#like that is so sad and pathetic please stop being so miserable and go see a therapist

[jentlemahae]

-

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

'Fake' Feelings

Zuko x Reader

Summary- In a pinch, you have to pretend to be in a relationship with Zuko. Little do you know it was never pretend for Zuko.

A/N- HAPPY BIRTHDAY @thethreeeyed-raven!!!!! This isn't my typical fandom as y'all know. I wrote this as a birthday gift to my best best best online friend. SHE'S AWESOME. Go check her fics out <3<3! CONTAINS A SINGLE BAD WORD >:)

Word Count- 2,468

"Mai, I already told you. I can't be with you!" Zuko was getting frustrated. While he did love Mai at one point, that was a long time ago. Zuko was now the Fire Lord, their relationship seemed like ages ago.

"And why not Zuko? We've been through this a hundred times. You always come running back, you're so pathetic. May as well cut the middle part and we can act like nothing happened." She stepped closer, pressing herself on his arm. "Like we always do..."

Zuko had finally realized how Mai controlled him. When he was weaker he was naive, now he knew what he wanted. Someone who never put him down, someone who never called him 'Pathetic.'

You.

He immediately thought of you. How you were so strong, but never put others down to feel powerful. How you always spoke your mind, but only out of the kindness you hid deep down.

Your walls were built up so high, but he knew who you were. He knew how beautiful you were.

"I can't be with you because I'm dating someone else." The words left his mouth faster than he could think.

This stopped Mai in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're not the only one I am allowed to go out with. We've been broken up for awhile now." Zuko was no longer on the defense, but the attack.

"You do know that I am the only one who could love you. Who could love a traitor, a banished prince. Who else, huh?" Her arms were crossed, a smirk on her face. She knew she outwitted him.

Releasing his bit lip, Zuko exclaims your name.

Her face dropped. She knew exactly who you were. She was furious.

"We'll see about that..." With that, she left the room.

You were on your way to visit Zuko, one of your closest friends, for a 'friend reunion' Sokka had planned. You were of course excited to see him after so long. Though, the ride on Appa was miserable. About a hundred "are we there yet"s and "I'm hungry"s from Sokka.

The five of you- Sokka, Toph, Katara, and Aang made it safely to The Fire Nation shortly.

Upon landing, a man in red robes greeted everyone.

"The Fire Lord sends his deepest regards, as he could not see to you himself. You are instructed to follow me to your rooms." He had a stoic expression, but you guessed he greeted people all the time.

Oh well, Zuko must be very busy as a Fire Lord. You were sad, but couldn't blame him.

What you didn't know was that Zuko was pacing his room, definitely not busy. In reality, he cleared his schedule as much as possible for the week you were all visiting.

How was he going to tell you? He was deeply embarrassed, not to mention Mai might try and pull something with you. He knew not to underestimate her.

The thought of her trying to hurt you was enough to rack up the nerve to confess. He just needed a moment alone with you.

A grand dinner was prepared for the Avatars arrival, the rest of you reaped the rewards of being his friends.

"This is SOO good!" Sokka exclaimed, "Zuko sure has a way with food....." He slammed a fist on the table, before quickly lifting more food to his mouth,

"Sokka, you know he has chefs who make the food, right? Please tell me you know that..." You deadpanned, looking at him.

"Uh... Yeah! Yeah, definitely...." He looked down, that was until a new voice appeared.

"Sokka, did you really think I cooked all this?" Zuko walked to the seat at the head of the table. You noticed you were sat to his right.

It was a Fire Nation tradition that the Lady of the house would sit to the right of the Lord... You brushed the thought off quickly, writing it all off as a coincidence.

"W-well I don't know! You've been working ALL DAY!" Sokka squawked.

The dinner went on smoothly, well as smoothly a dinner can go with this group. You could feel the servants and servers rolling their eyes at all the unprofessional comments, jokes, and laughter.

You didn't care, you were just happy Zuko was able to be himself.

Hours later, when everyone was worn out and had their stomachs filled, they started to head to bed.

You were one of the last to leave, having been helping tidy up as much as you could.

You thanked and farewelled the servers, trying your best to remember where your room was.

The Palace was much bigger than you remembered. The halls upon halls blurred together. You were soon lost.

Every direction you turned looked the same, you started to breathe heavy.

