#like that hollow depression i get before a breakdown

[madame-mongoose]

Ughhhh

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Epilogue

“Everything good must come to an end.”

- Geoffrey Chaucer.

Jonathan levy x reader smut.

Word count: 6k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with: Depression level angst, heavy sexual themes, smut, breeding kink, power exchange, age gap, daddy kink, a little hint of dd/lg, abuse of power, explicit language and themes, rough smut, sex in public, nudes, very graphic detail of sex, talk of punishment, dirty talk, jealousy, over protectiveness, spanking, overstim, choking, biting, bruising, fingering, rough blow jobs.

A/n: y’all dirty animals wanted a part two, so eat up. Might I say I didn’t hold anything back, plz beware of the warnings. Sorry for taking forever to write this I just wanted it to be a masterpiece. The second part to this: lovers exchange.

   Jonathan’s hair stood on his skin, as the sun's glow of the early morning shone through his curtains. Bars of gold hit his bare chest. His long body contorted on his sofa. The chatter of hollow television continued to chime. He moves his forearm away from his eyes. Groggily blinking his dull eyes open. The beige ceiling and instant brightness blind him. He winced to himself before sitting up, putting his elbows on his knees, and running his hands over his face. He groans, smoothing out his hair. He sighs, slipping his glasses back on. His eyes adjust in a quick second. He only had approximately three hours of sleep before he passed out ultimately. His brain never fully rested running with rampant images of you. Before he can register it he’s running up his stairs, two at a time. To his bedroom and bathing. A short brisk shower and basic hygiene are kept in pristine condition. He stills. The wet splat of droplets crusading down his body made dark circles on the tile. He pauses giving his reflection a minute. Dismal rings are around his eyes, almost looking black from sleep deprivation.

He thanks the world that he’s going to get coffee with you. Almost having a mental breakdown about what clothes he should wear, he has a breakthrough. Remembering what you’ve said about his cardigans and khakis. He blushes. It really feels like a fever dream, he’s an imposter of himself. Pausing by the floor-length mirror Mira had purchased. Pivoting to see himself from all angles. White shirt, mousey wool coat, with dark brown pants. He stylishly rolled up the ends twice, he should change his emerald green socks. He thinks it compliments his beige tones and his gray shoes. Scratching his neck he sighs. Looking at his watch to find the hour to be nine. He swears. Even if he’s going to be early, he wants to be comfortable before you arrive. He’s rehearsed everything he was going to say to you. Reciting over in his mind in a tandem. His aged body doesn’t move as fast as it used to as he hobbled down his stairs. Grabbing his keys out of the dish along with his satchel off the rack. Locking the door on his way out, he jogs out of the house that he hated and starts his car. Knuckles white at the right grip around the steering wheel, he ponders a story he once read that’s eerily reminiscent of his life. Lolita, is slightly less illegal. 

_______

   He parks by the side of the building, not in the lot. People billow out of stores into another on the busy street of the city. Completely engrossed by the people, it’s strange. How strangers are programmed to detach themselves from others, to not intrude on bystanders out of their circle. Enlightened to know that you stumbled onto his messy circle. Poking holes into the plastic bag around his head so he can breathe. Walking down the street by the greyhound bus, he wonders if you’re on it. His heart flutters thinking of you being so close. He wraps his chilly hands around the strap of his bag, keeping him anchored. 

   Keeping his head buried to his chest as he pushes open the glass doors of the cafe. There’s a few other people all from different backgrounds scattered around. Sat drinking and conversing. A couple is fondling one another in a corner. It makes him burn up with embarrassment for walking in on it. He dashes into the industrial loft, to a booth seated by the enormous window. Shrugging off his satchel, he takes off his coat too. He puts the thick fabric over his bag. He folds his hands neatly on his lap. A soft folk song pours from the speakers, he pushes his glasses up. People watching is his new favorite hobby. They’re younger than him, hipsters who laugh at obnoxious jokes. Who overindulge in pda. For some reason Jonathan feels like he doesn’t belong. The stereotypical mundane things people do are normal. He doesn’t feel normal, not in any way. This was such a stupid idea. It was just a story. Fiction. 

   Contemplating for a while, he plays with his fingers absolutely lost in his thoughts. He pulls his jacket off his bag, reaching in to retrieve his current read. It’s worn and faded, one of his favorites. Knowing he can recite it front to back without question. The Scarlet Letter. He just can’t get over the taboo, the utter mourning of tragedy. Opening the abraded book to the number he mesmerized. Reading through a third of the book, he realizes its ten past the original meeting time. Having to wave off the poor server twice since he first came. What if he was a fool? What if you didn’t want to meet with an old creep who has an agenda? He bounces his leg, knee brushing the underside of the table with each jump. Closing the book over his finger to hold his spot, he does the thing he does best and overcompensates. Now Jonathan is a grown man, and he’s not upset, but his ego is bruised. He breathes heavily as he gets worked up. He considers leaving.

    Before he does, he hears the bell chime as the door opens. Head popping up to find the visitor to be a disgruntled you. Messy absolutely wild hair. Your backpack strewn carelessly on your shoulders. One hand you hold a strap to keep it on, the other you hold your phone with white earbuds connected. He’s shocked to find your shoes on the right feet. His heart stops and time freezes, as it does he wonders how fast he can sprint to the bathroom. Your head whips around finding him pale face and wide eyed. A bright, stunning smile spreads across your face. Tangled hair bobbing as you walk, you wave at him; he returns the greeting with a meek smile. As you settle down into your seat across from him. He smiles at your perfume and he’s whipped by the scent. It’s youthful like spring, nothing like Mira’s dry smelling daffodils. Shrugging off your bag, you pluck the buds from your ears. Pausing your music. You���re sweating and breathing like you ran a marathon. 

   “Hi.”

   He smiles wider, eyes crinkling. 

   “Hello.”

   You sit straighter, smoothing out your lilac damp shirt. Wondering if that’s your perfume he’s smelling or if your body’s essence smells just that good. 

   “Missed the bus. Had to run. Sorry I was late.”

   So you weren’t on the bus. Each pause that you took you huffed. Gasping to breathe. He shoves his book back into his bag, his physical spot lost. Mentally he’s at page 100. His attention is fully onto you. 

   “It’s alright, are you okay?”

   Your eyes bulge out of your head, jumping at his question. For you to have run so far, you’re full of energy, youth. 

   “Oh! Yeah, I’m just not used to extracurriculars such as track.”

   He chuckles, smart too. Extracurriculars. He’ll be thinking about that one for a while. Curtly nodding at your response. 

   “Well, I’m happy you made it.”

   You beam up at him, eyes gleaming and big. You reach over across the table to squeeze his forearm. His mouth is almost dropping at your affection. 

   “Thanks for inviting me!”

   He pushes a hand to his hair when you remove your delicate touch. He scratches lightly at his scalp, then brushes his curls away from his face. Your eyes catch onto the cover of his book. Quirking your head to the side you read the title aloud. 

   “The Scarlet Letter?” 

   You furrow your brows in confusion along with curiosity. He jumps at your question, feeling like a kid red-handed. He hides it, when you look at him. 

   “What’s it about?”

   His mouth falls agape, trying to find a string of comprehensive thoughts. He desperately searches for an answer that doesn’t make him sound like a freak. 

   “Forbidden love.”

_______

   Jonathan is full of hapless serotonin. He’s found a new subject for his people watching. Adoring watching you, to examine the things you do subconsciously. Be a simple witness to admire your beauty. How you cover your mouth when you eat, place a napkin onto your lap. Such diner etiquette learned at such a young age has his blood rushing. He sips on his black coffee, hating the brew. It’s much different from his own. Much more acidic than the one he makes. He wonders if you’ll like the organic kind he drinks. He’s slightly frightened by your order, at least half a container of sugar is dumped into the cup. More of a carbonated energy drink he enjoys the mixture of elegance and chaos you exude. You chew your muffin with stuffed cheeks. 

   “What music do you listen to?”

   He most likely didn’t know the artist, but was still interested. Anything you listened to would easily be his most listened to after the conversation ended. You ball your hand into a fist, to hide your mouth as you chew. 

   “Lana.”

   You grumble, almost scared to admit it. His pants get tight with the flow of blood to his cock. His stomach churns painfully. He’s heard of her, the infamous philosophy she’s developed for young women. It’s a phenomenon to him, but it suits you. The femme fatale. 

   “Del Rey?”

   He mumbles, giving him a brief nod. You smile as much as you can with a full mouth. 

   “Surprised you know her.”

   He knows of her; he doesn’t know a single thing about her. He doesn’t listen to a lot of music; he doesn’t have social media. He just never really got it. There’s seven- no, he read an article where there’s eight billion people in the world right now. Already gets nervous about the people he walks by on the street and around the ones in his close circle. He’s happy to be unknown and be a hermit. So knowing Lana was a win. Smiling softly in agreement to your claim. 

   “One of my students did a thesis for impressionable young women for them to stay wary of what media they digest. They wrote about Mrs. Rey. Albeit grotesque, I like the Cola song.”

   You gulp down much of your muffin. You snort, laughing to yourself how strange it was to hear. 

   “What? I like the song, what’s so wrong about that?” 

   He laughs with you, a charming big smile on his face. 

   “You can like it however much you want. But that will forever be comical.”

   You point an accusatory his way, waggling it. Dropping it when the laughter dies down to a small smile. It’s quiet for a few minutes, peaceful even, warm. Not the awkward quiet, the one where the silence is mutually understood and welcomed. He licks his lips, tasting the harsh grain on the sensitive skin. 

   “I was amused by reading your commission.”

   He nearly chokes on his tongue, seeing your eyes widen. 

   “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

    It is less bubbly than your normal chime, more serious. It’s an interesting contrast. He runs his forefinger over the ring of his cup, collecting the substance then bringing it to his mouth.

   “Like I said in the email I sent. I’d like to discuss your afflatus. I’m more than interested in knowing where it sourced from.”

   He’s intrigued how your eyes glow when you’re acknowledged. 

   “Have you ever had a dream that felt real?” 

   He nods slowly, almost hesitantly curious where this was going. 

   “It was kinda like that for me. Except each time I would walk through this door into this room.”

   You pause, eyes taking over his top half. He’s wearing a silver chain that dips under the collar. You weren’t sure how but it made his already alluring neck more appealing. 

   “I was just completely captivated by this person and well, I wrote about my dreams.”

   You shrug nonchalantly, his stomach flips. You tiptoed about just saying outright it was about him. A dirty brief fantasy you had about your mentor. He wondered if every time he taught and glanced at you. Your Bambi eyes gawking at him, you were thinking of such things. He drinks from the cold cup, the liquid almost gone. 

   “It’s admirable how much you retain from these 

dreams.”

   He waves a hand in the air like he does when he’s teaching. 

   “How vivid you made these,”

   He clears his throat, noticing your prying eyes at the muscles in his arms contracting. His eyes close halfway, staring you down from the bridge of his nose. 

   “Encounters.”

   You beam brightly at his praise. 

   “I-, thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

   You sheepishly say with your head tucked downwards. Oh, so now you’re shy? He tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. 

   “I wanted to introduce you to this program that the college is starting. It’s an apprenticeship to become an insightful tutor to other students.”

   He bites down harshly on his bottom lip, tugging at the flesh. 

   “It’s an extracurricular, I think you’d do well in it since you said you didn’t partake in any others.”

   You can’t refuse his offer, he put your own words against you. 

   “I completely understand if that’s something you do not wish to do. However, I think you’re the most suitable candidate.”

   Your stomach bursts from excitement. Unlimited hours with someone you’re completely infatuated with? It’s so mind-boggling that you’re becoming dizzy. 

   “Is there an application form I have to sign?”

   He smiles wide, happy to know that you’re more than willing to be his apprentice. 

   “Not really, no. But, there is a sheet that I need to give you.”

   He turns to run a hand through his bag trying to find the papers. He comes up dry. Shit. He left them at home; he cursed himself for leaving in such a haste. Face falling before an idea pops into his head. He grabs a napkin and a pen from his bag scribbling down his number and giving it to you. 

   “Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten the papers. Please, if you have any questions or concerns, contact me.”

   He smiles warmly, as you nod, staring at the numbers briefly before pocketing them. 

   “Will do.”

_______

   He almost lost his mind when you offered to pay. After a great conversation with you and a farewell. He’s practically in the clouds. It’s the Evening now, mostly spending the day chatting with you. It didn’t feel like hours to him, just a casual meeting with an old friend. A very attractive friend. As he drives home, he listens to Lana. Thinking of all the pretty smiles and suggestive glances you gave him. God what fuel for his eager brain. He hums to the tune as he pulls into his street; he notices a familiar car parked in the middle of where he parks Mira.

He almost has a heart attack as he pulls in. She wasn’t supposed to be here for another week. He sighs, grabbing his bag and keys. Trudging up the steps and opening the door. He’s met with literally the scariest thing ever, Mira making dinner with his kid perched up on a stool. Mira will go through later, but he wraps his jacket and satchel on the hook. He kisses the small child on her head. 

   “Hey sweetie.”

   She mutters a small squeak of ‘hi dad’ and gives him a small hug. Mira turns, hair put up messily as she pours boiling water into the sink. He’s told her over and over that using a strainer is very useful but she continues to do it her way. He crouches, pinching Ava’s small cheeks. Tilting his head, sorrow fills him. She’s grown so much since the last time he’s seen her. It’s just the cost of separation, it’s okay though, it’s supposed to be his weekend. 

   “Glad to see you’ve joined us.”

   Mira sneers, not looking up from the mess she’s making. 

   “Was busy.”

   She whips her head to him, eyes fiery and body rigid. He doesn’t even know why she’s pissed at him but he’s used to it. He just plops into the chair next to the kid who’s grabbing at his fingers. 

   “Oh yeah, where were you?”

   He wants to lie; it wasn’t her business, anyway.  Maybe therefore he couldn’t do it anymore. This fighting every night, the difference and insecurity. He breathes in, fixing to do the ten things you hear and feel, before he freaks the fuck out. 

   “I don’t know Mira I was..just out?”

   She laughs a bitter laugh like the gross coffee that’s making his stomach hurt. 

   “You just avoided the question. Where were you Jon?”

   He hated the demeaning way she used his name. Biting on his tongue, pressing his head to the stool. 

   “I went out to the coffee shop for a meeting.”

   She pauses for a second before she goes back to cleaning up the pasta and ravioli she just made, knowing that he doesn’t like the processed shit. She turns, hands on hips. 

   “Oh. And with who?”

   He chokes, he wants to smash his head on the table. Think of a name. Any name that’s on the board. 

   “L/n.”

   Christ’s sake.  

   “Huh, that’s funny I don’t remember a L/n being on council.”

   She sneers.  

   “She’s new.”

   Mira makes a mental note of her, she shakes her head walking to the table. Handing the kid her bowl and setting one out for Jonathan and herself. She chews slowly. 

   “I didn't sign them.”

   Jonathan makes an airplane to land in the kid’s mouth. Cupping under to catch whatever falls. His eyebrows pinch together. 

   “What?”

   Mira stares at the food she eats. 

   “I didn’t sign the papers you served me.”

   Jonathan’s jaw ticks. The bones locking up. Fury rages beneath his skin.

   “What?”

   He asks again in disbelief. She’s the one who wanted to get separated. She’s the one who cheated on him with Poli. He laughs brutally. 

   “Are you joking? Please tell me you are?”

   She scoffs, offended.  

   “Why would you think I’d be joking about this?”

   She rolls her eyes. 

   “Of course you want to push this on me. Make me a single mom with no support.”

   She says it as a fact as if it wasn’t the farthest from it. She’d have a more than sustainable life with Poli and he wasn’t making her do anything. He sighs, getting riled up.  

   “Whatever, I just-“

   He stops shrugging and shaking his head. 

   “I don’t know anymore.”

   His phone buzzes in his pocket. He clinks the small spoon into the dish and he reaches into his pocket. Confused who might summon him. His eyes bulge out of his head. He wonders if it’s a spam message, one of those things where if you respond they take your identity. A nude lady with an absolute jaw dropping figure dressed in lavender lingerie. Posing in a scandalous contortion. His cock instantly hardens on his thigh. Your face relaxed with eyes looking up and tongue rolled out. Hand tucked into those skimpy panties. His heart pounds against his chest. He quickly pushes the rectangle to his chest. Eyes wild to find his daughter playing in the pasta. Why- who- what- he can’t even think right. In the bottom text is just filth:

   “Touching myself to you, daddy.”

   “Who is that?”

   Mira asks and Jonathan’s up and out. 

   “Excuse me.”

   He rushes up the stairs and into his bathroom Quickly pacing around hands in his hair. He texts back: 

   “Wrong number.”

   Three little dots appear and disappear as anticipation builds. He sighs falling back on his bed with a heave. He thinks that the worst part is that he’ll jerk off to that picture later. 

_______

   The first day of your new hobby has come. You wear a button up blouse that’s yellow, along with some loose pants and sneakers. Brushing your hair and teeth, spraying something that smelled like flowers. You grab your phone, plugging in your earphones. Reading a text from an unknown number: 

   “Wrong number.”

   Your eyebrows pinch as you unlock your phone. The picture you sent to who you thought was the friendly boy from class ended up being..not who you thought it was. Yet it was your former professor you forgot to put a contact for. You blush profusely, sitting down on your bed. Trying to ground yourself, you have a headache. How could you make such a mistake? Now it made sense why your sneaky link didn’t text back. You groan, rubbing your temples. Horrible turned to worse. As the alarm rang telling you need to leave to make it on time. You wonder if you should stay or not. To just wallow in the suffering of embarrassment of perpetual grief. That your one shot with your handsome more antiquated counterpart was ruined. To think of it all was because you sent him proof you masturbated to him. 

_______

   Jonathan trudges through the enormous doors, with his home brewed coffee sipping from the mug. He strides into the vacant auditorium, shocked to actually find you sitting on a stool next to his chair. Nose shoved into a book and listening to music. He smiles to himself walking to the desk and taking his things off. He likes the yellow; it suits you well. The lilac was too mature for you. You look up at him, taking a bud out. 

   “Morning.”

   He whispers. You nod your head, putting the bud back in and returning to the book. Cold as ice, it has him frostbit. He sits in his swivel chair with a plop. Rubbing his temples trying to not encourage the head splitting headache that’s growing. He can already tell today is going to be interesting. It’s noon when his first class comes in. You mostly had done nothing, just proofread over assignments and emails, redoing poor grammar and punctuation errors. He stands pointing to something on the board which had an image projected on it. He’s babbling about something, rolling up the sleeves of his gray sweater that hugs him a little tighter than usual. Strong arms being shown has your pussy clenching. Soft tingles bursting in your stomach. You’re supposed to keep your distance; he probably thinks you’re a freak. You bow your head smiling to yourself. He reaches up to grab the screen that’s rolled up at the top of the chalkboard. As he reaches his sweater pulls up showing the curve of his pelvis. The hair flowing from his abdomen down below his pants open to the public. Your breath catches and your eyes dart away. He walks over to his desk, sitting back down next to you. You can feel his heat radiating off him buzzing over to you.  

