rude, don’t you think?” His sleepy voice dances with mirth even though his neck bleeds little droplets of crimson. Her eyes follow the trail down his Adam's apple, down his collarbone, and finally, it trickles down and stains the white bedsheets a bright scarlet tint that reminds her of the roses that symbolize the dorm. 

“I’ll kill you.” The words are murmured with quiet conviction. A promise.

The Queen of Hearts laughs.

“Good luck, then, my dear.”

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 13

welcome the the tenth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. i was always yours (even before you knew it) by paladarns

Lance thought Keith was just an asshole. Lance has always thought of Keith as an asshole, all throughout traveling into space in a large mechanical lion, all throughout bonding moments. All throughout becoming closer as teammates and friends.

Even now, with his hands pinned above his head and Keith’s thighs straddling his waist, Lance thinks Keith is an asshole.

Lance had always thought he could see right through people, but now he’s starting to think he has a bad judgement of people.

---------- a fic in which keith is obvious and lance is a bit of a gay nervous wreck

takes place as if season 1 is the only season to exist but its now years later

so many things to love about this fic. so so many. so i am going to list them. a) secret relationship bc i love that shit and eat it up every time, b) ‘takes place as if season 1 is the only season to exist but its now years later’ -- paladarns my love thank you for this truly excellent description of where i write my fics like 80% of the time. c) keith has game, and d)  HE WAS ALWAYS KEITHS EVEN BEFORE HE KNEW IT IM SOBBING BEST TROPE BEST TROPE

2. Wake Up, Sleephyhead! by @transbakugou

Keith has never loved someone like he loves Lance. Lance is his sun, his stars, his happiness. Their hands fit together like they were created to do nothing but hold each other, and he fits perfectly inside of Lance's arms. But he can never let anyone find out how much he loves this boy, how wholly and endlessly. Who knows what the Galra would do with that kind of information?

One morning, the lie comes crashing down around them.

Maybe it won't be as bad as they feared.

i love gay whipped klance and truly every single fic that has ever been written based on a vine is truly amazing, this fic is no exception. also secret relationship lol i am a sucker

3. Something Secret by @kingswriting

It was funny at first. Their arguments became more banter than actual disagreements, yet the entire team continued to assume they were at each other’s throats.

And Lance knows they’re not. He is fully aware that every sharp word, every sly smirk, every heavy handed push, and everything in between is anything but malicious.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss the softer side of things.

Or, Lance and Keith are in a secret relationship, but honestly want to omit the 'secret' part.

okay u can always tell what tag im following obsessively at certain times lol. for yall i present yet another secret relationship fic. ahem. this one is cute! banter and flirting and misleading and kisses and GOD its so sweet

4. Things Held Sacred by yarrie

So maybe, just maybe, Pidge was right. Maybe, just maybe, Keith had shot himself in the foot with his first attempt at resolving the blanket-hogging situation, because now Lance seemed to think it was a game and the rules were: steal the blankets, get sex.

To be fair, Keith hadn't exactly been...dissuading him very well.

okay so heres how this works. every fic rec friday so far has been from a specific collection of mine called ‘rereadables’, which was literally started because of this fic. i dont even know what specific part of this fic gets to me so hard, but you know when you read something that makes your stomach go all swoopy? and you can’t stop smiling? thats this fic! i remember i finished it for the first time and then i scrolled right back up to the top and read it again, then again, and again. like i cannot get over this fic. it gives me butterflies every time

5. Communication is key, they say by @ellana17

They already had communication issues before… Or: a malfunction with a healing pod leaves Lance able to speak only Spanish for a few days.

the idea of lance getting stuck in spanish and then almost immediately using that to flirt with keith without him knowing. like. i love that SO much that is quite possibly one of the funniest concepts to exist

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[imaginethathaikyuu]

literally anything with atsumu i love him and ur writing is always up to par so. i will be happy with anything. but a cute birthday themed piece could be fun perhaps

thank u so much i wrote this specifically for u and i managed to write a weirdly formatted atsumu centered fic that barely went over 1k words. we are so back

contains: fluff, mild childhood angst, a black eye, birthday cake word count: 1163 gender neutral reader x miya atsumu :p

-

October 5th, 1995 

Atsumu Miya is born. He’s gifted a bright flash of light, the sound of his own cries, and - seven minutes later - a brother. 

October 5th, 2003

There was a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner taped to the cabinets in the kitchen. The R was ripped nearly in half, and the colors were dull. 