You could already see it, 'cause of death, starvation in the Fire Nation Palace.' Or maybe dehydration would take you quicker?

A man passed by, you were saved! Though, the closer you got the bigger his scowl grew.

"Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Can you help me?" You were nervous asking, it was so 'common' for someone to get lost in a palace. You were sure your cheeks were red.

His face was dark, his eyes covered by his demeanor. For some reason he seemed annoyed at you.

"Sir?"

A hand rested on your shoulder from behind. It started you, putting you into a 'fight mode.'

Turning around swiftly calmed your nerves as quickly as they came. It was Zuko.

"Can I help you?" Zuko was talking to the strange man, who was no longer so 'big and bad.'

"No Fire Lord Zuko, my apologies." He barred his head in a bow and left.

You had a small smile on your lips, "Thanks, he was starting to scare me." While you were positive you could have taken the man, you were tired and didn't really feel like fighting.

"Of course, I can show you to your room." He held his arm out, you took it.

The gesture was friendly, you told yourself. Nothing more.

You must have been lost for awhile, as it took a few minutes to get to your room. The small talk exchanged was nice, but something told you Zuko was hiding something.

At your door, he stopped. "Zuko, do you want to come in? You seem restless."

"Actually, I do have something to tell you..." The tone of his voice scared you.

"Oh, then please sit." He joined you on the edge of your end. The door shut behind you two.

You pushed a strand of hair back, nervously sitting. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not really sure how to tell you this... I really am ashamed to have to ask you for a really big favor..." You had seen him on edge a lot, he was quite the stressor. Nothing like this, though.

"Zuko, anything. What do you need me to do?" You questioned.

He looked down at his hands, "You can tell me. I'm in no position to judge you, you know that."

"I uh," He rubbed the back of his neck, "I told Mai that we were dating so she would stop trying to get with me." He spit out so fast you almost missed what he said.

"Oh."

Well that's not what you thought he would say...

"That's not the worst part." He lowered his face to his hands, "The ball in four days, well I told her you were going with me... She's got Ty Lee lining up suitors for her. Trying to make me mad. Also she uh, she's probably told everyone now..."

"Oh." You were at a loss for words.

"I... I don't know... I'm sorry. This is stupid, at the ball I'll tell everyone what happened. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen! It just slipped out an-"

"Zuko."

"Yes?"

"What if you don't have to tell everyone?"

You hadn't looked at him since he started talking. Honestly, a night with Zuko at a ball? It sounded like a dream. Zuko was handsome, kind, generous, and you'd had a crush on him for months. You knew he wouldn't ever really date you... So you might as well seize the opportunity, right? What could go wrong!

The two of you decided it would be wise to not tell anyone else it was fake, as Sokka, Toph, and Aang had big mouths. They'd slip up sooner or later. As for Katara, she wouldn't have kept that big of a secret from Aang.

So, for the next few days you and Zuko spent every second together. At first, it was coming up with plans for the ball. It turned into getting more physically comfortable with each other. That eventually escalated to spilling each other's deepest secrets, ya know... just in case...

Even in four days, you found yourself going from a crush to madly in love. You found out his quirks, what made him tick, his hidden likes and dislikes. Not a second was spent apart.

The afternoon before the ball you were stressed. It had been easy up until the ball. You just had to be yourself around Zuko, now you had to pretend in front of hundreds...

Katara helped you pick out a beautiful red and black dress. To match Zuko's of course.

A big scene was planned out between the two of you, Zuko would introduce you to everyone in an announcement and you'd walk don't the grand starts arm in arm with him.

It was fun to imagine and talk about, but now the 'what ifs' were running wild.

You somehow made your way to Zuko's room, knocking hesitantly. He begrudgingly opened, but became excited when he saw you.

"Zuko, I'm terrified." He quickly guided you into his room.

"What happened?"

"What if I fall? What if no one likes me? It's a lot of steps it-" He cut you off.

"Hey, it's okay... We can throw everything out the window. Just saw the words."

You swallowed thick. "No, no just... Just promise you'll be there? For me?"

Your name was a whisper on his lips, "Ill always be here for you... Just imagines its only us up there... Just normal day."