   “Turn the lights off.”

   He whispers in your ear, and you jolt up. 

   “What?”

   “The lights. Turn them off.”

   You nod, pivoting and switching them off. Darkness spreads throughout the large room. The gigantic mass of students almost filled every seat. That’s usually how it is when a new semester begins. Young excited individuals, soon to find the crushing weight to toll. The light chatter dies as the film plays. He obviously made them read the book beforehand, had an excruciating test over it in order to watch and behold in all its glory. Some old French romance that’s a revolutionary development in art and culture. You watch the movie on his computer. 

It’s almost a private screening, reserved for two. There’s great unspoken tension between the two of you. He knows and you know the tragic consequences of what happened. However, if the both of you wanted to forget then why not just stop thinking about it? Both of you are corrupted entirely by the other. Jonathan crosses his arms, bouncing his leg. He tilts his head to the side.  

   “Glad you came.”

   He licks his lips. 

   “The movie is pretty tedious, actually.”

   You smirk. 

   “Oh, really?”

   He nods as you continue a hushed conversation. 

   “Yeah, the only striking thing is that she murders him in the end.”

   You let out a shocked gasp, softly hitting him in the arm.  

   “Spoilers!”

   He looks at you like you’re crazy. Making you smile. It was too hard to resist the intoxicating feeling you get off him. The taboo is exciting, but the banter is better.  

   “How could it be spoilers? I specifically assigned this to be read by last week?!”

   He scolds. He leans back, fake shock written on his face. 

   “I’m floored that you didn’t read it.”

   You scrunch your nose, pointing a finger at him.  

   “It’s not that I didn’t read it.”

   You pause, shrugging.  

   “I just didn’t read all of it.”

   He clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth shaking his head, gray curls following. 

   “Poor excuse.”

   You smile leaning back into your chair, watching the movie with him. You notice how he spreads his legs wider, scooting a tad bit closer to you. Mira isn’t here, he reminds himself. It’s better to ask for forgiveness than for permission. He watches the black and white woman dance along the train tracks resembling lost in hope. He bites his lip leaning down again. 

   “You look ravishing in lavender.”

   You bury your face in your chest. 

   “Thank you.”

   He nods. 

   “I like the little gems on the panties.”

   Your mouth closes tight. He uncrosses his arms. One shoves into his pocket, the other lightly tracing the wrinkles in your pants. Your eyes dart from the screen to the students. It’s impossible to make them out in the dark. 

   “They can’t see, I’ll be shocked if any of them are awake.”

   You think for a second before the uneasiness fades. 

   “Okay.”

   You whisper, and he takes it. His hand is slotting on the inside of your thigh. Gradually rubbing up and down, stroking you. Each stroke has him growing. His pinky rubs your clothed slit. The friction makes you grind your hips into his palm. 

   “Patience little girl. We still have an hour and a half left.”

   You groan, biting your lips almost until it draws blood. He runs his forefinger, pushing in he can feel you soaking through the fabric. He does it slowly, like he does when thinking and runs it around the mouth of coffee. Clit to hole, up and down. Your head hurts as you get lost in his hand.  

   “Touch me.”

   He smirks, casting a look over the crowd. He puts his fingers over the tops of your pants and the bottom of your blouse. His nose digs into the side of your cheek from how close he is. His lips brushed the bone.  

   “What makes you think that you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?

   He tugs your pants open. He runs his tongue over his lips, teeth glinting. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pumping fast from the reference of the photo. He was right you weren’t getting off a fellow peer but to the man who smells like heaven.  

   “Hm?”

   He questions softly. He tilts his head to the side, examining you. He pushes the top of his index in.  

    “Going to teach you some morals, won't I?”

   He smirks as he takes his hand back out. 

   “Sending suggestive pictures to older men is wrong,”

   His breath fans over your neck. It’s quiet before he speaks again.  

   “Isn’t it?”

   His thumb soothes below your belly button.  

   “Yes.”

   You whisper almost as soft as the snore of an unconscious student. His hand sinks down from your stomach to your pubic bone. He scratches the hair, making your skin crawl. His fingers dip and he’s instantly damp with your slick. 

   “Should tell me what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours.”

   He growls in your ear, his voice magnified by his proximity. He moves his finger back and forth on the ball of nerves. Your hips jutting up to his arm. Your hand scratches his thigh, squeezing tight. He pushes down, hand fully in your pants and Uber your panties. Constricting him to be close. He pushes his finger into you, feeling you coat him more. 

   “Go on.”

   He thrusts his finger deeper. 

   “Tell me.”

   You can’t think when his fingers are in you, his thumb rolling your clit. 

   “Want you to fuck me.”

   He raises an eyebrow. 

   “Where?”

   He pushes another one beside the other.  

Your grip tightening.  

   “Anywhere, on the desk. Front of everyone I don’t care.”

   He smiles, swallowing.  

   “Dirty girl. Wanting me to give everyone a show.”

   He tears through your core, making you mewl.  

   “Is your little boyfriend here?”

   You freeze, eyes popping open. You look at him like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s one thing that he’s seen it, another that he knows who it’s actually for. He licks his lips, tongue pulling in his bottom lip. His eyes were unwavering. You nod briefly and he sneers.  

   “It's funny that you thought he could have you. Have you want him as much as you want me.”

   Jonathan’s not entirely sure why he’s spewing this shit maybe it's jealousy. But he’s making you keen. 

   “Have to fuck an old man in order to get off. How sad.”

   His fingers fasten, and he’s curling them. Your toes curl in your shoes, eyes rolling back as your thighs shake. A hot wave crashes over, and suddenly your thighs are sticky and wet. You lay your head on his shoulder, sleepily. He pulls his hand out of your pants. Zipping them backup for you. Letting you sit in the puddle you made yourself. He sucks his fingers clean before wiping them off on his thigh. As he watches the film, he crosses his arms. He presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.  

   “Stay after lunch and I’ll fuck you.”

   He laughs quietly 

   “If you can keep up, sweetheart.”

_______

   Twenty something walk out of the class. Some stretching with a yawn, others asking Jonathan questions. As you sit there flustered and uncomfortable. Hoping they won’t figure something out. The last student walks out. Jonathan types something into his computer. It’s quiet and filled with tension. You wonder if he’s actually going to fulfill his promise. He looks at you. 

   “Get on your knees.”

   You take out your ear buds and put them along with your phone into the bag. You push yourself off the chair and onto your knees crawling between his spread legs. Your hands come to steady yourself. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your jaw.  

   “Gotta do a few more things.”

   His hand leaves to unbuckle his pants. 

   “In the meantime, keep your mouth warm for me.”

   He unzips and takes himself out of his pants. The ruddy head is a pretty dark red. Thick veins running up his shaft. He works himself over a few times. He taps the crown on your lips and you lift on your knees to lick him into your mouth. He groans but quickly returns to his work typing away something. You make it your goal for him to not concentrate. You flatten your tongue. Shoving your face down to the coarse hairs at the base. One hand grabs your hair to hold your face down. He thrusts shallowly. You gag and sputter and he lets you breathe. You lick the tip as you huff. Beads of ivory roll down his shaft. You lick them up and the veins pulse in response. You take him fully into your mouth once more. Dipping them comes back up with a wet slurp. He’s thrusting up. His lips part, he takes his glasses off. Throwing his head back he just lets you swallow him then come up. He’s close as his legs shut and pulls you off him.  

   “So good at everything. Especially that fucking mouth of yours.”

   He pulls you up making you walk to the board, hands flat on the wall. Ass perched as he kicks your feet out. Thirty minutes he reminds himself, before the next class comes. He holds his pants up with one hand. He gropes your body with his other. Squeezing your hips, your stomach and chest. His hand stays at your lower stomach. You know what he’s thinking; he wants to make his. Make you have his kid. He wonders if Mira would be pissed. He doesn’t care. 

   “Try not to scream.”

   He grabs your jaw, tilting your head to kiss you. His tongue instantly pushes through your mouth. Scooping out each inch. You whine, jerking your hips back. His hand drops from your jaw. To pull your pants down around your ankles. He squeezes your hip. Grinding his cock into the crevice of your ass. His girth spreads open your cheeks. Weighing heavy on your dry hole, but he dampens the slit with his own set cum. He bites your shoulder. Pawing at your hips. A hand falls to hold himself to run over your folds. The head, easily slickened. He slides in. Not waiting for you to adjust to surge his hips forward. A loud moan hit through you. His hand wraps around your throat, constricting your breath. Not allowing you to breathe. Head going fuzzy and vision blackening. Your mouth hangs open. He pulls you to his chest once your arms give out. His elbow hits your shoulder as he thrusts. His balls brushing your thighs. His little huffs heat the shell of your ear. It makes your core clench to know he’s there. Fucking you, touching you, needing you as much as you do. 

   “I should be mad about you teasing me.”

He bites your ear and the rumble of a moan as your walls flutter.  

   “But how can I be mad when you give me what I want?”

   His hips undulate, the roughest smacking is heard through the bare walls similar to the applause of an encore. He likes the yellow reminding him of the rising sun he watches before driving here. The strange ecstatic feeling he got when he thought of you. He’s wrinkling your shirt as he fucks you. You can even hear him, too unfocused to even. The burn of his beard on your shoulder is the only thing that kept you anchored. Once your lungs burn with fire and your body shakes. You claw at his forearm begging for him to release. Each pound of his hips into your ass is another red streak down his arm. His hips are still deep inside you. You feel the warmth implore your womb. He releases and instantly you're leaking down your thighs. Exploding with your own orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head. He holds your hips to his. Kissing your hairline as you come crashing down. He pulls his pants up and buckles them. Helping you dress yourself on unsteady legs. In all honesty you couldn’t even walk. As you limp to sit uncomfortably back on your seat, he crouched down. Slotting on his glasses, his eyes dark embers. There’s something strangely exotic, addicting to fucking someone who’s a teacher, someone older who can teach you what you want. His hand rests on your knee as he rubs his thumb back and forth there. He smiles after studying you. Kissing your hand softly. That fatherly instinct kicking in, the caring adoring one that takes over his whole being to care.

It’s attractive the tone of the greedy man replaced by a teddy bear. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. 

   “It’s better than fiction.”

[thiswontbeforever]

TW// sh & s*icidal thoughts, anxiety, depression

okay idk if it’s just me bc i haven’t seen anyone else really mention it & pls let me know if i should delete this but was anybody else watching s2 and really noticing that darkness edvin was talking about in wille?

first off the anxiety, depression, & dissociation he experiences is heartbreaking. i mean we saw s1 the constant anxiety, coping mechanisms, & the more physical & violent panic attacks (& maybe a form of sh with him hitting his head/pulling his hair) but the display of his anxiety this time is very different (picking his nails instead, the mouth movement thing edvin mentioned) and ofc not being able to breathe (still with the collar & ties) but it’s all even more repressed than s1. i mean it was heartbreaking bc he really doesn’t have anyone to lean on & he knows he needs to use his role as crown prince in a way he never wanted to in order to get what he wants & so he’s trying to keep that facade together, separate himself like erik (supposedly) did, & even w/ going to the school therapist he’s not actually addressed his anxiety much w/ anyone. i mean him actually throwing up this season, the anxiety taking over his body AGAIN, it’s such an intense and draining state to be in and edvin did an incredible job of adapting wille’s anxiety w/ the new situation. additionally, the scenes where he’s so out of it, literally looks just empty and blank…had me a mess. as much as i hate certain scenes, thinking about wille’s mental health & heartbreak i really do understand (it’s like simon asking “why can’t i just fall in love with him (marcus)? - why can’t i get over this? everyone says it’ll get better so i’m just being dramatic right? why does it still feel like this? what if i could feel it with someone else? desperation from both of them to try and feel anything other than what they do after it all, without each other, feel something close to what they had. it’s the whole point - they cant. they only had what they had because it was them and moving on is more miserable bc everyone involved has a different motive, different expectations, and are all using each other to a certain extent. trying to prove something but all they prove is what exists between simon & wille is real, and right, & cannot be recreated or replaced). okay i got way off topic buT -

back to wille’s state of mind what i was getting at was that darkness was truly there & i genuinely kept waiting for him to possibly hurt himself or really allude to suicidal thoughts. (there were a few lines where he did say just like i feel like i’m gonna die (?) i think it was) & with that true hollow look he had in so many scenes i wouldn’t have been surprised if those ideations were brought up. i never thought wille would actually do that or that that’s where the story was heading, but i just mean that i GET what edvin was saying. it’s darkness of anger, revenge, regret, and wille’s entire mental state where he genuinely feels like it’s never going to stop hurting or get better because he’s lost the one person who gave him hope. that scene where he goes to the like fence in front of the lake (?), listening to music, and then felice comes…i mean flashback to wilmon at the lake, how cold the water is then as a joke, a tease about august (?)…but in this scene it seemed like wille had been just standing there for a while before felice came & i really had this feeling of just disassociation & maybe unconsciously him thinking about the temperature of the lake…not like seriously but i hope what i’m trying to say makes sense.

i just think it was brilliant writing and acting to show how bad the position wille is in really was for him & have him finally start to open up in therapy & with felice & simon.

that being said…

where the fUck was my simon breakdown. (i know we saw a BIT in the last episode my poor baby 😭 he looked absolutely devastated & broken but god like !! i wanted more especially after trying to distract himself with marcus & everything uh. i’m glad he had his song but then !! they took it away)

[nyxopenjournal]

It's almost 4am and I'm still awake which means Thought Brain has turned on and I feel sappy which makes me emotional. Alternatively titled: Can't Sleep

Life is difficult and sometimes it's extremely hard to manage. I'm going through one of those. But I think I'm starting to get a tiny bit more hopeful about making it through. I don't think I'll necessarily be happy or get what I think, in this moment, I want but maybe I'll find a way to be content with what "is" instead of wishful thinking about what "isn't." I'm really trying to accept things as they are and not push further bc that always leads to me hurting. My depression fog that I've spent the last 5-6 months in is finally beginning to clear & I noticed that today. It's funny bc the thing that made me realize it is bc I guess I had been subconsciously paying attention to the way the grass grows and I'd never noticed it before. (The grass grows weird). And today I commented on it lol. I've been too preoccupied with my sadness to pay attention to anything like that. Grass growing. I'm still sad. I can't lie, most times I ignore it or it feels hollow & far away to a point where I can avoid thinking about it. But it is there. I can't do much about it at this point in time for several reasons but I'm chugging along. I'm trying to accept that others' happiness doesn't have to include me. And accept that that's okay. I might not be a lifelong person. I don't know anything about the future and not knowing how things will turn out is the bane of my existence bc my brain plays "what ifs" like they're game show topics for a prize. The prize is usually I end up depressed bc of my own train of thought. Trying to learn how to balance distance with care. What's the right amount of energy to give to a topic? How to be less "all or nothing" about everything. There has to be a balance or I'm gonna just make myself suffer for the rest of my existence and quite frankly, I've suffered enough. I'm tired of it. There are things I wish for that I've convinced myself are impossible. It's too late. Missed opportunities and such. That's been playing on repeat in my head. There are a lot of things that I'm told or I see that don't make sense to me and how I perceive the world, but I've also become the person who is so scared to ask questions. I didn't used to be like this. I'd question everyone and everything until it made sense to me. Now nothing makes sense and I'm always confused and I'm scared to ask. What sense does it make? It doesn't. But. It's where I am right now. I didn't used to be afraid about how big my thoughts were or how much I had to say or how many tangents I went on about a topic, but now I'm scared to say more than a couple words in fear of being annoying or convincing myself whoever I'm talking to doesn't care. So now it's just simple, dulled down thoughts. Which is unfair to myself honestly bc it's not like I've suddenly begun to have less complex thoughts and questions and feelings. I've just suddenly become overly terrified of sharing them so they roll around in my head until I have a breakdown. Outlets are nice. It would be nice to have a person to talk to but it's my own fault that I'm here right now. No one else's. I have to accept that. Maybe the part of my brain telling me I'm just not good for people and will inevitably fail at any platonic or romantic relationship is right and I should give up trying to pursue either. But I also still crave it so what do I do with that? It's not like I get it either way. I'm too scared to talk to people. It's been this way my whole life. I wish I didn't crave it. I didn't used to. But the older I get the more I do. Idk what to do with that. It's just where I am right now. I doubt it'll change. It's not like anyone is looking my way. I'm just floating around on a rock till I die. Epic.

[mydissociativediaries]

3/14/2023: Hollow Frame

Second entry for 3/14/2023.

My therapist asked me to write a story about a girl who feels like a hollow frame (that's how I described myself in therapy), so here it is:

Once, a girl existed who felt like a hollow frame. She felt light and airy and wispy like smoke. She seemed to float through life, but not in a relaxed, laid-back way. She seemed to literally float through life because she was nothing. Just a wisp.

When she thought about herself, she saw a person-shaped hole punched out of a colorful meadow landscape, like someone had cut her out of a photo. But this landscape was real.

In the past, she'd also seen herself as a being with a mirror for a face. Sometimes, the mirror reflected the world around her. Other times, it just revealed a starry sky. She was nothing. She felt her face when she touched it, but maybe it wasn't real, just like nothing could be real. Her face wasn't really a face. What did her REAL face look like? Was it an empty gap like the rest of her body?

Her memories and identity sometimes seemed to fade away. She was nothing. The people around her had personalities, but hers was gone. She was a splintered mirror with shards lying around everywhere.

On the other hand, maybe other people weren't conscious. Maybe she was the only conscious one. If she could do it without harming them, she'd peel back the muscle, open their skull and peer into their brain. Was it made of the same stuff as her brain? Could she find thoughts and knowledge? But even if she saw their brains, she wouldn't see that visibly.

She was pretty sure that her childhood was real. She did start to dissociate (autocorrect suggested "dissipate," which is also accurate) in early adolescence, but it wasn't constant. The world still felt real--well, when that wasn't happening. Events still happened. The people around her were real. Weren't they?

And she never dissociated when she was young. But the abuse started, and her mind started trying to escape. Those events definitely happened. Even when they were continuing into adulthood, when her dissociation was getting worse, those events were 100% real.

Or at least they felt real. I mean, that's what made her detach in the first place. She didn't do that before "it" started. Before the abuse.