It was the same one as last year, and the year before that. 

Atsumu walked through the threshold with his brother right next to him. Osamu knew how to say thank you in the right way to get the best hug from their mom. 

They were presented with one singular cupcake. 

“Why can’t we ever get our own?” 

The two boys sat too close at the kitchen table, the strawberry cake sat right in front of them. 

“You have to learn how to share, Atsumu.” 

He knew how to share. There was nothing left to learn.

One candle was mashed in the frosting. Mom lit the flame and Atsumu watched wax dripping onto his half as she sang their happy birthday song, and told them to make a wish. 

Atsumu and Osamu looked at each other, then blew at the candle at the exact same time. 

The cupcake was cut in half, and Atsumu’s stomach hurt before he could finish his. Osamu took it without being asked. 

But if they had each gotten their own, Atsumu would've had more to share with his brother. 

October 5th, 2010

Atsumu was fifteen and he knew everything. He was always right - never, ever wrong, and if anyone disagreed, they’d have to take it up directly with him. 

He knew how to run his mouth. Maybe it was what he was best at. He’d never lost an argument - until his fifteenth birthday. 

He’d gotten good at taking his aggression out in healthy ways - mostly in sports. But, sometimes, the words he spit couldn’t be left on the court. 

He would say what he wanted, and he didn’t care who heard or hurt. 

He didn’t know what he had coming to him. 

The entire team had already abandoned the gym, all but Atsumu and the shitty middle blocker who played like he didn’t know his position. 

Atsumu was outside stretching when his words hit his ears. “You’re a piece of shit, Miya.” 

“Oh my god - get in line, dude, you’re about the fifth person today to let me know.” 

“That many people wanna rip your head off? I wish one of them would teach you how to shut the fuck up.” 

“And I wish someone would teach you how to block the fuckin’ ball.” 

The guy didn’t reply. He took one step in Atsumu’s direction - he remembered hearing the crunch of gravel under the guy's foot. His shoulder moved with the step, and with it, the first real punch Atsumu had ever been thrown. 

And it hit. Hard. Ten times harder than any hits from Osamu. 

The guy’s fist collided with Atsumu’s cheek and then he walked away. Atsumu didn’t even have a chance to hit back - he was frozen in place, anyway. There was no fight in him. He was too surprised. 

A black eye wasn’t on his wishlist for his birthday, but it’s what he got. A lesson learned? Not so much. 

October 5th, 2019

He was another year older - so what. 

The only part of Atsumu’s birthday that he liked was giving his brother a stupidly expensive gift, because it gave him an excuse to gloat. 

Other than that? It was a day like any other. 

Birthdays were nowhere near special to him - especially his own. But it just so happened that on that specific birthday, he had his first date with you. 

And it didn’t even come up in conversation. Neither did his twin brother, or any of his volleyball stories he’d usually tell to impress a date. 

Atsumu found out that he didn’t need to impress you, and he hardly needed to talk about himself. 

He left that date feeling like he was friends with you, and maybe that wasn’t how he should feel after a date, but he was beaming. The hours with you at that hole in the wall bar didn’t feel like enough. 

He took that feeling and ran with it, and he hoped - he prayed - you’d follow him. 

October 5th, 2022

It’d been late nights for as long as Atsumu could remember. He’d come home and you’d already be in bed - if he was lucky, you’d wake up just long enough to tell him you love him. 

That night was different from the rest. 

That night, he would be coming home to - literally - an empty home. 

Finally, you and Atsumu had moved into the house of your dreams that was yours. But, for the time being, you were living out of boxes and waiting for furniture deliveries. 

He opened the door to a dark living room and an even darker hallway, and he didn’t bother turning any on lights to get to the kitchen. 

There was a shred of light there, coming from an old bulb above the stove. He looked around the empty room and what he found was out of place. 

There you were, sat on the floor. A chair was next to you, funnily enough, but it was taken by a round white cake. A handful of candles were stuck into the top. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, the same time you spoke. 

“There’s my birthday boy,” and your voice was all sleepy smiles. “Happy birthday. Happy anniversary.” 

He sat in front of you, right on the floor, not caring when his knees popped on the way down. 

“Did you stay up just to tell me that?” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

You picked up the cake and presented it to him like you were proud of it, and the size of his grin matched yours. 

“How mad would you be if I just tipped this up,” and he tapped the bottom of the plate, “right into your face?” 

“Atsumu.” Every time you said his name like that, he laughed. “I would kill you.”