You nodded, more relaxed knowing he'd be by your side through I tall. It also gave you a wicked feeling of comfort to know he was still willing to do whatever you preferred. He would have ended the lie immediately if you asked, but you wanted to be there for him as well. To make sure Mai would leave him alone.

The Palace was bustling with people, waiters, food, activities, and entertainment. It all came to an abrupt stop when Lord Zuko appeared.

It was comical, trumpets blared and all head turned.

"Fire Lord Zuko, accompanied by-" Your name seemed unreal on his lips. To be announced with a Fire Lord? You felt you didn't deserve it.

You slowly walked into view of everyone, whispers erupting. To be 'accompanied by' was essentially dating for Lords and Ladys.

All eyes were on you as you took Zuko's arm, walking down the steps. You felt light, your grip tightening on Zukos.

"Almost there, I'm right here." His words were all the comfort you needed.

Music resumed and the party goers continued their fun.

That was expect for one person. Mai. She marched up to you, her questioning eyes on guard. Watching her march over sparked a fury in you, the fire started and didn't stop until you spoke.

"Hello Mai. How can I help you? Is your father well, since he lost his job as Governor and all..." You passively aggressively asked, a mock frown on your face.

"What would you know about Governor dad's and all? You grew up poor." Damn, she got you there.

"I guess the difference in poor and rich is personality. Cause you don't have one..." You shrugged your shoulders at her, biting back a laugh.

"At least Zuko loved me for who I am, not who I was pretending to be." She remarked, not really knowing why Zuko loved her or you.

"Damn Mai, you must know a lot about pretending. Seeing as you're a two faced bitch. Should I go and tell Ty Lee you called her an 'easy bed'." A gasp left her lips in shock, how did you know she said that? Well, you wouldn't tell her, but a gossiping Fire Sage spilled the beans.

Zuko, who had been temporarily called away to exchange pleasantries with a Navy Captain, had returned.

"Mai, I see you've met my girlfriend." He said, snaking a hand around your waist. Chills were sent up your spine.

She gave a scoff, "It'll never last. You're only in it because he's the Fire Lord." She pointed to you, then him, "And you, you just seemed to pick up the next girl you saw laying around. Talk about a downgrade. When you get tired of her, i'll be waiting." She walked away.

"What is her problem!" You exclaimed, face hot with anger.

"Jealousy, I think." He said.

You turned to face him completely. "What for, she doesn't even seem to like you anymore?"

"Maybe cause you're prettier than her?" He said, not realizing his own words.

Your cheeks were now flushed for a different reason. You swiped your lips with your tongue before speaking, "Thank you..."

Hours of dancing, partying, and eating went by. Everyone bought the act easily, you and Zuko were naturals at dating. The fun died down, and many were starting to go back home.

Zuko walked you back to your room, hand in hand.

"Thank you. I really cannot thank you enough, just ask. Whatever you want is yours." Zuko said, still grasping your hands at your bedroom door.

"I don't need anything. This was really fun actually, I know you were just pretending... but i've had the best time the past five days."

"Pretend?" His face screwed up, like he was in denial.

You blinked a few times, own lip curling. "Well, I mean... You made it pretty clear this was all just an act. I-I am not hurt." You were, but wouldn't let him know.

"Words cannot express how genuine these days have been... Oh gosh, I haven't felt this free since I was a child." He pressed on, serious.

"Y-you mean, none of this has been fake to you?"

"Well, I know you signed up for 'fake'." He looked over you, face uncertain.

With a step forward you spoke, "This hasn't been fake for me either..."

"Really?" He pressed his chest to your slightly, hand wavering around your waist. "Because I don't think I could live if you're lying right now."

"Will this answer your questions?" You leaned up, closing the gap and kissing him.

A/N-Thank you for reading, I haven't fully watched ATLA In a little bit sorry if Zuko is OOC!! When it's not midnight and I'm not super tired, I will edit any mistakes!

[justnatoka]

Deliver me from darkness

Poly! The Lost Boys x GN! Reader

A/n: This piece is very special to my heart. This is for everyone who felt self-hatred before or like they didn’t deserve to be loved (me included). Of course, these issues are not so easy to solve, but I hope this little thing can make at least a few people feel better. Please, if you know someone who has these thought, show them kindness, a few caring words really can go a long way.