She wanted to be young again so badly. In particular, she liked her 13-year-old self. She didn't want to experience the bullshit that her 13-year-old self did, but she liked that version of herself. She was growing up and still had a personality. She was depressed and emotionally stunted, too, but...not as stunted as her adult self.

That was the last version of herself that had a personality. Maybe a little when she was 14, but it was starting to disintegrate, and her anxiety breakdown in high school wiped out the rest.

Her 13-year-old self actually felt like an adult sometimes, too. She was starting to read adult books, like the books in Oprah's book club. If she saw that label on the cover, she figured it'd be good. She wasn't ready for adulthood or even high school, but it was exciting. She thought that MAYBE things would be OK. Maybe she'd feel like this all the time when she grew up.

But nope. She didn't. It was all gone.

Sometimes, she felt like she could be that person again. Or her early adolescent self. Even her young childhood self. They weren't completely gone because she could talk to them and even briefly become them through childhood regressions. She hated coming out of the regressions because she lost her personality again. She was back to being a hollow frame.

And she didn't think it would ever end, either. She would float through the world like a transparent ghost until the end. Nothing was left. Just a wide gap that used to be a person.

Thanks for reading,

📕

[strafepanzer]

there’s a heaven above you, baby | s.aizawa

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+ adult content. HUGE MANGA SPOILERS! from like 325 onwards. ESPECIALLY THE LATEST CHAPS & ANYTHING TO DO WITH AIZAWA/BAKUGO. fem!reader! alcoholism, depression, mentions of death/wanting to die, angst, bad coping mechanisms

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: probably less than 1k

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: listen to this and cry with me

Aizawa hasn’t been the same since the war, hasn’t bothered trying to hide his pain or trying to move on. Seeing him brings it all back for you, too, twists that knife a little harder, pushes it in that little bit deeper.

But you have to go to him; you have to because no one else does, because everyone lost so, so much, how is anyone supposed to remember to check up on him when they’re dealing with their own shit?

The door to his apartment’s never locked, so you don’t bother knocking. It’s been a few days since your last visit, but face value has you wishing you’d come a little sooner.

Television’s static, coffee table littered with old cans of Jack, a bottle of ouzo; a shrivelled silver cask bag mingles with old chip packets and empty food containers on the floor, and he’s asleep on the couch. There’s a stench you’re halfway used to, but even as you approach, you can’t feel anything but longing.

There’s no anger, no disappointment. He gets that enough from his ex-students, from his own nightmares.

So you help.

You unpack your paper bag of groceries into his fridge, clean it out of old food, half-empty cans of beer. Careful not to wake him, you gather rubbish and plates and containers and coffee mugs stained with sambuca, with whisky, with rum. You sort the trash, stack the dishwasher, wipe down sticky surfaces, cry.

It’s a heavy burden to bear— one no-one’s forcing you into, by any means— and no matter how strong you try to be for him, your resolve cracks and fissures, those tiny little stress fractures buckling in on themselves every once in a while.

The memory of that day is so visceral, so devastating, sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s real.

When it’s too much, you hide in his room. Untouched for the most part, bed not slept in, cupboards not open. He’s in the same clothes he’s been wearing for a few days so you’re gonna have to wake him up, get him into the shower, get him clean.

That pushes you to move.

Still, you hide until you’re strong enough to stop crying, until all that remains of your breakdown are little jerking snivels and a blocked nose.

The news is on when you come back out into his living space, and he’s sitting up, a ghost of himself. Face ashen, cheeks hollow, stubble wiry and hands shaking.

“Where’s the ouzo?” His voice croaks, not even turning to look at you.

“Gone.” You say too quietly, snapping out of your haze and heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make you something easy to eat— some porridge. You need something in your stomach—”

“Why do you keep coming around?” He hasn’t asked you this in a while, tends to go through phases of ignoring you, and belittling you, and this. The exhaustion. “Just let me die.” He sighs, but you hiss sharply inward, stare at the back of his head with wide eyes.

He’s never actually said that before.

It catches you off guard.

The tears start again.

You knew— you’ve known from the start, really— that he wished he could take the kid’s place all those months ago, but just hearing the words has that knife in your chest pulling out, and pushing back in twice as fast.

“D-don’t say that,” you wipe your face on your sleeve, suck in air through sob-swollen lips. “Don’t ever say that, Shouta.”

His laughter is mean. “I might as well be dead, no? The only thing keeping me alive is you.”

“That’s— it’s only temporary,” you frown, stirring the porridge on the stove, your back to him now. “You’re gonna get bett—”

There’s a loud thud, a groan; he’s fallen down midway between the sofa and the kitchen island. “Gimme the… ouzo.” He grunts out, pushing up on his shaky arms.

“Shouta,” you take the porridge off the heat and rush to him. He’s not wearing his eyepatch or his prosthetic leg, so he’s hungover and physically off-balance. “You need food, not booze, you asshole.” You grumble, throwing one of his arms over your shoulders and standing with the weight of him. He helps, pushing up with his good leg and walking with you to the breakfast bar.

He’s quiet, hard to read like always, so you just press on.

“Sit here,” you spin a stool, help him up, and round the counter, plating up the porridge and grabbing him a bottle of water from the fridge on your way to him.

“Not water,” he frowns, not unlike a hissing cat.

“Yes water.” You state back, no room for argument. “I’m gonna run you a bath, it’s been a bit since you changed clothes.”

“No need—“

“Let me help you, Shouta.” You plead, jaw clenching as you look at him.

He sighs then, turns away from you and picks up the spoon.

Little victories.

His bathroom smells like puke, so you scrub at the tub before you use it, scrub the toilet while you wait for the bath to fill, open the little window to aerate the room. There’s a fine layer of dust that’s settled over everything in here, and you make a mental note to clean it properly as your next job.

“I’m sorry,” he spooks you from your stupor, suddenly appearing in the doorway, a crutch under his arm. “I… you do so much for me, I’m not worth the hassle.”

“If…” you test your voice, will the shakes away. “If it were me, Shouta… you’d be there for me, wouldn’t you?”

His voice is the crunch of boots on crusher dust, “always—“

“So, let me.” You approach him then, hands settling on his shoulders. “Let me.” You beg, borderline desperate.

And he does.

He lets you undress him and help him into the tub, lets you wash his skin, lets you massage shampoo into his impossibly soft hair. And he’s sighing against you, relaxing and flexing and humming, and it pulls in your chest, brings that longing back tenfold.

When he’s scrubbed clean, and smelling like himself again, you help him into clothes and walk him to his bedroom. He agrees that he needs a bit more sleep, which shocks you silly.

“Wake me in an hour,” it’s his turn to plead. “I don’t wanna sleep too much.”

It’s incredible what some food, a bath, and a change of clothes can do for a person. “When I’m done prepping your meals, okay?” You settle on, hoping to also get around to cleaning that couch he’s been living on for the past few months.

His eyes want to argue, but he doesn’t open his mouth.

Satisfied, you tuck him in and gaze at him for a moment. He needs a shave, but he’s still the man you’ve been stupidly in love with since meeting him in the teachers lounge at UA; but you shove that thought down, not ready to think about the two of you as a thing, satisfied with just being near him for now.

You smooth his hair and turn on your heel, but when you’re half way out the door, he calls your name, low and gentle. “It might be better— easier on you, I mean, if you stayed here a while. Just… just while you’re coming and going. That’s gotta be rough on you.”

“Shouta—”

“Realistically, it’s you or rehab,” he yawns. “I’m beyond being able to help myself.”

It’s a moment of clarity you don’t expect, one that has you feeling lighter than you’ve felt for the last however many months.

“Think about it,” he stares at you for a moment, then rolls over, turning to face the wall instead of you.

You stare for a moment longer, at that broad back, those almost bony shoulders. Though he’s semi-lucid and willing now, there’s no doubt his mood will swing when he wakes up, when those receptors in his brain tell him he needs a hit of booze.

But for now you bask in the foreign feeling of hope, of what might be, as that horrible knife slides out a little, as the twist lessens, and you can breathe.

[ruthlesslistener]

Lurien and Herrah taking Hornet and Hollow and being a family unit? Fuck yes!

(Even outside of this au) For some reason i feel like they have such untapped potential of being actually good parents, mainly to Hornet. Like, for example Lurien being the one she goes to hide to when in the White Palace and skipping tutoring. Lurien enabling that but also tricking Hornet into learning anyway through games.

Here's a secret, anon: roughly half to 75% of the reason why I ship PK and Lurien (and, well, WL/PK/Lurien) is specifically so that Lurien gets tied into this sort of awkward little family unit with Hollow, Hornet, and Herrah. As cute as they are together, I really like thinking about what sort of effects romantic relationships would have on the character's lives as well, and the thing with Lurien pairing up with PK in an AU where the vessel plan never came to fruition (or was violently disrupted before the Sealing, like in the Desert Runaways AU) is that he then becomes a sort of extra dad figure to Hollow and Hornet. I've already shown why he's a good match to Hollow in that regard in Until Dawn Shall Break, but I also love taking it further, like removing PK from the picture entirely so that both he and Hollow have to mourn him, and he slowly shows Hollow how to deal with such grief and loss of purpose. He's acutely focused, good on picking up small cues/details, familiar with anxiety and depression, and all of his problems stem from him being socially isolated from people instead of deep overwhelming trauma like Hollow, so him taking up that mentor figure for them is just *chef kiss*

Of course, I'm very biased in that reguard, because the one fic that got me to actually like/think about Lurien is A Watcher's Duty by Nym_Pseudo on Ao3 (I think that's their Ao3, anyways? Running off memory here!), and one of my fav troupes is 'guy who has zero experience or qualifications with children ends up with a child and then tries his best to be a good role model', but I really like the idea of Lurien being forcefully dragged into a family + friend group via the Dreamers and courting PK. First off, because he's such a mysterious powerful figure in the City of Tears, so him being taken out of his comfort zone to be put with a spider queen who gives no fucks and a jellyfish scientist who's alien af is funny already, but then throw in him learning how to be a part of the extended family group that he's been craving for so long, and it's just heartwarming. ESPECIALLY since I hc him to have once wanted to get married and have children with some other man, but he gave up that dream when he chose to be Watcher, and now lo and behold!! Unforeseen circumstances have landed him both his first actual friends in like...nearly his whole life, a god-mate, and now two kids. Surprise!

TDLR: Lurien is a character who strikes me as being a softie at heart, and him being forced to abandon his duty to care for a child who doesn't know why she had to run away from her home and a barely-not-a-child who's having a silent mental breakdown over their continued existence and loss of purpose while their parents fight to the death in the kingdom they were born to die for is really good. Especially when paired with Herrah, whose grim 'take no shits' attitude is now entirely a front she puts on for her children, instead of showing the terror that she feels for her tribe back home, and the guilt of bringing them into this whole mess. ESPECIALLY especially when they also are cast out into the wastelands with very little supplies, and have to build a little shelter to sustain themselves in while they lay low, wait for the god-war to blow over, and try to find other survivors in the mess WITHOUT alerting any other gods to their vulnerability

[neutron-stars-collision]

A Youth Written In Fire

Neil x Reader - one-shot

Masterlist

Summary: Another day, another depressive spell. Only, this time, an unexpected companion might help you get through it...

Warnings: Lots of angst, but followed with comfort.

Author's Notes: M had a breakdown, which she tried to survive through daydreams. This is the result. Suppose it's my most personal piece as of yet, and I'm not sure it will resonate with you... But in case anyone else needed Neil to mend their broken heart, I'm here for you. We'll be alright, I hope 💕Hope you enjoy!

Sometimes it was self-inflicted. A thought, a memory, nothing more substantial, yet opening a rabbit hole in your mind, deep enough to suck you in. Others, all you needed was an innocent conversation with a friend who could not have known any better. After all, the topic itself usually was not a trigger. And it should not be. Finally, there were those times when a movie, a song, or an ad on tv could be the instigator. Something entirely out of your control and what should never hit as hard as it did. And yet.

It was either of those or a few at once. That did not matter. Unlike the direct consequences.

The emptiness in the pit of your stomach and behind your reddened eyes. The unnameable fear in your heart. The shame, tinting cheeks red and scrambling up your tongue. Regrets, weighing down your back. And resignation hollowing out your voice. The little depressive period you never dared bring up and tried to suffer through like a seasoned soldier on the battlefield. Because there was no other choice.

Yet no dose of bravery and strong will could do anything against those puffed-up eyes and reddened nose. Against the embarrassing tears, you tried to wipe away hurriedly in between the stacks of pages waiting on your desk. Or the uncontrolled sniffles breaking out over the mug of coffee in the mess hall. Because, sadly, a depressive spell was not an acceptable reason for a leave. And so there you were, doing everything you could to focus on the mission reports and stop the tears that were still somehow coming. Days after the hour zero.

Nothing mattered. And, at the same time, everything did. So, when at the end of your work, a harmless text from a friend came, it was enough. Your eyes welled up as you skipped over the words. An invitation to dinner with her and her boyfriend on Friday. Lovely gesture, right?

You sucked in the breath sharply, locking the phone screen and putting away the device before it could fall from your shaking hand. Why?

Fuck knows.

It felt as though you had been thrown under the current, torn apart by feelings you could not even identify and name. Sadness rose in your chest, threatening to take over in the very next second and-

“Everything alright?” the innocent question fell like the guillotine blade.

Cutting through the tension and making you gasp with surprise. You knew that voice. Forgetting about the tear-streaked face, you turned in the chair to face the intruder.

Neil. The best agent Tenet had to offer. Probably also the best looking. Hardly anything could beat those blue eyes and fluffy blonde locks. Stop. That was rule no 1: don’t let it get to you. It was safer that way.

It was someone you enjoyed working alongside but never dared approach outside of the office. Because that could only end badly.

And yet, here he was, peering into your space with a frown etched onto the handsome face and eyebrows drawn in concern. There was nowhere to run from those eyes. With the impression of a deer caught in the headlights, you pasted on a fake grin and waved pathetically:

“Hi!” your hand fell onto your lap as the answers were missing, “I- Umm- Yeah, sure. Yes” you stumbled through the words with waning energy, putting the remains of it into the head nods.

As though you could fool Neil by the parody of a scene you have put on stage for him. His gaze skimmed over you analytically, and his head tilted, a half-smile splitting the previously serious face expression:

“That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard” he took a step closer, letting the door shut behind his back, “And I’ve heard a fair share of those, so you can consider me an expert” as he approached, you could only stare in silent horror.

The situation was no longer in your control. And that was the reason to panic. If you knew anything about Neil from the two years of close observation and cooperation, it was that he never backed down from reaching out a helpful hand. It was just his nature: good, kind, and selfless.

Exactly what you did not need at the very moment. But it was too late. There was no running away from it. With the heart hammering in your chest, you met his inquisitive look and let out a heavy sigh.

“Sorry, it’s… a lot” one way of putting it.

Neil seemed to accept the response without a hitch. He nodded, betraying no emotions apart from friendliness you came to associate with him. And then his countenance changed, a bright smile lightening up his face as he took a step closer:

“Any plans on this fine evening?” the question dropped almost nonchalantly.

It took you by surprise enough, so you answered without an ounce of overthinking. For once.

“Nope, never” the sincere bitter chuckle tinted the lips with its sharpness.

It did not seem like that shocked him either. Neil’s smile seemed to widen as he leaned on the edge of your desk. Long legs crossed; shirt sleeves rolled up. Proximity both dulling some of the pain and amplifying the noise in your head.

“Well then… would you like to accompany me to the pub around the corner? We could get some food and discuss that… ‘a lot’ if you’d be in the mood” the proposal felt like a sentence taken out of a fever dream.

Maybe that is why you said yes. And took the extended hand.

***

You had to admit he was subtle. Instead of diving straight in, Neil made sure you had been fed and got over at least one glass of cider before he ceased the unimportant conversations and made a thoughtful pause. A beat filled with so much silence you were eager to end, no matter the cost or shame. Because while the pain has been dulled to tolerable background noise, it was still very much there. Buzzing underneath your skull and tightening the muscles for protection. Even though there was nothing worth guarding.

Putting down the glass with a quiet thud, you met his inquisitive eyes over the table. It already felt as if he could see much more than the pleasant façade you had perfected for the situation. As though bracing yourself, you crossed your arms on the table and waited.

“So… what’s going on?” no preamble, only the inviting softness in his gaze and a hurried addition, “Obviously you don’t have to tell me, but I’m here and happy to listen. Without judgement, of course,” he nodded as though confirming his words and sent you another one of those smiles that always took too long to leave your head.

Unfortunately.

It was tempting. Mostly because you never got to say it all out loud. And things left to be mulled over in your mind tended to slowly strangle you with their insistence. With the cacophony of regrets and doubts that never went quiet, seeping into dreams and transforming them into nightmares. The bait was almost taken, only…

“I- Won’t it make everything awkward? We work together, and this is quite personal… and I don’t want to burden you with my sob story when afterwards you won’t be able to forget it” the words rushed out without hesitation present to stop them.

Your cheeks painted themselves red over what you could tell him. The secrets only closest friends knew, and some you have only kept to yourself. Because it was safer like that. It would have been childish to think Neil could hear it all and then go back to treating you the same way he always did. Foolish, as always. Maybe it’s better to leave.

Before you could get that far, Neil spoke again:

“Unfortunately, I left the device from Men in Black in the office, sorry” it took you a long moment to understand, but when you did, it was hard to hold in the burst of laughter, which Neil joined, “Pinky promise whatever you say stays between us?” he extended the palm in an invitation.

A glance down at the elegant fingers curled in your direction. A spark of uncertainty swallowed by the need. To unburden. To be heard. To feel seen. Just this once.

“Gladly,” with a shy smile, you hooked your pinky around his and tightened the grip.

Cementing it with a long, shared look. One that would stay imprinted beneath your eyelids for a while. There was an encouraging depth in Neil’s blue eyes, sharpened with a smile and the warmth of his fingers brushing against your palm as you untangled.

Forbidden. You backed away with haste and tried to relax into the cushions of the booth seat. At least Neil led you to a secluded part of the pub, far from the raucous laughter and conversations by the busy bar. You did not even know where to begin. Because how can one say it?

Upon Neil’s unyielding smile, you searched for the words until the opener appeared:

“When you found me, I just received a text from a friend inviting me to dinner over the weekend with her and her boyfriend. Sounds great, doesn’t it?” unable to stop the bitterness, you bit hard into the lower lip and added, “Only I probably shouldn’t go unless I want to have an even worse breakdown” trailing off, you looked up in time to see Neil leaning forward.

Frown on his face, unhidden from you.

“Why?” the simple question fell with reluctance.

As though what you have already told him has been a surprise. But it shouldn’t have been.

With a deep breath, you braced yourself for the rant building up in your throat and your heart. A confession for the ages.