“On my birthday?” 

He watched you pout as you sat the cake down again. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” 

“Thank you,” he said, like he was insisting. He wrapped his hands around your legs and scooted you closer to him. “Thank you, baby, this is so nice.” 

You hummed. “You’re welcome.” And you dipped your finger in the frosting on the cake, and Atsumu immediately caught your wrist when you moved it toward his face. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

You kept pushing, and he didn’t push back fast enough - your finger and the glob of frosting smushed right into his cheek. 

And you laughed loud enough to fill the empty rooms of your house, and Atsumu didn’t know how to tell you how in love he was. 

He had birthday cake for dinner that night, and it settled into a sugary stomach ache. It was the best October 5th he'd lived through so far.

-

got a request for a drabble? send it in, i might write it :)  

[disasterbiwriter]

Okay, so first, if you're not reading @sarabethsilver's Everglow, you absolutely should be.

Additionally, a hat tip to her because her Mo Willems name drop in the latest chapter inspired this goofy little headcannon that I just came up with: namely, Jess Mariano is anti Mo Willems.

Setting the scene: Rory is pregnant, Jess is supportive. No plot, just vibes!

Enjoy!

“Overrated.”

Rory’s jaw falls open. “Get out.”

“I’m just saying.” Jess gently lays There is a Bird on Your Head! in the pile to his left.

Rory snatches it up again and presses it to her chest. “Iconoclast. Contrarian. Meanie!”

“Excuse me, did you call me here to ask you to sort Cletus’s library or not?”

She pouts up at him from her spot on the floor. “I did. I think I also threatened you with violence if you didn’t stop calling my unborn child Cletus.”

“Did you? I must’ve missed that.”

“Jess,” Rory whines. “Mo Willems. He wrote for Sesame Street. You watched Sesame Street four times a day when you were little!”

Jess leans forward in the chintzy glider Luke and Lorelai brought over earlier that week and flutters his fingers towards the low modular bookshelves lining one wall of the nursery. “And you have two other Mo Willems titles on the shelf already. I let you convince me on Knufflebunny—”

“This is the new version, with the updated dedication to Trix!”

“—and begrudgingly accepted that We Are in a Book is a solid introduction to metaliterature—”

“Begrudgingly?!”

“—but I’m putting my foot down here. Do not let the weed of Elephant Gerald choke out the rest of your literary garden, Mother Gilmore.”

“Oh, okay, let’s just add a threat of violence for using the phrase Mother Gilmore to your account.”

He laughs and shudders. “Yeah, I kinda squicked myself out on that one too.”

“So, should we consider the rest of your argument moot then? I think we should.”

“Rory, you have no more space. Are you telling me with a straight face that you’re not buying any more books between now and when the kid finally makes an appearance?”

She starts to answer him, but gives a funny little strangled yelp instead.

Immediately Jess is kneeling next to her. “What?!”

But Rory’s laughing. “Nothing, nothing. They just kicked. Hard, too.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, rather grabs his wrist and presses his hand to the lower right side of her stomach. They mutually ignore the jump of their pulses.

They wait a beat, and then:

“Oh shit!”

“Right?!”

“Mia Hamm in there.”

She smiles. “Hand me the little notebook off the nightstand? There should be a pen too.”

He unfolds himself from the floor and crosses to the other side of the room. “Counting kicks?” he asks her as he hands her both items. “Isn’t it a little early?”

Rory squints up at him and flips open the cover. “And how would you know?”

He feigns offense. “Hey, I have known upwards of two pregnant people.”

“Soooo, your mom and… me?”

“Among others.”

She laughs and makes a note on the page. “Twenty-eight weeks is when they suggest you start, so I’m right on schedule.”

“What are you supposed to record?”

(In eight months, on the phone during one of her late-night feedings when she can’t sleep and he’s the only other one awake, he’ll confess he had been reading baby books for the duration of her pregnancy. But that’s eight months away.)

“Oh, you know. Number of kicks, time since the last movement. I’m also trying to track down what the stimuli might be.”

Jess nods. “Very complete.”

She waggles the notebook at him and grins. “It’s not every day you get to record baby’s first objection to a bad take on a book.”

“Oh for…” Jess rolls his eyes and grins. “So you’re just going to, what? Buy another bookshelf for this tiny room?”

She beams at him and holds out her hands. He hauls her to her feet. “See, that’s the kind of outside the box thinking I keep you around for, Mariano.”