Word count: ~3.2k

Warning: depressive thoughts, feelings of self-hatred, of not being enough, self-isolation, angst with a happy ending

Prompt: “Nobody’s seen you in days.”

Song recommendation: In The Androgynous Dark by Brambles (I know it doesn't fit the vibe of the movie, but it's what I was listening to while writing.)

The fluttering of wings infiltrated the quiet of your bedroom. A slight push, and your windows slowly opened, bringing with them the scent of the warm summer night. Your heavy curtains that kept the room dark for the last couple of days got caught in the breeze, and in the small gap between them a sliver of moonlight stretched across your floor. It was soon blocked out, however, as a familiar figure stepped into the room, pausing for a second as he noticed the lump of blankets on the bed. When all he could hear was soft breathing, he made his way over there, his footsteps echoing loudly in the stillness.

You knew who he was the second he entered, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him like a second skin. And as you felt the bed dip behind you and a hand on your shoulder above all the layers, you could faintly make out a scent underneath, one that was all him, so indescribably David.

“Nobody’s seen you in days, darling. We were starting to get worried. I came to check on you.” He spoke with such tenderness, as if afraid that you would shatter any second. It was a tone so uncharacteristic of him, but it made your chest ache with longing. When you didn’t answer, he continued. “Can you say something? Just so I know you’re alright?”

You wanted to scoff at that. You were obviously not alright, and he could clearly see that as well.

“Why did you come here, David?” Your voice sounded rough and unfamiliar, not having been used in a while, and although you couldn’t see it, his eyebrows furrowed in concern at the sound.

“Like I said, we were worried. You didn’t come to meet us on the boardwalk, and none of us heard from you in a while. We even went to ask Michael if he knew anything.”

As he was explaining, you slowly tuned him out, not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting to listen to his concern. It only made you feel more miserable. When he stopped, you spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” you whispered. Sensing his confusion you added, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

David’s heart clenched at how pathetic you sounded, and it only made him more sure of himself.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are they.”

You heard whispering as more people stepped in through your window. They were probably waiting outside for a sign to come in, not wanting to overwhelm you all at once. The thought caused your chest to ache even more.

“We won’t let you suffer alone, sugar,” Marko declared.

“We’re here to take care of you, dollface,” Paul added.

“Whatever you need,” Dwayne finished.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you finally made a move, slowly turning over and looking at them. Their heart broke when they took in you appearance. You hair was a mess, your skin pale and tired, your eyes puffy and red from crying, fresh tears running down your cheeks. You looked sad and exhausted, and all they wanted was to take the pain away from you, to see your sunny smile once again.

Paul was the first to move. “Oh, honey,” he sighed as he came over, scooping you up and into his lap, enveloping you in his arms. You sniffled as you buried your face into his chest. You felt more hands on you, Marko draping himself over you from the other side, and Dwayne sneaking his arms around all three of you. Not feeling like he had any space left in the group hug, David opted to link his fingers with yours, holding your hand and caressing your knuckles gently.

Feeling all this love around you, you broke down. This time, crying your heart out actually felt cathartic, not full of bitterness and sorrow like the past few days. As if their mere presence, the smallest sign that they cared, that someone cared at all opened the floodgates and washed away all the miserable thoughts you bombarded yourself with while no one was watching.

Their love was overwhelming. It’s what drove you to lock yourself away in a dark moment, the small voice in your head slowly poisoning your mind with doubt. Not feeling like you deserved any of it, your thoughts spiraled, constantly questioning why they chose you, hurling insult after insult towards yourself until you felt like breaking. After a while, there was just numbness, having tired yourself out with trying to withstand the waves of self-hate. But it was also their love that drove the darkness away, and as your sobs quietened down, so did the small voice in the back of your head. When you lifted your head, your eyes meeting David’s over the limbs and shoulders, all you saw was affection and reassurance, and after a long few days, you finally started to feel like you were going to be alright.

When they felt you shift, the boys unwrapped themselves from around you. Your heart swelled as you saw the tear tracks on Paul’s cheeks, moved that he cared enough to cry for you. You reached over and wiped them down, not wanting to see him sad anymore. You couldn’t help but notice that Marko’s eyes also glistened suspiciously, but he turned away, rubbing at his own face in hopes you wouldn’t see.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dwayne’s gentle voice drew your attention.