“Because there she is, exactly my age, living life” upon Neil’s questioning stare, you elaborated with a sour tint on the vowels, “She has a good job, makes decent money, has an amazing boyfriend of over ten years, who’s probably going to propose this year… And then there’s me” you shrugged with defeat, feeling the familiar burn at the back of your eyelids “I’ve never been in a relationship” once the truth had been spoken, you could no longer look him in the eye “Well… once, but it hardly counts. I’ve never been chased after by men. I’ve never felt wanted or desired” the regrets and pain poured out in sentences broken only by the dry sobs until the final admission found its way out “Hell, I’ve never even had sex. In this day and age, I’ve never gone to bed with a guy because I’ve been too scared. I probably belong in a museum showcase” tears trailed down your cheeks, splashing on to the table as you felt the reality sinking in again.

It was always as though once said it becomes even more real. More palpable and powerful. The shame flushed your face as you did not dare look up from the table. Not even when Neil spoke without too long a pause:

“That would be a waste, let me assure you” feeling a warm hand touch yours folded on the table, you looked up to see a genuine smile on his face.

The blush on your cheeks darkened, brain close to starting up a riot at the feeling of being seen. As you truly are, without rose-tinted filters and facades carefully built up through the years of pretend and hiding. No more.

It was terrifying.

“Still, a freak of nature, though” unable to stop the sarcastic smirk from appearing on your face, you quickly moved your hands away from his reach.

To be safer.

Only Neil’s smile did not waver or slip away. It stayed perfectly composed as he brushed away your comment with a quick sleight of hand and a response:

“I beg to differ. I know it’s a good ol’ cliché, but with the right person, it won’t be that terrifying” making the mistaking of locking eyes with him, you froze in the seat, awaiting the words, “Plus, mind you, it’s nothing to be ashamed of even if not that popular these days. Sometimes it’s better to wait than regret” he added, warming up the grin by a notch and quickly hidden the traces of sadness from the blue gaze.

Maybe you just imagined it. The conversation both felt like the worst mistake you could have committed and like the opposite of it. Blinking away the confusion and the feelings simmering underneath your skin, you scoffed quietly.

“Easier said than done, that” it was the courage in the glass of cider you put away that made you ask, “How do you know they’re right?” tentatively, you sent Neil a glance.

It was all like a dangerous ballet solo on the knife’s edge. One misstep and you’re dead. Literally and figuratively.

But it did not seem like he cared:

“You go out, talk… maybe kiss. And then you just do” Neil shrugged, the apologetic expression taking you aback.

As though there was more that he wanted to say but could not. Still, the reality he painted so boldly seemed fake. Like something out of books, unreachable for you under any circumstances. You did not bother to hide the reaction, the resigned, sad smile returning to its beloved home and making the corners of your lips drop pathetically. He had good intentions, but the trigger has been pulled, and the bullet has pierced your heart right through.

“Sounds like fairytales to me” the remark followed by another wave of feelings, “Can you imagine what it feels like to never have that kind of attention? When all my friends have been dating, I was sitting alone, wondering what I am missing out on, why no one wants me” the passion, fueled by pain and years of silence, poured out with a fresh dose of tears and tore at your heart “I never kissed by the streetlight. I never woke up with the knowledge that I’m loved” as a sob build up in your throat, you allowed your gaze to fall on Neil as you hastily wiped away the tears “And… I don’t know, maybe I’m broken or missing something…” your voice broke, finishing the sentence with a false note that made you wince.

The look of sorrow in Neil’s eyes worsened the ache in your chest. It felt like pity. Like being the victim that you never wanted to be.

But before you could interject, he spoke:

“Anyone missing anything are those that ignored you” the grave tone made you look at him closely.

The seriousness in the blue eyes caught you aback. Because those words suggested something that you did not even want to take into question. Something unacceptable. Dangerously hopeful.

So, you did what you do best – denied it. Pushed back with the hand outstretched to block him away from your sight.

“Don’t-” the syllable seethed out through the clenched teeth.

Because hope was the worst thing you could depend on. That spark, beginning to kindle and lure you in with the promises of what could never be. Only to strike you down at the very next opportunity. No.

But, this time, denial would not be that easy. Before you could utter the words, Neil jumped in and cut you off with surprising earnestness in his voice:

“No, but it’s true. I look at you, and I see an amazing woman, hellishly intelligent, talented, fascinating, an asset personified” he recited the compliments with enough force to make you look at him again.

Feeling your cheeks heat up and the desire to run away increase with every passing second, you made sure to show him the extent of pain in your eyes and tried once more:

“Neil, please-” the pleading tone yet again broken by addition, which he did not hold in.

“And beautiful” when the words fell in between you, it was difficult to hide the gasp.

Or the way your instant reaction was to scoff and cover your face with your hands. It was certainly not happening. Nope.

You took a deep breath, grateful for the silence. Asking every god under the firmament for mercy. Why? Flattery like that could never mean anything good. It was either lies or jokes. Or poor attempts at changing the focus. Strangling a groan, you breathed out:

“Now you’re just humouring me” while still not looking at the man sitting in front.

You could not bear that. The lethal sparks in the perfect sea blue eyes. The warm light getting caught in the blonde hair. Almost like the cruellest twist of fate, having someone this beautiful tell you things you always wanted to hear. Only it wasn’t like that. It couldn’t ever be.

“You should know I’m anything but a liar. Or dishonest,” as Neil’s careful words brought you back to the present moment, and you peeled the hands away to sneak a look.

If only to assure yourself that the confidence you sensed was there. Neil was glaring at you, leaning on the crossed forearms folded upon the tabletop. Studying, wondering. And frowning.

On their own accord, your lips twisted into a mirroring scowl, faced with the reality you did not want to surrender to. Because what he said was true. Only-

The wave rose again, threatening to pull you underneath without remorse nor hesitation. Feeling your eyes well up with the familiar tears, you choked out another stream of words straight from the heart:

“But you don’t know how it feels. How hopeless and empty… There are nights when I remember every one of those moments when I was the only lonely one. The one nobody looked twice at. The one with no spicy stories to tell and no confessions to make” your guard crumbled into smithereens as you met Neil’s gaze over the space “Nothing is making me worth as much as everyone else is” the conclusion was something you never said out loud before.

You believed it with all your heart. Because what’s the worth of someone that isn’t anyone’s partner? The unloved, lonely one that has never been wanted?

The answer was obvious, even if it could not pass through your constricted throat and sobs that have built up again. The wake-up call was the feeling of Neil taking hold of your hand that has been gripping the edge of the table. Blinking twice, you looked up to see him leaning across the space with an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. Almost like a reflection of your pain. But it didn’t make any sense.

“Your worth doesn’t depend on experience or whether you’re loved. And any person suggesting otherwise deserves to be whipped” it was the surprising volatile edge in his voice that made you freeze.

Once more, caught like the deer in the headlights. A shiver ran down your spine as his words sunk in. There was no running away from it. From the warmth that spread up your body as you felt his touch. From the fact that perhaps he could be right. But…

Feeling backed up against the wall, you could only reach for the denial. The means which never failed you before.

“What is this, the Middle Ages?” the attempt at a joke was granted a short chuckle from Neil and a quick enigmatic glance.

Squeezing your hand, Neil cracked a smile and spoke without moving away:

“I hear you. I really do, and I understand, even if I have not experienced it myself. But you’re incredible and deserve the very best from life and others. Only an idiot would’ve said no to you” with each word, you felt an amalgamation of feelings rise in your chest.

Until there was nothing, but shock, disbelief, and embarrassment. Because you have allowed for this to happen and made Neil, of all people, say it. The truth? Maybe, maybe. Perhaps.

Taking a deep breath and letting your eyes close for a beat, you tried to anchor in the moment. Only an idiot would’ve said no to you. An exhale. Fingers twitched underneath his hold, longing to curl around his palm. Maybe it would be alright. Slowly. Yearning filled your chest as you cracked an unconvincing smile and muttered:

“Guess they’re all idiots, then” an answering grin felt like a bolt of lightning striking your heart.

Desperately needing a distraction, your eyes swept across the table and the half-finished pint of cider, long forgotten. You did not even know what time it was or how long have you been sitting there talking. But it did not matter. Not really.

“Mhmm,” a gentle tap on your wrist to make you notice him again, “And I could say that I’ll get you to meet up with some of my friends, all great people… But that would go against my wishes” it was once he said it, tone dropping down to a whisper, that you understood.

Your mouth fell open as a gasp died in your throat. There was uncertainty in Neil’s eyes, a sight you were not accustomed to seeing in his face. His gaze roamed over your features, almost as though he wanted to memorise them. As though this was a moment he wanted to remember.

There was only one thing you could say.

“…what?” just as the word left your lips, you heard footsteps approaching the booth with purpose.

Neil leaned back, letting go of your hand before you could notice it. Startled, you looked up to see the smiling waitress, painfully unaware of her crimes.

“Anything else for you, guys?” the smile never waned as she expectantly clicked the pen on the notepad, ready to take up the orders.

There was no need to consult it with Neil. You knew the mutual understanding had been reached when he cleared his throat and replied with shocking coolness:

“Umm no, we’ll take the receipt though,” and then sent the woman a dazzling grin as though to sign the request.

You just wanted to leave. ASAP. Please.

***

Somehow Neil has convinced you to pay for the dinner and the drinks under the guise of: You can always repay me next time. You dared not question or contemplate the potential in that sentence.

He also insisted on walking you home despite the numerous attempts at persuading him that you would be fine. It was not further than 15 minutes away, and you had been hoping to spend the time moping and overthinking every single word that had been said over the evening. But it was not meant to be. A simple, charming smile and a questioning tilt of the head were the weapons of your defeat. Pathetic, innit?

Thankfully Neil seemed unaffected, for he effortlessly maintained a light conversation, jumping from current work topics to anecdotes about fellow Tenet agents. The chat did its work, keeping you sane and functioning until you just about noticed the façade of your building and stopped abruptly on the pavement. The streetlight had cast a warm glow around you and made Neil’s hair look golden as he gazed down at you with a soft smile. Nerves were building up again, making you tense and shuffle before you could find the needed words:

“Thanks for tonight… it was nice to talk to someone about it” it was not hard to mirror his smile.

“Of course, the pleasure was all mine” Neil grinned in response and added, “And trust me, I meant what I said. I know that it’s difficult but have hope. You’re worth so much better than this, and soon the world will see it too” it was the earnestness in his voice that made your eyes well up.

You choked back a sob and hurriedly wiped off the tear from your cheek. That had to wait.

Instead, you crossed your arms and peered up at him without containing the wonder in your gaze. It was that feeling making you say the sentence:

“You’re something else, Neil” filled with rare courage, you let your eyes roam over his features.

Taking in the sparkling blue eyes, looking down upon you and the smile splayed upon the soft lips. There was no denying his beauty or the fact that you noticed it years ago. It was only a matter of pretending you had not.

“So are you” Neil grinned brighter and took a step closer without hesitation.

Your eyes widened as though an unnamable sense already knew what it was. You froze as he leaned in and tipped your chin with the gaze focused solely on you. Neil searched your eyes for a beat before glancing down at your mouth. Oh. What? No, surely not-

His lips pressed against yours with a tiny bit of pressure. You closed your eyes and smothered a whimper, feeling your heart race in your chest. The softness of his kiss was most surprising. The gentleness of the touch and the fragility of the moves. As though he was afraid you did not want it. As though expecting you to push him away. But you never did.

Tentatively, you kissed him back, letting the body absorb the sensations for future use and the mind catalogue the moment. The exact sting of two days stubble against your skin. The warmth of his body so close to yours. Neil broke away with a sigh, letting his fingers trail down your neck as he stepped back and eyed you closely, a tint of blush on his cheeks. Before you could utter a word, he spoke up:

“I’m glad I left the neuralyzer in the office. I don’t want to forget that” the corner of his mouth curled up in a telling smirk.

You needed another second to understand. And then more to sober up and take it in. You could still feel his lips on yours. A blink and then another were not enough to forget it. And so, you just stared as Neil smiled and leapt off the kerb with grace.

“Good night,” he waved and started walking down the street.

It was only then that you realised. A glow of the lamp, painting your shadow black against the grey slabs. Kiss under the streetlight, huh? First one off the bucket list.

[5sospenguinqueen]

PULL ME BACK FROM THE DARKNESS ~ CATO HADLEY

PLOT: You and Cato fill in the missing pieces of each other. 

Warning: smut, m/f, hints at PTSD and depression, slight breeding kink if you squint, slight size kink.

I am not responsible for what media you choose to consume. If you cannot handle the contents of this or are too young, please do not read. It is your responsibility, not mine. 

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Wet strands of hair dripped down your back as your fingers nimbly worked at braiding them away from your face. Not yet fully dressed, you leant across the sink to gaze into the small mirror to see whether the top of the braid was flat. A click resonated throughout the room and you couldn't help the smile that sidled its way onto your face as the thudding of heavy footsteps filled your ears. The hulking figure of the man who had been your rock filled the doorway and you connected eyes with him through the mirror. Rough fingers replaced your hands as he smoothed out the tangles in your hair and expertly twisted the strands together. Once he was done, you couldn't help but admit that he had done a better job than you would have done yourself. Reminding you that he had younger sisters who he'd been forced to practice on, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before stripping for his own shower.

Sinking your teeth into her lip, you heard him exclaim in shock when the water came out cold instead of the usual lukewarm. Guilt made its appearance once more when you realised you had used up the hot water for the day. Plopping down onto the mattress, you closed in on herself as the memories that had plagued you all day took their toll on you. For so long you had been fighting – fighting for survival, fighting other children, fighting your own mind. Whilst your hands were no longer covered in blood, they would never be cleansed of the innocent lives you had taken.

Pulled from your thoughts as a bare chest entered your view, you bit her lip at the towel slung around his hips. How it didn't drop any lower was beyond you but you found herself almost willing it to slide down. Leaning into his touch as he placed his hand on the side of your face, you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Rough day, baby?"

You remained silent, relishing in his strength for a moment or two. All you wanted was to lie down and wait for the fight to pass. To wait for the moment when her mind would fall blank and the memories would cease to exist. Eyes connecting with Cato's, you realised you had disappeared inside your own head once again. Concern was written across his face until you reassured him that you were present in the room and not back in the arena. Both of you had spent too long plagued by the chaos that had followed you out of the arena. Thankfully, one of you was always there to be the tether to reality. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Cato from looking at her as if she was one crack away from irreparable. 

"Stop," she demanded. "I'm not weak enough to crumble from one bad day. I’ll get through it, just like I get through the rest.”

"Sweetheart, I never meant-."

"No, I know exactly what you meant. The next Games are fast approaching and my nightmares are coming on faster and darker but so are yours. Snow didn't break me. I'm not some fragile little doll that needs to be hidden away whilst the pieces are glued back together again. I am perfectly mentally capable of mentoring the next lot of tributes without having a breakdown.” 

"Indie, this isn't about me thinking you're not strong enough, this is about me not being strong enough! How can I look at these small children and send them to their death. I've already had to deal with losing them before."

Falling to his knees, Cato buried his head in your lap and allowed the tears to fall. Whispering soothing words, you ran your fingers through his blond strands. Teardrops slid down your own cheeks as you watched the strongest person in your life fall apart. Cato had been there for you since the moment you had been reunited after your were rescued from the arena after cutting down all those in your way. He had been there to catch you every time you stumbled. Watching him feeling so hopeless shook you and although you felt like curling up next to him and giving in, you knew it was your time to be there for him.

"Listen to me, we've made it through death and we've made it through separation. Baby, I am just as scared as you but I know that we're going to get through this together. We haven't made it this far just to lose now. You and me, together, Cato. Forever."

"You don't deserve this." Cato sniffled, brushing away his own tears. "You've been through so much, lost so much, I'm supposed to be there for you."

"Cato, I'm your partner, it's my duty to be there for you. We fight together or we don't fight at all. Don't forget that we're from Career Districts. We're always strong and we never lose. We will not allow these next Games to strip away the strength that we have left."

"Well maybe, for one night, we reward ourselves with the luxury of being weak. Just tonight, let's forget about this stupid war and just wallow in our pity. Please?"

And maybe it was the broken look on his face, the sadness swirling in the sky blue eyes, or the fact that forgetting about the future Games was all you wanted to do, you granted him the only thing he had ever asked of you. Snuggling into his comforting (still bare) arms, you allowed yourself to cry about your own pain. The tears that fell weren't for the fallen and all they had left behind, they weren't for the deaths of the future children you were about to witness, these were purely for how mentally exhausted and rundown you felt. Soft lips kissed away your tears. One warm hand rested on the cool skin of your hip, having slithered its way under the thin shirt you slept in.

With a small inhale, you pressed your lips to his whilst your hands snaked their way into his hair. Salt mixed with the taste of his tongue but you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A rumble echoed in his chest as his length pressed against you and he straightened, yanking you up with him. Spinning you around, Cato backed you up until you hit the wall with a bump. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you rested your head against the wall, back arching when Cato sucked on the sweet spot just below your ear.

"I love you," his lips traced the words down to the valley between your breasts before he wrenched the top over your head and threw it behind him.

Left hand reaching up to palm at your breast, his mouth wrapped around the nipple on the other one, tongue flickering over the hardened bud. Your breath hitched and you used your foot to deftly push the towel down and finally reveal what had been hidden from you. Exclaiming in shock, you scowled when Cato chuckled against you. When you reached down to grasp him, he gently bit your nipple but the action forced your hips against his and with one roll, he brushed against your clothed clit.

"Off," you begged, lifting your hips slightly away from the wall so that Cato could slide them down your shaky legs.

Fingers dancing along your legs, he reached down to cup your heat and one finger slid between your wet walls.

"I will never get sick of this," he groaned, watching as you bit your lip in pleasure.

Thumb rubbing your clit, he added another finger, watching as they plunged in and out of your slick heat. His name tumbled off your lips as your pleasure increased and Cato knew that that would be his favourite sound. If there was one sound that could banish the nightmares and dispel the darkness, it would be you crying his name as you tumbled over the edge, coating his fingers. Panting slightly, you pushed him away, revelling in the confused look on his face.

As you sunk to her knees, lust clouded his blue eyes until they were as dark as the sea in District Four on a stormy day. Hand wrapping around the base, you smirked as he hissed when your tongue licked a stripe from balls to tip. Mouth wrapping around his tip, you moved down ever so slightly before pulling back up. Hollowing your cheeks out, you sucked gently on his tip and was rewarded with a throaty groan as Cato bucked his hips, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

"So good to me, baby." Cato cursed, hand resting on your head as he pushed you down a little more.

Humming around him, you gagged when he jerked slightly and his dick hit the back of your throat. One hand gently fondled his balls and Cato swore before pulling himself away from you.

"As much as I love your mouth wrapped around me, I'd rather put my cock somewhere else."

Shivers skittered down your spine as his husky words were whispered in your ear and you found yourself being pulled of your knees before you were shoved against the wall face first. Large hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and you smiled knowing Cato remembered just how you liked it.

"Always so tight for me," he grunted as he slid into you.

Cheek pressed against the cold concrete wall, you whimpered as your walls adjusted to the girth of him. Teasingly, he slowly entered inch by inch until his impatient girl backed up and enveloped the entirety of him in one quick movement. One hand braced on the wall, small grunts escaped his mouth as h thrust gently into you. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred back of his hand, you rested your head against his hand in a loving gesture. A primal instinct ignited in Cato at the sight of his partner so small and vulnerable, as you let down your guard and opened yourself up to him both emotionally and physically. The woman beneath him was always so strong and fierce that he couldn't help the dark chuckle that escaped as his body encompassed yours entirely as he pressed you further into the wall.

"Such a good girl. Take me so well," he praised, enjoying the little pants that left your mouth and with a shift of his hips, he coaxed a scream from you.

Unable to help the moans that tumbled from your mouth, you reached down to grab the hand that gripped your hip and pulled you against his cock. Love swelled within him as you held on tightly to him, begging him to go faster as you pleaded for her impending orgasm.

"I love you," you cried as stars exploded across your vision and your walls clenched him tightly.

At the feel of your orgasm, Cato burrowed himself in deeper and pounded harder into your sensitive walls.

"So close, Princess." Cato gasped, his breath hitting the back of your neck as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his movements quickened as he sought release.

"Cum in me," you begged.

Not one to deny the woman he loved, Cato called your name as he stuffed himself inside you, hot cum painting your walls. Sensitive to his touch, you leaned back into his chest as his arms came around your waist and pulled you in for a loving embrace. One hand wrested flat on your belly as he whispered promises of having their own family but in a world where the Hunger Games didn’t exist. Naked and wrapped around one another, you could pretend for just a moment that you were a normal couple whose only issues were what to eat for dinner and how many children you wanted. Whimpering as Cato pulled out of you, you watched him wander into the bathroom in search of a washcloth.

Hand resting on your own abdomen, you wondered whether you would have end up with child. And, for the first time in your life, you found herself hoping you would. Struck by the aching pang within you, you realised that the life you had built with Cato had made you realise just how badly you craved a perfect family with the man you loved. In a world where they grew up safe and never needing to learn the ways to kill another person. 

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Loosely based on a scene from my Cato x OC story but details have been adapted to avoid spoilers. You can find the book Pugnator at;

Wattpad

Fanfiction.Net

[dovakhiindrabbles]

Brain wont stop going feral over this but mc breaking down in front of farkas because shes tired of all this dragonborn and war shit and just wants some form of normalcy

Anon did you read my mind -- are we on the same wavelength right now cause I LOVE that type of thing. Characters who have almost a breakdown over the hero role they’ve been put into and want to stop but are so scared of stopping OOOOO yes I’m writing this

Anyhow, I am absolutely super excited and happy to write this and hope you have an amazing day !!  

Trigger warning for angst and allusions to depression

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The dragon unhinged its jaws, you can even see the flames barreling out of the beast’s throat. The heat brushed against your skin and despite the faintest call in your head to move, your feet don’t lift from the ground.  

How many times would this scenario repeat? How many times would you stand off against another monster of the old times? Each time they rear their horrible heads and each time they come crashing to the earth.  

Or perhaps your enemy would be another person. Another war to be waged for supposedly a noble reason just to truly sate some internalized idea. How would humanity prove themselves not too different from the monsters yet again?  

What a cycle you’d fallen into. A god among men -- worshipped and lauded and yet never truly able to experience what made humanity so... human.  

You couldn’t remember the last time you sat in front of a fire, warming your palms. Or when you woke early one morning and didn’t have to scramble to your feet, just laying there and soaking in the world around you. When was the last time someone looked at you and didn’t see the Dragonborn?

When was the last time you got to be human?

“I’m tired.” You whispered, too quiet for anyone but yourself to hear. Your grip loosened from your weapon, and for just a moment you welcomed the flames unfurling. Perhaps the closest you could ever get to humanity was just pretending this was a simple fire you sat before on a cold, cold night.  

But someone pushed you away just before those flames could touch you. Your back slammed into the snow and the air was snatched from your lungs. Through blurred vision, you could see him, Farkas. His eyes were wide and confused, almost horrified.  

“What was that? Why didn’t you move?” He was yelling, but you could hear the fear and worry so deeply entrenched in his voice.  

You tried to bring yourself back to reality, but all you could muster was a feigned attempt. “I’m sorry... I don’t know what came over me.”  

Farkas wanted to believe you, but the glaze in your eyes told so clearly otherwise. He furrowed his brow and placed your weapon once again in your palm, his fingers lingering over your own for just a second longer than needed. He didn’t say anything else, just rose to his feet and helped you up to face the Dragon that still prowled after you like prey. It was scared though, you knew that.

It wasn’t a difficult fight, each and every possibility had become ingrained in your head -- each move the dragon could make existed like pinpoints upon a map for you. You knew just how to make it to the end and just how to perfectly execute it. 

When the monster fell, you simply watched. The hollowness in your chest became that much more apparent when you absorbed the soul and felt only a further emptiness.  

“Hey, we need to talk about what happened back there.” Farkas came up from behind you and grabbed your shoulder. And yet when he twisted you around he paused, stunned.  

You hadn’t even realized you were crying. You hadn’t made a sound and you’d barely noticed when your sight muddled.  

“What... what’s going on?” Farkas tensed, his hand sliding down to instead reach for your hand. His grip was light, almost as if he thought you might break at the slightest pressure.  

You hesitated, but it inevitably spilled out. “How much longer... how much longer do we have to do this? How much longer do I have to be the Dragonborn?”  

“Do you not want this?” Farkas frowned, confused. “I thought you like this -- liked the fighting and the glory.”  

“This isn’t the Companions! I don’t get to stop! I don’t get to just not take the next job these are monsters! They will destroy everything if I don’t stop them!” You yelled, a sudden gnawing at your insides. Maybe it was guilt. Farkas didn’t deserve to be yelled at, but you didn't stop. “There is no glory in this! This is desperate, and I am desperate-”  

You stopped. “Oh gods, I’m awful aren’t I?”  

Farkas confusion only deepened. “No, you-”  

“But I am! I am! I am the only person who can stop these dragons -- these things and I -- I don’t even want to.” You looked at Farkas like you’d stumbled upon the most horrible thing.  

You would’ve writhed and rejected any amount of pity at any other point in time but the pity painting Farkas’s face at that moment caused you to shrink, to crumble only further beneath the weight of your truth.  

“All I want to do is just live like a normal person. For once. That shouldn’t be such a big request so why do I feel so awful asking for it?” You tore at your hair in frustration. “Why do I feel so awful for just wanting to be happy?”  

You could remember one dream you’d had where it was a wonderfully mundane day. You and Farkas had a home where the sun would pour in through the windows and wake you both up with weary, sleepy yawns. You could stay beneath the blankets for hours, there was nothing forcing you out. You chattered between one another pulled yourself out of bed to trudge drowsily together for breakfast. You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do, by the end of the day you were sitting before the fire and falling asleep in his arms. 

And then you woke up in that cold, damp camp. The sadness that overcame you then was tangible, palpable. 

How could you move on from that? How could think of anything but the future that would forever be out of your grasp?

Farkas took a few steps forward, reaching out with wary hands that weren’t quite making contact, hovering over your arms. “If you aren’t happy like this, tell me how I can fix it -- make it better.” 

You scrunched up your nose in frustration. “You can’t!” 

Farkas finally set his palms against your arms, steadying you despite all the hurt rattling inside of you. 

“I can try.” 

Your chin quivered and then the crying became real. You felt it that time. You crashed against Farkas and sobbed into his chest. Usually, he wasn’t the best with comforting -- he did his best but wasn’t good with words. This time, he didn't need any. He just embraced you, holding on tight as the two of you slowly dropped to the snow-littered ground. 

“I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t be doing this.” 

Farkas shook his head. “No, I’m glad you told me. We can do something about it.” 

He eased you back so he could wipe the tears still dribbling down your cheeks. His hands were rough and calloused but his touch then was so gentle. He offered a small smile. “We’ll take it slow. We can try something new, something normal, every day.” 

“But... the dragons. We can’t... we can’t just stop.” 

“If they show up, we know, and we stop them. But you don’t have to spend your life fixing the world’s problems. You shouldn’t have to.” 

“But there’s so much. There’s so much I need to do-” 

“You don’t have to do it now. No one can do everything in a day. But you can rest.” 

A part of you still had that rejection tugging at your heart. You had to keep moving, you had to keep fighting and protecting. You were nothing if you weren’t the Dragonborn, weren’t you? What could you be otherwise? 

“Whatever... I want.” The realization came to you. “We can be -- we can do -- whatever we want...!” 

Farkas gave a low chuckle. “We can try.” 

Both of you quietly laughed for a moment before Farkas asked a question, the world feeling just a bit softer. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do?” 

You snorted. “I want to find a fire, and sleep.” 

That brought Farkas a crooked grin, helping you up and winding an arm around your waist as you began your trek from the battlefield. 

“We can do that.” 

[i-am-thedragon]

Error Codes

Error Codes- A fanfic about how ƎNA was brought into the world. Content warning: Mentions of death, vomit, mental breakdowns

Rows upon rows of iridescent icosahedrons hovered tranquilly within large pods, each guarded by a watchful, ever-open eye. Overseeing the haunting yet quiet display was Kubiak and Ganymede, a pair of beings vague in appearance yet clear in their desire for this new brood of lifeforms to emerge successfully.

With the sound of a chime, the first of the twenty-four eyes closed.

“Finally!” Kubiak exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “And just in time, too. Boss is going to be here soon, and she’ll be furious if we’ve got nothing to show for our work.”

The icosahedron below the closed eye unravelled to reveal a humanoid figure, split vertically down the middle into two striking colours- Yellow on the left, and blue on the right. Her head and limbs were detached from her torso but floated harmlessly in place regardless. She lifted her head, brushing her long black hair off her face and scanning her surroundings with pleasant curiosity.

“Hello, world!” She exclaimed jovially, raising her arms with glee.

 “ƎNA-Alpha, status: Emerged successfully.” Ganymede began recording, approaching the newly hatched figure. “Errors: None, Action taken: Proceeding.”

“I’ll take it from here, Ganymede.” Kubiak interrupted. “You take the ƎNAs to the presentation room and put the tracker bracelets on them.”

“No problem, Kubiak”.

Ganymede gently took the ƎNA by her hand and lead her out of the hatchery.

 ƎNA LOG

ƎNA-Alpha Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Beta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Gamma Status: Deceased Errors: Error 523 – Missing vital object – Head Comments: Oh geez, this one just kind of… Flopped out of the ƎGG… Without any head… Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Delta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Epsilon Status: Emerged successfully Errors: Error 88 – Bilateral mirroring Comments: Well, this one’s blue on the left and yellow on the right. Not likely to be an issue, however. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Zeta Status: N/A Errors: Error 404 – Failure to exist Comments: Nothing came out of the ƎGG. Trust me, I checked. No ƎNA anywhere. Action taken: Discarded…?

ƎNA-Eta Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Theta Status: Not yet emerged Errors: Undetermined Comments: This one hasn’t hatched yet. Might be a dud, I don’t know. Action taken: None

ƎNA-Iota Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Kappa Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Pr Status: Deceased Errors: Error 183 – Sudden explosive termination Comments: This one violently exploded approximately eight seconds after hatching. Made a huge mess. Yuck. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Lambda Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Mu Status: Deceased Errors: Error 54 – Bilateral splitting Comments: This one’s split in half, like the two sides didn’t fuse properly or something. Shame. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Nu Status: Emerged successfully Errors: Error 546 – Hue shift +90 Comments: This one’s magenta and green… Shouldn’t be a problem though, I guess. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Xi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Omicron Status: Corrupted Errors: Error 657 – Physical corruption Comments: This ƎNA’s physical form is corrupted beyond recognition, I’d better put her out of her misery. Action taken: Terminated and discarded.

ƎNA-Pi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Rho Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Sigma Status: Deceased Errors: Error 873 – Failed to emerge, ƎGG corrupted Comments: Yeah, the uh, the ƎGG just melted. Action taken: Discarded

ƎNA-Tau Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Upsilon Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Comments: This one called me ‘Jim’ for some reason. Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Phi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Chi Status: Paralysed Errors: Error 372 – Missing movement scripts Comments: Frozen like a statue, unable to move or speak. Unsuccessful. Action taken: Terminated and discarded

ƎNA-Psi Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

ƎNA-Omega Status: Emerged successfully Errors: None Action taken: Proceeding

SUCCESS RATE: 15/24 (62.5%)

END LOG

 “Kubiak, why do we have so few successful ƎNAs?!” Ganymede demanded, growing visibly anxious. “Boss is going to deem this whole project an immediate failure if we don’t have a success rate of at least 2/3!”

“Well maybe if you went and upgraded our software like I asked you to three years ago we would’ve had better results!” Kubiak retorted, gesturing at the rather underwhelming crowd of live ƎNAs.

“So, what are we going to do now? We need a miracle to bump that number up and meet Boss’s requirements!”

Before Kubiak could answer, Ganymede caught sight of the unhatched ƎGG of ƎNA-Theta. Among all the empty pods and closed eyes, there remained just one open eye above a lone ƎGG.

“That ƎGG, is that one a definite dud?” They asked.

“I haven’t confirmed it yet.” Kubiak answered, approaching the idle icosahedron. “But she should have hatched with all the others if she was incubated successfully.”

“It’s a long shot, but ƎNA-Theta might be our last hope.” Ganymede suggested. “Help me override the system and force-hatch the ƎGG manually.”

 The iridescent icosahedron shuddered and spun erratically as Kubiak and Ganymede tampered with its incubator, finally coming to a stop as the eye watching over it closed. The ƎGG unfolded itself, allowing the final ƎNA to stumble gracelessly out of it.

“My sincerest apologies!” ƎNA-Theta exclaimed. “I had no idea I was so late; I simply lost track of the time!”

Ignoring the ƎNA’s apology, Ganymede began to cautiously examine her for errors. Immediately they noticed that her right side and most of her torso hadn’t formed properly, appearing geometric and low poly compared to the smooth surfaces of her left side.

“Seems like poor surface subdivision across approximately, hm, sixty to seventy percent of her body?” Ganymede noted out loud. “Kubiak, what’s the error code for that again?”

Before Kubiak could respond, an ominous pink haze filled the air as a doorway to a long corridor manifested itself on the wall of the hatchery.

“Never mind that, Ganymede!” Kubiak squeaked anxiously. “We’ll finish updating the log later; Boss is here! Get the ƎNA ready for presentation!”

 Though Kubiak had dealt with Boss many times before, she still intimidated them a bit. Whether it was her authority, power, or her many arms and eyes that were numerous yet of no exact number, Kubiak wasn’t sure. They just hoped she’d approve of their latest project.

“Well, Kubiak, I’m just glad that you and Ganymede had the foresight to get my approval before releasing this latest batch of creatures into the overworld.” Boss stated, with displeasure in her tone as she recalled the earlier incident.

“Yes, our sincerest apologies about that, Boss.” Kubiak responded meekly, leading Boss through a distorted labyrinth of colourful corridors. “We hadn’t realised the ƎNAs would figure out how to travel between worlds so easily. They caused a fair amount of mischief.”

“And I assume you and Ganymede dealt with them before they got out of hand?”

“Well… Yes and no. All twenty of them died on their own before we could recall them.”

“How so?”

“Three of them were killed by wild animals. Two by angry locals. Four of them drowned in script, three in code, and one in a volcano. One was torn apart at the digital-molecular level, still no idea how, and the remaining six starved to death.”

“That is incredibly depressing.” Boss sighed.

“But don’t worry, Boss!” Kubiak reassured. “Our latest batch of ƎNAs is greatly improved, and we’ve equipped their tracker bracelets with kill switches in case anything goes wrong again!”

“You’d better hope nothing does go wrong, Kubiak.”

 Before Kubiak could offer any additional hollow reassurances, Ganymede came rushing around the corner in an obvious state of panic. Upon seeing Boss, they made a poor attempt at hiding it.

“Ah, good to see you, Boss!” Ganymede greeted nervously. “Welcome! Ah, uh, may I speak with Kubiak privately for a brief moment?”

“Do what you must.” Boss replied.

Ganymede wasted not a single moment dragging Kubiak around the nearest corner of the corridors and gesturing at them to keep quiet.

“I think there’s a problem with one of the ƎNAs!” Ganymede hissed in a frantic but hushed voice.

“What do you mean?!” Kubiak exclaimed back in a similar harsh whisper.

“If there is an issue with the ƎNAs, I would like to be made aware of it.” Boss’s voice boomed demandingly from around the corner.

“Ah, everything’s fine boss, we’re working it out!” Kubiak called out, before they turned back to Ganymede and whispered once again. “Is it Theta?”

“It’s ƎNA-Theta, yeah.” Ganymede sighed. “But maybe Boss won’t notice?”

“I would like to see your work now, do not keep me waiting any longer.” Boss’s intimidating voice boomed once again.

 The presentation room was quite pleasant, decorated in marble tiles, old stone pillars and crystal-clear water fountains. Among the gentle scenery was a small crowd of sixteen ƎNAs mingling politely with each other as they awaited Boss’s judgement. As Kubiak and Ganymede entered the room their gazes immediately locked on ƎNA-Theta, who glanced back at them with a calm smile. To their relief, she didn’t seem to be having any problems at that moment.

As Boss entered the room, the ƎNAs gazed up at her with simple curiosity, unaware of her authority and unintimidated by her presence. She gazed back at them critically.

“Begin.” She spoke.

 “Although our first introduction of the ƎNA into the overworld didn’t quite go as well as we planned, Kubiak and I are confident that our new batch of ƎNAs will make a lovely and colourful addition to the population.” Ganymede began. “These charming characters may look all… Mostly… The same, but there’s more than meets the eyes! The ƎNA has a flexible personality and a shapeshifting ability to match! ƎNA, if you would please demonstrate!”

At the command, the ƎNAs began to shift into various different forms. ƎNA-Iota took on the form of a fanciful dragon, while ƎNA-Beta shifted into a simple geometric shape. Some changed colours, some changed size, and some barely retained their humanoid shape. All except ƎNA-Theta, who merely struck a dramatic pose and hoped no-one would notice. Unfortunately, the discrepancy was noticed by both Ganymede and Kubiak, and Boss.

“A-alright, let’s try that again!” Kubiak called out.

The ƎNAs shifted once again, all taking on new forms except ƎNA-Theta, who once again failed to shapeshift.

“That ƎNA isn’t shapeshifting.” Boss remarked, pointing at the defective ƎNA with one of her many arms. “Does she not understand your command?”

“Oh, no no no, I understand perfectly clear!” ƎNA-Theta responded directly with enthusiasm. “I just, eh, I uhm…”

“Well, I did notice a small issue with ƎNA-Theta regarding shapeshifting.” Ganymede explained. “But I’m sure it’s not a major issue!”

“I’m useless!” The defective ƎNA shouted, the left side of her face suddenly becoming pitch black as the right side turned stark white. “I can’t even shapeshift properly! I can’t do anything properly!”

The sudden shift in tone caught not only Ganymede and Kubiak by surprise, but Boss too.

“All I’ve ever done since I was born is disappoint everyone!” ƎNA-Theta shouted, her voice growing more and more distorted as she threw her head into her hands. “I was a mistake! Why don’t you just get rid of me now?! Go on! Do it! DO IT!”

Everyone in the presentation room began to step back, distancing themselves from the unexpected outburst. ƎNA-Theta’s meltdown grew continuously worse, her cries devolving into agonized shrieks as her form began to distort uncontrollably.

“HURRY UP AND PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!” She wailed, convulsing as her colours, geometry, and facial features fluctuated. “EVERY MOMENT I’M STILL HERE IS MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE, SO HURRY UP AND END IT!!”

The other ƎNAs began to huddle together in fear, while Ganymede and Kubiak cowered at the other side of the room. Boss stared daggers at the malfunctioning ƎNA’s chaotic display in a mixture of pity and disgust. Entirely displeased with the outburst, she extended an arm at ƎNA-Theta and launched a powerful electric current through her fingertips. As the shock coursed through her body, ƎNA-Theta let out a scream that came out as little more than a sickly rasp, before falling to her knees and violently vomiting white noise onto the marble-tiled floor.

 The silence that followed was only broken by a single command from Boss.

“Terminate the project and all remaining ƎNA specimens.”

“Yes, Boss.” Kubiak spoke softly.

“For the record, this isn’t about not meeting my expectations or success rate goals.” Boss added. “It’s clearly cruel to bring these ƎNAs into existence in the first place. Your ambition is… Appreciated… But from now on you will return to creating simpler life forms. Understood?”

“Understood.” Kubiak and Ganymede answered in unison.

Boss left the presentation room without another word.

 After the incredibly dismal series of events Ganymede and Kubiak had endured, they couldn’t bear to see their functional, living ƎNAs be terminated in front of them. Instead, they jettisoned the ƎNAs out into the nearest barren void of code they could find, and only activated the kill switch once they were out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. Except, it was never quite that easy. Where had they gone wrong? Was the ƎNA really doomed to failure from the beginning? It was no use contemplating it, however, as the project would never see the light of day again.

All that remained was a room of twenty-four empty incubators, and nine unused tracker bracelets. Nine. Ganymede froze as they counted the bracelets and compared them to the number of ƎNAs that never made it to the presentation.

“Kubiak…” Ganymede called out nervously. “I hate to bear additional bad news, but… I think I forgot to put a kill switch on one of the ƎNAs…”

Kubiak approached the pile of bracelets and counted them for confirmation. Sure enough, the numbers didn’t add up. One of the sixteen ƎNAs had been jettisoned without a kill switch. Kubiak could’ve asked which one went without, but deep down they knew the answer already.

“We terminated every ƎNA except the one that literally begged for death.” Ganymede lamented. “At this point I understand why Boss has no faith in us anymore.”

“Hey, don’t worry, Ganymede.” Kubiak reassured. “I’m sure she won’t last long out there on her own anyway.”

[nameless-shrimp]

HANGING BY A MOMENT || SATORU GOJO

You and Satoru Gojo were the strongest together; some even said you both were the most powerful duo. However, after the incident that happened, it was questioned whether you were the most strongest with your mindset.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

Type: One-shot

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/implied suicide, depression, heavy angst with character death, swearing, and grammar errors.

Notes: Because I like to hurt my heart a lot. This is pretty bad, not gonna lie, so I'm sorry if it's terrible.

The thing about Satoru Gojo was that he was the strongest.

It was shown through the cursed techniques that he portrayed. Whenever there was a small cry for help, he could sense the weaknesses of the curses and was able to be exorcised within a matter of seconds to minutes, or maybe, less than an hour. He was too good for the jujutsu world.

However, beneath all of the powers that he was able to show off, what was the most strongest of all is his love for you. And—it really did start after you were assigned to train with him at first, when he was a second-year and you were the first-year.

Both of you battled through everything together; you both became the most powerful duo. Cocky smirks and cheeky grins were shown after each curse was exorcised and you were there for him throughout his own mental battles as well, whilst he did the same for you.

But as time went on, it suddenly began to worsen for you, and you weren’t sure if it was due to the stressful order of the higher ups or maybe, it was because of the horrendous scenes that you were forced to witness every single time you walked out the door for a mission.

With your husband at your side, Satoru always found his way to be there for you.

Satoru knew about your sudden depression that hit you so hard, almost as if a tidal wave had swept your voice away and every night, he heard you cry about having to risk your life on a daily basis. He couldn’t bring himself to go to work most days, leaving Nanami the work to pick up after him, and Satoru knew you were a priority, but the innocents around the world were just as important too.

However, whenever you broke down crying, wanting the mental pain to stop, Satoru could only hold onto you and give you soft kisses on your neck, forehead, hands—anywhere. He wanted you to calm down, to be safe, to be trusted, and to be happy.

“I love you,” Satoru whispered close to your ears, holding you close to his chest, not minding the tears that were dripping onto his bare chest. He sighed, clutching onto you tightly. “I love you; you’re not alone. You’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest person I know, baby, you’ll manage.”

“I know,” your voice croaked, and his heart felt as if he was losing its pieces. He couldn’t stand seeing you in so much mental pain.

As time progressed, you avoided going to the sessions with the students, and they all relied on Satoru to pick up the pace with everyone. He couldn’t blame you though, you didn’t love the life you had as a jujutsu sorcerer, and Satoru kept up a happy face in front of his students. Sometimes, taking them out to dinner and annoying Nanami helped get him through the day, but most nights, you were underneath the covers, frightened by the past trauma that soared through your head.

The nights were endless, but Satoru remained by your side. With every pull to his chest and kiss to the forehead, it eased your breakdowns a little bit more. Satoru couldn’t blame you for acting the way you did. The sight of blood, murder, indescribable and unforgivable crimes of assault were all over the streets as a jujutsu sorcerer; this wasn’t something you had asked for and you simply wanted it to stop—to make it all fucking stop.

“The life you have now isn’t for you, you don’t have to walk this path anymore if you don’t want it,” Satoru explained to you one night, where your breath was heaving against his chest and you stared at the minimal ceiling above you. “Nanami quit. He couldn’t take this shit anymore either, so you can do the same.”

“And what about you?” You questioned, trailing your fingers along his.

He smiled at you, comfort growing within the blue aura gaze of his eyes. “I love you. I’m supporting you with whatever you wanna do, especially if it’s best for you.”

And—well, that lasted for one night.

The higher ups had assigned you a mission, despite the fact that you avoided the majority of your sessions with the students and that you declined most of the missions you received. While Satoru was out in Tokyo with his first-years, you laid in your bed, covers pulled up to your neck as you read the message that was sent to you by Principal Yaga. It turned out that there was a special grade curse that was inhabiting a college campus and it needed an immediate exorcision.

You have taken out multiple special grade curses; most of the time it was with Satoru, especially when you both were still students at Jujutsu Tech, and you knew that this would’ve been a breeze. However, you haven’t trained in about two months; you knew that you were rusty, you knew that your mind was lost in its own shadows and your thoughts wandered to different directions. It wasn’t the best bet for you to go fight this special grade curse on your own, but—for some reason, a part of you decided to take control.

The moment you left the house, you contacted Satoru that you would be out on an important mission, and despite the multiple times he tried to call you, you declined every one of them. The higher ups had their ways, and you always ignored what they said, not minding their conservative viewpoints to slash your own opinions of them; they had their own despicable tasks, and perhaps, this was one of the missions that you’d be falling in for their act.

It didn’t take long until you realized you were next to burning buildings and the bodies of innocent students were laid out in front of you. It was a breeze fooling around with the special-grade curse, and it had that cocky grin on its face every time it tried to make a move on you, but with every swift dodge, it only caught itself in its own tangled web.

However, you felt your movements to be fast and sturdy, though it was all hollow. Nothing but emptiness was washing over you as you only kept your arms crossed while dodging every physical attack that the curse tried to unleash on you. Their techniques were weak, as you always thought, and you never could stop yourself from laughing because you knew you sounded like your husband.

A part of you wanted it all to vanish and have this come to an end. And with one glance of the burning buildings around you as you bent down to look at the decaying bodies that were surrounding your presence, you felt a strong surge of power growing within you.

Before you knew it, you decided to flash a smile, and finally make it all come to an end.

-

“Sat—”

“Don’t.”

“Satoru!”

“Don’t fucking get in my way.”

Yaga attempted to get in the way of Satoru, who was stopping him from coming into the building. With an unpleasant look on his face, Yaga grabbed ahold of Satoru, ignoring the fact that Satoru did not use Infinity, and then pushed him against the wall, making eye contact with the white-haired man whose eyes hid beneath the blindfold.

Yaga didn’t admit it, but he knew it.

Satoru’s eyes were pooled with sorrow underneath his blindfold, and maybe, like one of these situations, Satoru was thankful to have worn a blindfold every day for his life. At least no one could see how much suffering he was going through; one moment he felt his heartbeat stop its pace, and another, it continued to beat rapidly, such as when Yaga caught him off guard and now his back was against the wall.

“Is it true?” Satoru gritted his teeth, placing his hands on the grip of Yaga’s. “Fucking tell me if it’s true.”

“Satoru…” Yaga’s voice lowered and he looked away, not wanting to admit the news of his wife’s death right in front of him. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose in displeasure.

With that expression, Satoru got his answer. He pursed his lips, unsure if he should cry or let out a frustrated scream, but he did neither. Instead, he tightened his lips in a thin line, holding back a choke, and then asked, “how did… what happened…”

“Satoru,” Yaga sighed, lowering his grasp on the man and then he placed his arm down, finally letting Satoru go from his grip. “You don’t need to—”

“Like hell,” Satoru interrupted angrily. “Tell me what the hell happened.”

“We don’t know,” Yaga cautiously spoke at the mourning man in front of him.

“How the fuck do you not know?! You’re telling me nobody knows how my wife di—”

“The higher ups assigned her a mission for a special grade,” Yaga explained, turning his gaze away from Satoru. Clearly, not even Yaga, himself, wanted to talk about such depressing matters. “Y/N agreed to it immediately. The curse was exorcised, but her life was taken in the process of it.”

“No fucking way,” Satoru quipped, stomping on his foot. “She’s not that stupid. She wouldn’t allow herself to die so easily to a special grade. We went through so much shit together. And you’re telling me her life was taken away from it?”

“Sato—”

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Satoru…”

“God,” Satoru grunted, placing his palms on his warm forehead. There were too many emotions running through his mind; perhaps anger had gotten in a fight with sadness, and now both of these mixed emotions were the process of his thoughts. Nonetheless, he was drowning himself, and he wasn’t sure of where to actually process the news he was receiving in order to get to shore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not serious, are you?”

Yaga remained silent, unsure of how to properly help the grieving man.

Without another word, Yaga stepped aside, allowing the entrance for the front door to be wide open. Unsure of what Yaga’s thoughts were processing, Satoru didn’t hesitate to push the doors open aggressively as the man he just walked past just kept his head down, not wanting to pester Satoru any further with his actions.

The audible footsteps was enough to make the atmosphere of the room go shallow. And once the door was open to the infirmary, the sight of your corpse was enough for him to stand there. It was impossible to have you look so beautiful despite your figure to be in a pale hue and your eyes were closed. His legs were frozen and he felt his fingers twitch, and without hesitation, he looked down, not minding the people in the room that had their eyes on him, contemplating on the actions he was going to do.

People knew Satoru as the strongest. That’s what everyone saw him as, the balance for everything, and despite the man that he was, Satoru consistently remained high and mighty but still protected those that weren’t as powerful as him. He really was the strongest.

But with a loud, piercing scream that escaped his lips and echoed throughout the hallways—for Satoru to be the strongest, it seemed that it wasn’t the case anymore.

-

The rumors spread very quickly.

With how powerful you were, and Principal Yaga was there to witness how much potential you portrayed and that you were able to outmatch Satoru in your matches with him when you were both students, it didn’t take long for theories to pop up. And with every speculation wavering in the air, Satoru wasn’t sure if his own students and faculty were trying to destroy him more than he already was or if they were suffering through your death just as much as he was.

Satoru could even hear Yuji’s words, with his face stuffed with his lunch, Yuji barely spoke out, “do you think L/N-sensei did it on purpose…? Maybe she allowed herself to di—”

A smack on his face was audible and it seemed like Nobara scolded him for bringing you up with Satoru’s presence around.

The words were exhausting; Satoru couldn’t bear with the rumors and speculations of your sudden death. It wasn’t easing the sudden sharp pain that his heart would get at the sight of your favorite pastry at the bakery or the lollipops he’d avoid eating due to the fact that they were your favorite flavor. He couldn’t take it anymore, and it was gnawing him deep down underneath his flushed skin.

“Gojo-sensei?”

He heard Yuji’s words, and his students were staring at him, keeping his head down on the table with his fists clenched. Satoru couldn’t be angry with his students. They were just as unhappy about the situation as he was, but there was no lie in the air when Satoru knew that he was grieving the most from your sudden loss.

Satoru didn’t say a word. He got up from the table next to his first-years and then left to go to another room—he wasn’t sure where he was going; anywhere but there, or really, anywhere to get to you, somehow.

He ignored the waves of the other faculty members and Satoru kept his gaze down, wondering if you’d scold him for just leaving the kids behind without a single word or—or—or the sound of your voice; the soothing, so comforting, and gentle voice you had whenever he felt mellow and down on himself. He could practically hear you speak to him with his own ears, suggesting to go out for ice cream or that you were there for him whenever he needed to speak out his own mind.

Satoru’s hands ticked as he turned the knob of the door in front of him and was invited with dust falling onto his face. He fought back a sneeze and then waved the particles away, and he invited himself to your own office. He remembered you called it your little ‘getaway’ from the other faculty members and the students, and the only person that was really allowed to be in this room was Satoru.

Satoru sat down on the chair, not minding the dust, and his eyes gazed upon on the brown wooden frame of your marriage day. His heart felt warm, but it didn’t take long for it to fall into its empty space again, and he clenched his fists, feeling so incomplete and confused.

It had been three months since you died.

Satoru listened to everyone’s rumors; maybe you did decide to let yourself die easily to a curse, but he knew you from the bottom of his heart—or so he thought. You knew you wouldn’t go that route and you’d give it your all; he felt confused, too confused, and with the kick of his feet, he placed his feet on your old desk and then tilted his head down.

“Sorry sweetie,” he muttered quietly. “I know you didn’t like it when I put my feet on your desk.”

Satoru laid his head back, staring up at the blank ceiling. He wasn’t sure of why you decided to take on a dangerous mission after you had avoided keeping in contact with the school for so long, and he wasn’t aware that you’d go on such a mission without his assistance or at least, you left without any thought into it. He knew you, he could’ve sworn he did, and Satoru remembered the nights that you’d cry in his chest about the nightmares you’d get or that you were tired of the endless battles and you were tired—just tired—you were so fucking tired and mentally drained of the chaos you had to endure as a jujutsu sorcerer.

Part of Satoru couldn’t blame you for what you did. The life you both shared was exhausting, but he continued to remain by your side no matter what happened. With every curse exorcised and that accomplished grin on your face, he fell in love with your capabilities and your strength as well as who you were as a person; at least, he knew you were someone he wasn’t ever going to lose from his heart.

Satoru wanted to scream again, but instead he didn’t.

He trailed his gaze to his feet that were still on your abandoned desk, still lost in confusion for your actions. But he knew that sitting around and wondering about the ‘what ifs’ wasn’t going to do anything for him. Perhaps you did let yourself get taken away so soon—maybe you did decide to choose suicide, or maybe that special-grade was stronger than you thought—than he thought.

Regardless, sitting around and wondering about what actually happened wasn’t going to bring you back. What happened had happened; you died, and it was that. Though, it was hard to grasp, of course it was, Satoru loved you tremendously and losing his other half had struck his heartstrings to the point where they had snapped.

Satoru sighed, not wanting to get stuck in the lost void any longer.

He looked at the emptiness of your desk, all that laid was the framed wedding photo and a black pen that had its cap off.

Satoru smiled, staring at his shoes as he came to realize that he still had his feet on your desk. Quickly, he kicked them off and then looked back at the wedding photo that was on your desk.

“My feet are off your desk now, honey,” Satoru kept a smile on his lips.

He knew you hated it when he kept his feet on your desk.

[some-dr-writings]

Fuyuhiko tries to comfort a depressed reader

·       Even as your alarm blared right in your ear, you found it difficult to move. You felt so sluggish even just turning over in bed. You felt so tired and exhausted, but even so you just could not sleep. You were tempted to just skip class and sleep the day away, but you knew better. If you did that, you’d just feel even worse than you already did.

·       So you were going to get up…

·       Now!

·       …

·       N-now!

·       Uh…

·       You were getting there!

·       You got the quilts and sheets off yourself.

·       Somehow that simultaneously felt to be an accomplishment yet not at the same time.

·       You just… could not get yourself to bother to do this.

·       Or anything.

·       You just had no motivation for anything.

·       But at least sitting in class could be productive while sitting in bed would just… be nothing. With that thought you managed to get up. After making yourself presentable for the day you trudged to your usual stone planter with the old tree where you always waited till five minuets before class began. You used to rather be outside than inside.

·       “Hey, Y/N!” You seemed surprised for a moment before looking up from your phone. “Ah, hey Kuzuryu.” “Where were you?” “Huh?” “Oh my-” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “After the school festival you just disappeared and left everyone else to do break down! We all worked together to build it, so none of us can just go off, and leave everyone else to do the work.” “Breakdown, I- damn it, I did just leave you guys. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.” Placing both his hands into his pockets he felt the small piece of glass.

·       That glass made him recall the moments prior and more. How despite being in the reserve course he ended up become friends with Hagime… his first true friend. And how said friend encouraged him to approach you not even a few moments ago.

·       “Even you don’t know? Heh, so even if I asked the fuck has gotten to you lately, you couldn’t answer.” You flinched, stiffening under those words. You didn’t say anything, looking to the ground below his feet, unable to bare to look at him. “You’ve been so out of it lately. Hey!” He snapped his fingers before your face, drawing your attention back to him. “Even now! You, you just keep staring out into space. You’re just distancing yourself from everyone. You’re acting so weird lately, and it’s pissing me off. What happened to you? You were so dependable before and now you’re just not, out of nowhere!”

·       “Ah… I guess I am… sorry.”

·       Fuyuhiko simply glowered at you for what felt to be an eternity. He just stood there and did nothing else. You felt as if you were standing under a spotlight. You hated this; you didn’t want this attention on you. You wished Fuyuhiko would just leave you be but knowing him, if you attempted to make him go, he’d just so stubbornly stay. There was no point in even trying.

·       Suddenly you snapped up onto your feet, Fuyuhiko holding you up by the collar of your shirt. “That look in your eyes… It’s really pissing me off!” “Wait- where are you dragging me too!?” “We, are going to talk some place more private.” How he said that, so ominously you honestly thought for a moment he was going to kill you! It didn’t make any sense but, could you have angered him so much he wanted you dead!?

·       Soon he tossed you into his lab, the place in the school built specifically for him and his talent, nothing and no one else. If he were to kill you this could a good, all be it obvious place to do so. Then he stepped up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Fight me.”

·       In an instant you had collapsed, only still on your feet by Fuyuhiko holding you up. Your breath had been knocked out of you. You clutched your stomach, feeling this dull pain radiating from it. “It’s as if you’re going hollow. Show me something, anything! Y/N, fight me.” “The hell?” You were absolutely baffled by all this. “What’s holding you back? Scared? Worried? I can take it. Throw a punch! Show me there’s still something in you! I know your and my worlds are completely different. I doubt you’ve ever been in a fight before. And because you never have you’ll have to try, and by trying you’ll show something. So, show me what’s eating away at you!”

·       No longer glaring there was something new in his eyes. Some sort of fire or life, a liveliness or determination that was fueling him. Feeling your heart race, you held up your fists. “… what’s eating away at me.” You lightly bumped your fist against Fuyuhiko’s arm. “That’s it? Whatever is happening with you is not that weak. It’s brought you, a strong individual to your knees! Do the same to me. Knock me down!” “I… but… I just can’t.” “You just can’t, what?” Your grip tightened as you hit his shoulder. “Anything. I just can’t do anything!”

·       He smirked. Finally. A single spark. In kind he threw as much force as he could into your shoulder, causing you to stumble back. “What do you mean you can’t do anything!?” You gritted your teeth, retaliating with a blow to his chest. “I mean what I said! Anything!” Fuyuhiko went for a kick to your shin. “Seriously!?” You stomped on his foot. “Yes!” You threw a swift jab at his stomach. “There’s just nothing! And I couldn’t care less!” You threw an upper cut right under his chin. “I keep going and going, and for what!?” You then punched him square in the jaw. “Everything I used to be passionate about! My hopes and dreams! It’s all withered away! I can’t get myself to do anything anymore! And I don’t know why!” Holding your hand together over your head, you threw them down right on Fuyuhiko who almost collapsed to the ground before catching himself. “It feels like I’m just losing myself! I’m eating what little of me there is left to keep going but… But!” That spark was dying! Fuyuhiko tackled you into the table, it and you two instantly crashing into the floor. “Yeah, and!” Even as he held his fist, ready throw it down with you pinned under him, you didn’t fight back. Tears welled in your eyes as you shut them tightly. “I can’t… I can’t do anything anymore. Things that used to make me happy just don’t. I know I should work, but my body and mind just won’t. It feels like I have no more control over myself! The only damn thing I can muster to do anymore is get so fucking frustrated with myself! AND I DON’T KNOW WHY! WHY CAN’T I DO ANYTHING ANYMORE!?”

·       You broke down, beginning to bawl on the spot. Slowly Fuyuhiko lowered his raised fist and got off you. Well… shit. He sat beside you, entirely unsure as to what to do. He assumed it was a physically solvable problem like feeling homesick, or being bullied, not… not something like this. Then… “s-sorry. I- are you okay?” Oh shit, this was NOT a good idea! “Tch. It’s takes a lot more than that to hurt me.” You simply staired up at the ceiling just looking so haggard and ragged. “Hey, let’s get you to class to see Tsumiki.” After a moment that felt to be an eternity, shakily you sat up, resting your face in the palm of your hand, as if even lifting up your head was too much anymore. Hesitantly he reached out a hand and helped you up by the sleeve of your uniform. “Come on. Whatever’s going on with you… it’s not going to get better if you don’t take care of yourself.” You silently nodded, wiping the tear streaks from your eyes. As Fuyuhiko lead you to class he questioned whether or not that helped at all, at least he had some idea of what was going on now, but…

·       As a yakuza Fuyuhiko was always hyperaware of himself, others and his surroundings, he had to be. He was also aware of how he appeared to others. He couldn’t start going soft around you. If he did, it could place you in danger, hell his classmates were likely in enough trouble as it is with their class president Chiaki making sure everyone was getting all buddy-buddy with one another. So… helping you in particular would only place a target on your back. Besides, he probably screwed up enough as it is, or did he? He wished he could just talk to you about this, but then he’d just be placing you in danger and this endless cycle of thought continued. “But you talk to me and not worry about the danger.” “You’re inconspicuous Hinata, and you’re like an honorary member of the class. You’re in the same boat as everyone else.” Not entirely sure how to take that statement Hajime instead decided to give his advice. “Well… It seems they could use some support right now. Maybe get the others to help them out.” “I don’t think…” Suddenly, a thought struck him.

·       You were not surprised that the cleaning schedule had been changed, it so often did due to everyone’s constantly fluctuating schedules, so when Chiaki asked you to clean, you half mindedly accepted. It… was something to do. Better than just sitting in your dorm room. And so once your classmates had left you opened the windows, got a broom and duster and set about sweeping. And so you swept, just… mindlessly doing so.

·       “Hey. You’re on cleaning duty too?” “Huh? Oh, hey Kuzuriyu. Yeah, I’m not busy so I shouldn’t burden the others. I’m sure they have better things to do.” “So your time is not valuable?” “Uh… I… heh, I know it’s bad, but, I want to say yes. Everyone’s working so hard and I’m just…” Your words trailed off as you tried completing the sentence, not being sure how too.

·       “Look, Y/N. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” You looked to him in confusion, only to be greeted to his back as he cleaned the windows. “As the next leader of the Kuzuriyu clan, it’s important that I recognize my faults and… I don’t know what to do here, but I take care of my own, god damn it. And you… you’re hurt, or depressed or something.” “I- Wait, hold on!” He took a glance over his shoulder to you. “Don’t worry about me! I just cried, but nothing’s wrong! I’m okay!” “Cut the crap.” He strode towards you, stopping but a few paces away. “Losing the motivation for anything is not nothing to worry about. You have your friends, you have your family, people you care about and who care about you too. And you have me. You can’t solely rely on others but if you can’t find any motivation for yourself, then do it for us. We want you to be happy and healthy. And you can’t do that if you give in or quit, so you have to keep fighting. I know it’ll hurt, it may even seem impossible. But things won’t get better if you stop trying! I know my words may not change your feelings. Even if logically something makes sense, the heart can just refuse to accept it, so even though I’ve told you all this, you might stop trying, it might be too much to bear, but…” He kept trying to stay calm, but he couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore. “You’re not alone in this, understand that! Even if you don’t think so, YOU! MATTER! So don’t you dare stop trying! Because we’re all with you, and we’ll do whatever it takes to lighten your load till you can carry it on your own again! But you have to keep going, no matter what! No matter how much it hurts, you have to keep going. You’ll hit rock bottom eventually and once you’re there, you can only go up! You’ll have no choice in the matter. Things will get better, you hear me! So keep fighting for it! That’s the only way to get better any time soon!”

·       A light pink dusted Fuyuhiko’s cheeks as he turned on his heel and marched back to the window, thinking over his words again and again, wondering if he screwed up and said something wrong at some point. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he had to try something. There couldn’t be a chance at change if he didn’t do something, anything. He had to at least try, just like how you had to keep trying.

·       And since he was trying, he was going to fight tooth and nail! After waking up and getting ready for the day he’d send you a text to wake you up under the guise of reminding you about something you and your classmates were going to do that day. He sent Peko to keep an eye on you, he even just chatted with you. He had no idea what he was doing, but if it helped you, even a little, he’d keep trying and improving his skill set in this regard. He had too. You were his friend, a rare person to find in others for him, and he was going to do whatever it took to help you.

[phantom-curve]

kiss prompts: 17, 21, and 36 for Juke!

Me: I'll write some coney island Juke for Shelly! Also me: *writes this angst heavy scene that showcases the breakdown of their relationship in that AU*

I swear I didn't mean for this to hurt so much, but I'm gonna go ahead and blame it on the prompts. Taking place before the events of did I shatter you? here is the first time Luke makes a promise he can't keep.

#17: kisses as a promise #21: "we'll face this together" kisses" & #36: kissing away tears

(I'm not gonna rate this for angst but this is your last official warning that there is no happy ending to this scene unless you're willing to slog through the emotional baggage of the fic that follows it!)

also available on ao3!

There were piles of confetti and champagne bottles scattered across the main floor of their house, the trash decorating the hardwood with pastel patches and sticky puddles. Fog hung suspended from the ground, leaking in through the windows cracked open by the smokers the night before. Colorful streamers spiraled down from the ceiling, limp and listless in the still morning air. The depressing remnants of what should have been one of the greatest nights of their lives strewn about like cobwebs in an abandoned house.

Julie carefully picked her way around the mess, dragging a trash bag along in her wake as she slowly collected various reminders of the night before into the black plastic. Luke was sprawled out on the couch, passed out in a mess of wilted limbs with a small amount of drool collecting underneath his right cheek. He had been in a mood all night. Julie had left him to his own devices around 2:00 am when the last of the party guests had been shooed out the door, and he had never made it to bed. That made three nights in a row since he’d last slept next to her. One night in the studio, one night over at Reggie’s apartment, and now last night on the couch.

It was happening again. The fractures. The distance.

She had hoped the party would help him reset. It was supposed to be a celebration, their celebration. Their big win. Their first album going platinum, a new record deal, an almost sold-out international tour. All of their wildest dreams coming true. It wasn’t enough. Because Bobby Wilson had beaten them to every milestone.

It didn’t matter that Bobby’s fame was mostly burning itself out recently. His family had plenty of money to keep him relevant enough that he was always in their periphery somewhere. It didn’t matter that their band was becoming more and more successful with every passing year. They had fought for every bit of recognition, earned it through blood, sweat, and tears. And always there was Bobby in the background, haunting their every step, like a curse they couldn’t break no matter how hard they tried. Julie was exhausted. Constantly fighting the ghost of what could have been while trying to keep the band they did have alive and well was draining all of her energy lately.

Luke wasn’t much better. The anger that always seemed so close to the surface overtook him now more often than it had before. Like the more successful they became, the angrier he was that Bobby had gotten there first. She had stopped trying to tell him it wasn’t a competition. To him, it always would be.

“Jules?”

His voice was rough with sleep, blurry around the edges as he peeked his eyes open to watch her collect discarded plates and cups. It was impossible to be upset with him like this. He was always softest in sleep and the moments just after waking up. It was easier then, to remember that his tough outer shell housed a heart made of glass, already cracked and damaged from the betrayals he had suffered at the hands of those he had loved that had claimed to love him in return. Julie never wanted to add a crack of her own, always mindful of the trust he had placed within her hands when he offered his love to her, so fragile and fleeting she still felt blessed by its presence, even in their darkest moments. She let the bag drop slowly, careful not to rattle the bottles against the floor.

“Hey. How’s your head?”

Luke frowned, carefully propping himself up on an elbow as his eyes began to open fully, studying the mess of destruction that had left been behind by the partygoers, slowly illuminated by the sun cresting above the hills to the east. Studying Julie herself, outlined by that same rising sun, breakable soul with limbs of porcelain that felt stretched to the limit of their fragility in the pale morning light.

“Hurts. Why’m I on the couch?”

Julie’s heart ached. Of course, he didn’t remember. She shouldn’t have expected him to, not after the way he had been downing champagne in between shots of harder liquor the night before. She had two options here: she could tell him the truth and break his heart alongside her own, or she could grin and bear it like she had learned to do the first time he forgot about a drunken fight.

“Too sleepy to make it to bed, I guess. It’s been lonely without you there recently.”

She couldn’t resist the last little dig. Luke was hurting, sure, but he was hurting her in the process of dealing with his own pain, and she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Luke’s frown deepened.

“Did Alex...get mad at me? Why did Reggie leave so early?”

Alex had gotten mad. Reggie had left early. Julie wished Luke had forgotten those moments, too. She moved to sit on the edge of the couch. Luke, softened by confusion and his hangover, leaned to drape his body against hers. The contact was soothing, his weight heavy and reassuring against her side. Julie kept her tone calm and steady.

“Someone made a stupid remark. You got upset. Flynn took care of it.”

Thank God for Flynn. The dumb intern that had made the quip about Bobby had promptly been removed from the party, but Luke had heard it, and it had been the beginning of the end of what had originally been a good night. Luke sighed heavily, his breath hot against her skin. Julie shivered slightly.

“I’m sorry, Julie.”

Luke’s voice sounded genuinely regretful. Julie didn’t doubt that he was sorry. He was always sorry.

“I know. I love you, Luke.”

She let her arms curl around his back, fingertips hooked into the large cut open sides of his tank top so they rested lightly against the curve of his ribcage there, his heartbeat humming strong and steady beneath her touch, his lungs only stuttering slightly as they worked to pull in a deep breath. Luke’s own arms moved around her waist, pulling her close as his face dipped into the hollow of her neck.

“I love you, too. So much. I don’t deserve you.”

He offered his statement like another apology wrapped up in different words. Julie accepted it as such, moving one hand to sift softly through his unruly, overgrown hair. Luke nuzzled into her touch like a cat seeking comfort after being rightly chastised. They were silent for a long moment, and then Luke stiffened slightly.

“I said you were just like my mom last night, didn’t I?”

The horror and disgust were clear in the way Luke breathed the words out against her neck in starts and stops, like he didn’t want to believe it but couldn’t deny the memory. Julie felt tears spring to her eyes. That wasn’t exactly what he had said, but it was close enough.

You’ll never understand or care about how much this kills me! You’re just like she is!

As if Julie Molina and Emily Patterson even came close to living on the same plane of misunderstanding Luke. She knew it was mostly the booze talking, but sometimes it was hard not to think about that stupid adage involving drunken minds speaking sober thoughts. Luke tightened his grip around her hips, pulling her as close as he possibly could like if he was able to ground her in this physical moment the memories of the night before wouldn’t feel so sour in the back of her throat.

“I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it. You’re nothing like her.”

Luke’s words were wet with the tears she could feel tracking down his cheeks to pool in the space between her shoulder and collarbone. Julie knew he didn’t mean it. He never meant it. He just also never remembered that until he was faced with it in the cold, sober light of the following day. It didn’t make the words sting any less.

“I know,” she repeated, lips buried in the top of his head, so the words were muffled against the kisses she pressed into his scalp.

Luke pulled his face out of the home it had found against her skin. His nose trailed a soft line up the side of her face, the sensation gentle and soothing, a whisper of how things were meant to be. Julie turned to meet his lips with her own, the kiss wet and salty through their combined tears. It was the quietest whisper of apology and reassurance that could be offered. Julie could feel every hurt and battle Luke had fought behind the caress of his mouth against her own; every moment of self-loathing he had suffered for the pain he had inflicted against her. It didn’t soothe as much as he wanted it to, some of his hits had burrowed too deeply under her skin for that, but she couldn’t help but cling to the promise of better days that he was trying to push them towards. He didn’t lash out because he wanted to wound her. She simply always seemed to be caught in the crossfire, a casualty of a war she had never signed up for.

“I’m so sorry, Julie.”

She felt his lips form the words against her own, swallowed his penance down like it didn’t taste like poison as it seeped into her system.

“Please, don’t leave me. I’ll be better, I swear.”

And there it was. The assurance she had known was coming. She had expected those words. Luke had said them before. She just knew better than to believe them by now. But the part of her that wanted to, the part of her that desperately begged her to, allowed them to lay like a dirty bandage over the scratches he had left behind the night before, sinking into her open wounds with a kind of dodged determination that only viruses seemed to possess.

“I love you.”

It was all she could offer. She loved him. For all the bad days and bitter words, she loved him. She had loved him for longer than she had known possible. She had loved him through every stormy day and through all the sunshine as well. It was written into her DNA at this point, an indisputable fact. Luke could cut her over and over again, and she would still love him, just as he loved her.

“I love you, Jules. Bobby doesn’t get to take this from me, too. I’ll always love you. With my last dying breath, I’ll love you, and I promise I’ll do better. I’ll be better. You and me.”

Luke offered his pinky for her to hook her own around, the feeling of their fingers interlocking grounding her more than it had any right to.

“Always and forever,” Julie breathed, forehead falling to rest against Luke’s as she finished the vow they’d been promising to each other since the day Julie had joined The Phantoms, a promise that had existed even before their romantic relationship.

Luke leaned past their intertwined fingers to press his lips to hers once more, sealing the deal with a kiss. A way to say we’ll get through this, you and me against the world, even though he wasn’t able to articulate it verbally. Julie let her own lips meet his in equal agreement, I’ll be here, I’ll love you through it all, forever, forever, forever, until there was nothing left but the potential of brighter tomorrow, the unpleasantness of the night before washed away in the dawning of a new day.

It wasn’t until later that night, house cleaned and Luke resting in bed next to her where he belonged, that Julie realized his words had clanged with the type of hollow echo that hid behind a promise that could never be truly fulfilled. For all his desire to fix the cracks he continued to create, at the end of a bad day, it was still Julie absorbing Luke’s emotional blows. She had been so worried about creating a fault line within his love for her, she didn’t notice when the first major fissure in their relationship was created by Luke’s hands alone.

For all of her willingness to bleed herself dry, she never stopped to think about what would happen when there was nothing left to give.

[clumsyclifford]

hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye

hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am

tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression

read it here on ao3

-

Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.

He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing. 

He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.

Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way. 

If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him. 

They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?

Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.

Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over. 

It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.

Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.

On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.

You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that. 

Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.

Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.

Fuck.

-

Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown. 

It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it. 

At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.

He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.

He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it. 

Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.

Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”

Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”

Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says. 

“Was probably the lights.”

“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Fuck.

This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.

I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.

“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”

Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.

Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.

(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)

So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.

“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.

“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death. 

The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael. 

“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”

“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”

“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”

“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.

“That’s okay.”

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.

None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”

Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.

Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw. 

Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now. 

“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders. 

“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.

[that-good-trash]

I’m Not Okay- Chapter 4 Midoriya x reader/ Bakugou x reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Mentions of suicide/ Attempt at suicide, Angst, Anxiety,

Word count: 4,336

Comment: Thank you all for reading this series, I have two different endings I’ll be posting after this chapter. One will be for Bakugou, One for Midoriya. I’ve enjoyed writing this and I am so happy that so many like it. 

Once again you matter and any issues you have are valid!

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You remember once, when you were little, watching a hero on TV save the day. What hero it was didn’t matter to you at the time. All you saw was this person risk their life to save someone else. You watched the emotions that passed over the citizens face, the relief and security they found after being rescued. You remember thinking that you wanted to save people. You wanted to be someone’s reason for feeling safe, a stable beacon of hope and strength. Oh, how foolish you were. Really a child with dreams too big for her bleak future.

A little girl with a quirk better suited for someone with confidence, for someone who truly believed they could save the world. You remember the excitement when it manifested. You ran around telling everyone you were gonna be a hero. There was no idol for you, you didn’t need to be like All Might. You just wanted to help people and with this quirk you were gonna do it. Other kids wanted to be hero’s for fame or power but you didn’t need any of that. You just wanted to make a difference in someone’s life. As you grew the dream was the same but the reason started to change. You wanted to make a difference in your own life, you wanted self-worth and thought being a hero could give you it. Selfish, that is what you thought you had become. How could you have gotten so lost? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to save people you just wanted someone to save you.

As you grew up each year brought on more and more emotional issues. You were convinced that you had brain damage or were dying of some brain eating bacteria. You weren’t completely wrong, you had issues, mental issues.  The first time you had gone to therapy you were six. You stopped getting along with other kids, stopped playing with toys, stopped being a child. Your family was worried, what could have happened that you lost all desire for life. A little kid not wanting to be a little kid was a strange concept. After therapy and some medication, you were back to being a child, running around and playing hero. You were ten when you watched the people around you go about their days like you didn’t exist. You found out the hard way that the world doesn’t stop when you are depressed. Still a child you had to realize that if you were gone the people around you would go on and eventually forget about you. You couldn’t understand this feeling of anxiety. You tried harder and harder to be noticed in the hopes that if you did disappear or die people wouldn’t be able to forget you. This plan back fired. Your family members, friends, and teachers started getting irritated with you. Your parents yelled at you to behave, your teachers scolded you about being loud, and your friends pushed you away not liking this version of you. Eventually you were secluded, an outcast. You were afraid of being alone so you cried. Crying became a norm for you. You did it in public until the judgement started. People didn’t feel bad anymore, instead they claimed manipulation just like Uraraka had. Crying eventually became a taboo thing you did behind closed doors. You learned how to sob silently, how to scream without being heard. That ten-year-old girl was aware of how painful life was and yet you hadn’t even felt true pain yet.

As you aged beyond ten the headaches started, the voices told you horrible things, your smile had faded out of existence, and you constantly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your therapy was pointless because no one knew why you were like this. It was trial and error. You’d be fine one minute and then you would have scratches up your arms and hollowed out eyes. You’d look like you hadn’t slept for weeks which was true. You couldn’t sleep because your thoughts were worse at night. When you tried napping during the day you were called lazy, told that you were slacking. How could you be a hero if you slept instead of trained and studied. Your parents meant well when they pushed you toward your goal. They just didn’t know the real you. The you behind chipping paint. You felt like an abandoned building left for the earth to take back. Your words were vines burying walls of concrete. The worse things got, the more you painted portraits and placed them in front of you. People admired your work, telling you how happy you looked, how hard you were trying. You were a success story but what was success when you were miserable and a step away from falling into a pit of despair.

One day things changed and for the first time in a long time you felt normal. You felt excited and happy, you looked forward to waking up. What happened to change you? You were accepted into UA. You had tried harder than you thought possible. Tears, blood, sweat, and a lot of profanity was released from your body on your journey to be a hero. All Might telling you in a holograph that you were good enough made you feel like maybe you were. You hadn’t smiled in a school photo until the day you received your school ID. There you were with a toothy grin staring directly at the camera as if to say ‘I did it’. That should have been the moment your life took a turn for the better. You should have been on an escalator going up and you were for the first year. Even after the attack on USJ, after the training camp kidnapping, after everything with overhaul you still fought with no doubts. You smiled even when you cried with your classmates. You had participated and enjoyed their company. Things had gone so smoothly for a while.  However, mental health issues don’t magically go away. One day feeling mentally exhausted turned to two days feeling useless and massive fatigue turned to ten days of sharp chest pain, uncontrolled emotional breakdowns, and drowning in self-loathing. That most fucked up part was you were dealing with it all alone. You couldn’t tell your parents what was happening. What would they say? They would think you were pathetic, not cut out to be a hero. But were they wrong? Did someone who constantly wished negative things on themselves have the right to be here. You found that you questioned yourself over everything. You wondered why you even tried if you were a failure. Why did you eat while others went hungry stressing over classes while you suffered academically on your own terms? Why drink water when you hadn’t put in enough effort to prove you deserved it. The thing that never changed was wanting to save people. You would die if it meant saving just one person. You wanted to change lives not ruin them. You wanted people to smile not scream and cry. You wanted to do so much more for people but had no energy left to try. Your flame had burnt out and you were running on what little smoke it still produced.

Like a steam engine your legs moved you up the dark staircase. Your fingers ran along the cold railing feeling every nick or chip. You wondered if someone touched you if they would feel the broken pieces. Could you cut someone with your shattered mask, with your fractured mental state. Was there a doctor, a quirk specialist, a magician, any person that could put you back together? all the kings’ horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put poor Y/n back together again. Or at least that’s what was going through your mind as the roof door opened with a swift kick that jolted pain through your leg at the heavy metal it was made of. You were so close to the edge. No one could stop you; no one could help you. No hero was waiting and you weren’t feeling heroic enough to try and stop this. All you could think was how you were just a few steps away. You had failed everything else. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t fail this.  

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You don’t have to remove your shoes since you aren’t wearing any. The roof is much windier than you expected. You jump slightly when the roof door slams from the force of the wind closing it. Your hair is reacting to the wind, trying to blow with it, which would normally bother you but you don’t care about something so trivial. You rub your arms from the slight chill the height and wind brought. Not much longer and you won’t have to worry about the cold, or anything for that matter. You close your eye tilting your head upward toward the vast sky. When you open them, you can barely make out the stars because your vision is warped. It’s like you’re watching the night sky as you sink deep under water. The tears that slide down your cheeks make you angry. Why were you crying when you chose this? You chose to climb the stairs and there was no turning around now. The large metal door wasn’t going to be the way in which you would be leaving. Your legs grow shaky as they move you closer and closer to the fencing. You push your hand against the fencing letting your fingers slip through the diamond patterning of thick metal wiring. This wasn’t going to stop you. Not when you climbed all those stairs and broke open a heavily locked door. You activate your quirk using the blades that appeared on your finger tips to cut the obstacle away. Your quirk allowed you to create blades on your body, they could range from small swiss army knives to sharp saw-like weaponry. A cool useful quirk wasted on a useless fuckup. Once there was a large enough hole in the fence you deactivated your quirk before tossing the damaged property aside. There was a little room between the outside of the fence and the lifted concrete ledge. Just enough room for you to move along the ledge trying to find a good spot. You ran your fingers against the cold stone feeling fragments of cement crumble away. You stopped after finding the perfect spot. You could see city lights in the distance and when you turned you could see the buildings you had run from. The rows of large dormitory building. Some lights were still on and you smiled wondering what these strangers were doing. Maybe some friends were staying up talking about nothing important just enjoying each other’s company. Maybe someone got hungry or needed to finish an assignment. The thing you truly hoped was that none of these lights were coming from a room where someone laid crying wishing for death as you had done for so long.

“Please don’t cry!” Your voice is carried by the wind and disappears into the darkness. You wipe at your eyes because you are yelling to no one but maybe you were yelling to one of those lights. Maybe you wanted anyone hurting to hear you, to feel that you cared. That you believed that they could get better, as a true hypocrite would.

“It’s okay to hurt!” The words weren’t yelled at max volume because your throat was tightening from holding back sobs. You were suffocating on them as you leaned your body over the ledge gripping it for dear life. This time no words came out but instead a scream. A scream that mimicked that of an injured animal, or someone who had witnessed everything they love be destroyed. You screamed until you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore, till your throat was raw. Your nails dug into your neck, palms pushing against your throat begging for your lung to work. Your body was breaking down and you could feel adrenaline pulsing through your veins. The word ‘breathe’ a mantra pounding in your skull. Maybe this is what you deserved for trying to preach something you didn’t practice, something you didn’t believe for yourself.

“I… I JUST WANT IT TO STOP!” There were rivers of sorrow moving like ghastly rapids down your flushed face. Snot dripped out your nose and you gave up wiping it away. You were ugly right now and that didn’t matter. No one was here to see you like this anyway. That was a good thing. You wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of judgement you’d receive from this nauseating display. “Please make it stop.”

Your grip on the stone wall tightened as you finally pulled yourself onto it. The edge crumbled slightly causing you to feel the smallest bit of apprehension. Why were you scared? Why the hell did you keep questioning yourself? The more questions that you asked yourself the more doubt arose, it was creating hesitancy. You were standing literally on the edge, there was no room for indecision. Eyes closing you think, think about everything that lead you here. The quiet disappointment of your parents, the withdrawn behavior that pushed your friends away, the pain of waking up. The bad wasn’t all you thought about, you thought about the good times. The way your parents cried and held you with worry after the USJ attack, the proud cheering for you at the sports festival even though you lost, and how they always text you to remind you that they love you. They supported you, loved you, and yet you just couldn’t use that as an excuse to feel better. You were still missing pieces of yourself, no matter how much love you received you still hated yourself which made their love feel invalid, undeserved. There were good times with your friends as well. The first day of school was the most terrifying and yet best day. You remember Bakugou getting scolded by Iida, you remember the way Midoriya’s eyes sparkled when learning people’s quirks, and you loved the anxiousness and thrill you felt holding onto that ball. You didn’t even know if you could match everyone else’s throws but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that you were even there amongst such amazing people. The time you spent with Mina was the most important, she was the first friend you made that truly loved and cared about you no matter what mood you were in. The first time you ignored her she gave you space but still checked in on you. She still told you jokes and complimented you. It hurt at first but then you realized that no matter what happened she’d be there for you. She made school easier for you. Other people soon approached you and you had become a part of different groups. Kirishima always invited you to train, Kaminari always tried to make you laugh and flirted playfully with you every time you seemed down. Every time you were lost in bad thoughts, when your body was amongst friends but your mind was in a dark place, Sero would tape Kaminari to the wall. You’d laugh, really laugh no matter how many times he did it. There were so many moments and memories you had shared with your classmates. What a shame they’d go to waste.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out dejected. No fight left, no more energy. You were tired and ready. Oh god you were so ready for this to all stop. The slightest giggle broke the silence with as much pain the screams had. “I’m sorry.”

Your parents flashed through your mind followed by your friends. Regrets disappearing from your body as you inched closer to freedom. Midoriya would cry, he always cried. You didn’t want him to cry, sitting in that teacher’s lounge waiting for you knowing that you wouldn’t ever return. With you gone he could have friends, enjoy life without your negative energy. He could hold Uraraka close while you faded from existence. Bakugou wouldn’t show his emotions, he was really good at hiding any emotion that wasn’t anger. However, you knew he would be sad. You knew that he had blamed himself for All Might’s retirement. He would blame himself which scared you. This had nothing to do with him failing to save you. This had everything to do with failing to save yourself. You wondered if he would still make too much food out of habit and have to throw it away. Would he train harder as a distraction, potentially overwork himself? One final heartbreaking question passed your mind. Would Mina still smile, would you take her sunshine when you left?

One step and the world seemed to move in slow motion then all at once. The sky was beautiful as you turned to fall backwards. You didn’t want to see the ground. Just the gorgeous vastness of space. You fell with grace. Like an angel falling from heaven, like a shooting star, like someone who had nothing left to live for. Darkness surrounded you as your conscience was lost, as you plummeted toward the ground.

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Bakugou and Midoriya collided as they rushed into the broken school doorway. The panic in each other’s eyes evident as they shared a look. Usually they were rivals but, in this moment, they wanted the same thing and it didn’t matter who got there first, what mattered was that they got there. Got to you. Finally sharing the same goal, they moved as a unit toward the staircase. How long did it take you to climb these stairs? Were your legs as heavy as your heart? Midoriya wanted to find you sitting on the stairs crying. Bakugou wanted to open the door and find you on the other side about to head back down because you couldn’t do it. As they ran, they both wished they could have done more but there was only so much they could have done. Bakugou wanted to go back in time and fought the people and situations that made you feel this way. Midoriya would have held your hand, dried you tears, reminded you every moment that you mattered. They will do these things if they stop you, after they stop you. Fear drove them up the stairs faster. The temperature getting hotter and hotter as Bakugou activated his quirk to move faster. The dark walls of the stairwell illuminate as Midoriya uses one for all to boost his legs further, skipping a copious number of stairs at a time. Passing a window, they hear you, the words you yelled to those distant lights, ‘please don’t cry’ ’it’s okay to hurt’ it was as if you were giving the validation you wish you had. The words were heartbreaking enough but the added tone intensified them, the broken scream that followed just about destroyed the boys. By the time they reached the halfway point you had begged for this to stop. Your words were like knives digging into their hearts, chests, and minds. How could you have felt this much pain and no one ever notice? What kind of heroes were they if they couldn’t save you? Though the most important thing for heroes to remember is that they can’t save everyone. Right now, they didn’t care if they couldn’t save anyone else, they just wanted to be able to save you.

“Don’t you fucking do it!” Bakugou’s voice matched the time he had broken down in front of Midoriya. Tears welled up in Midoriya’s eyes and his voice followed his childhood friends. “Y/N! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!”

Bakugou turned and looked toward the doorway leading into the school halls. He didn’t know what possessed him to rush through the doors rather than continue up the stairs, but he was grateful. He ran at the window as he heard Midoriya scream from the floor above. Bakugou rushed through the glass and he wasn’t the only one. Midoriya had kicked through the window and launched himself outside to try and catch you. Bakugou used his quirk to propel himself downward after you. Him and Midoriya moving at the same speed. Fire blasting behind Bakugou while Midoriya kept running along the side of the building. You were passing the floors faster and faster. Bakugou screamed using the full force of his quirk. His hand reached out and grabbed your ankle yanking backward to pull the top half of you closer. His hand gripped the back of your head pulling you into himself. He could see the ground getting closer and couldn’t use his quirk without letting go of you. He would have taken the damage but didn’t. He never hit the ground as Midoriya kicked off the building grabbing the two of you before pushing against the air. He broke through the fourth story window hitting the floor and tumbling through the glass. He had let go of Bakugou who was still holding you, his hand cradling your head against his chest as he took the force of hitting the floor and glass pushing through his sleep tank top. Both boys were breathing heavy their chest pounding harder than when they were running. Midoriya got up rushing to your side. Bakugou moved you away from his chest. Your chest rose and fell in a very slow manner. It was like you were sleeping. They were scared that when you woke up, you’d try again, you’d fight them for saving you. Or maybe you would be okay. Maybe you just needed to be saved to know that it was possible. Bakugou wouldn’t let go of you and Midoriya wouldn’t leave your side. His fingers stroking your hair. The two boys shared a quiet promise to not tell anyone about their sorry states. Bakugou was crying, his eyes bloodshot. Midoriya didn’t look any better, he had to keep wiping his nose and eyes on his hoodie sleeve. There was the distant sound of sirens and the dark room flashed with red and blue lighting from below. Bakugou stood up holding you in his arms. Midoriya took off his hoodie shaking the debris off it before laying over you. Bakugou and him stare at you before looking at each other. They could tell how much the other care for you. Bakugou scoffed before walking ahead. Midoriya smiled sadly walking beside him. His legs were throbbing and he could see the singe marks on Bakugou’s knuckles. They walked down the stairs in silence, no words being shared. Nothing could be said right now, you were safe for now and they just wanted you to be okay. Police, EMT’s, and a fire truck were parked outside. Your classmates stood off to the side behind tape, every one of them. Mr. Aizawa turned with All Might to look at the boys than down at you in Bakugou’s arms. The medical staff rushed forward but before they could try and take you Bakugou pulled the hand supporting your head free. It sparked and his snarl threatened them. Midoriya moved his hand to replace Bakugou’s against your head. The officers told Bakugou to back down and give you over. All Might and Mr. Aizawa approached.

“Young Bakugou, Young Midoriya. You got to her on time. We are so grateful; you both are heroes but now you have to hand her over so they can take her to the hospital.” Bakugou didn’t want to let you go and before he could Midoriya spoke up. “We made it on time to catch her. We didn’t make it on time to stop her. She jumped; we were just able to catch her.”

There was this tension as the realization seeped into the two adults’ minds. You had jumped and that changed things even more. The two boys knew you needed help, a lot more help and they were determined to get it for you. They knew that you couldn’t be magically cured and that this would take time but they had time and were willing to be there through it all. The two boys nodded at each other before handing you over to the EMT waiting. They watched them hook you onto a gurney lifting you into the ambulance and then you were gone. As you were wheeled to the vehicle your classmates behind the tape watched. They couldn’t believe that one of them had been hurting enough to do this. The girls were quiet do to them being the last ones to witness your breakdown. Uraraka was crying and rubbing her hands against her eyes. Sobs broke from her as she realized that she was the one who pushed you to do this. Mina screamed your name willing you to sit up and smile at her but you remained unconscious on the bed. She watched you get taking away and she cried out your name while the students around her cried too. They never wanted this and wished they had been there for you. The thing is though, you would never want them to blame themselves.

“Come on you all get back to the dorms.”  Mr. Aizawa ushered his students away leaving Midoriya and Bakugou to tell the police what had happened. Bakugou was aggressive toward the officer when he seemed to not care about your mental health. They made it seem like you were crazy. Even Midoriya had to argue for your sake. They both left with All Might. They wanted to go to the hospital but only family was allowed to see you. All Might promised the boys that he would take them to see you as soon as you were allowed to have visitors. There was also a chance you wouldn’t want people to see you, or that you’d be considered a threat to others and yourself and be locked up.

While everyone dealt with this heart ache and remorse you rested peacefully for once. Not even aware that you hadn’t succeeded.