“No, at least not now,” you shook your head, your voice hoarse from all the crying. “Maybe I’ll be ready to talk about it later, but right now I just want to be with you guys.”

He nodded in understanding. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You took his hand and gave it a thankful squeeze, your words failing you. He smiled back at you warmly.

“Well then,” David spoke up, his gloved hand still holding your own. “How about we help make you feel better, kitten? Come with me, let’s take a warm shower while the boys set everything up.”

He was already pulling you with him, out of your cocoon of blankets, out of the bed you barely left in the past few days. The only time you got up was to get something to eat from the kitchen or dragging yourself to use the bathroom, your limited amount of willpower only able to do so much. Now you let him guide you out the door, sending one last glance behind him at the others, silently communicating as you’ve seen them do so many times before, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘set everything up’.

He brought you to the bathroom, letting go of your hand to turn on the faucet, even pulling off his glove to check the temperature. When he was satisfied, he started making his way towards the door to give you some privacy. A sudden desperation clenched your lungs, and the next instant you were holding onto his hand tight. His face mirrored your own surprise, both of you caught off-guard by your fast movements. You felt your stomach flip, anxiety gradually turning into embarrassment, and you had to drop your gaze to the floor.

“Could you… would you stay with me?” You had to force the words out of your mouth. Shame crept into your mind about how pathetic you sounded, but after the last few days the thought of being alone for just a second sounded even more unbearable. After a long moment, gentle fingers cupped your cheek, the chill from his bare skin creeping into your own. David brought your gaze back up at him, and every little doubt disappeared at the understanding that radiated from his cool blue eyes.

“Of course I’ll stay, kitten, if that’s what you need.”

A smile turned the corners of your lips upward, a small one, but a smile nonetheless.

“There you are,” he teased softly. “That’s my darling I like to see.”

When your smile grew even brighter, he looked visibly relieved, feeling glad that he could finally pull you out of that suffocating cocoon of darkness bit by bit. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, making himself comfortable. You looked at him fondly a moment longer, letting the bathroom fill with steam from the hot water, fogging up the mirror. You wondered if he was feeling warm in all those layers as you turned your back at him and started peeling off your own clothes.

Your embarrassment returned when you felt his eyes on your bare back, your shirt dropping to the floor, soon joined by your pants and underwear. You felt completely bare standing in front of him in every sense of the word. He’s seen you naked before, they all have, but this was the first time you’ve been so vulnerable. You didn’t share your dark thought with people, not wanting to hear their pity, not wanting to seem as weak as you felt sometimes. But for the first time, he’s seen your everything, all your flaws and doubts and fears. It was a whole new type of nakedness, and it made you self-conscious. However, when you turned around to face him, all you saw was love in his eyes, and just like that, baring your soul didn’t feel so scary anymore. You knew this was a huge step, a new, deeper kind of trust was forming between you, and it made you feel safer than ever.

You stepped under the warm spray of water, not bothering to close the shower curtains all the way. You didn’t feel the need for it anymore, you had nothing to hide, and in your current state, you couldn’t care less if water got all over your floor anyway. Slowly, the tension in your muscles started to ease up, the hot shower washing away any remnants of the dark cloud that’s been festering in your mind. And you were pretty sure that David’s presence just a few feet away had a lot to do with that too. Just knowing that he’s there was enough.

As you got out of the shower, feeling refreshed and warm after the grime and sadness of the past few days have been washed away, David was already waiting for you with a towel. He wrapped you up, rubbing over your arms and back as you leaned into him, burying your nose against his collar and breathing in his scent.

“I’m gonna bring you some clothes, okay? I’ll be right back.” He seemed just as reluctant to let go as you were, but the shower helped, and you nodded, signaling that you would be alright to stay alone for a few minutes.

As he opened the door to leave, the sound of Paul and Marko bickering filtered into the bathroom along with clattering and something crashing. David and you shared a look.

“It’s okay, go and sort it out. I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. He let out a sigh as left to see what the hell those two were up to. Before you closed the door behind him, you could hear his chastising voice, followed with Marko’s complaining, and you cracked a smile.

By the time David came back, you’ve already dried you hair and was just sitting around, waiting for him. Accepting the pajamas he brought you, you dropped the towel and started getting dressed. This time, the feeling of his eyes on your body stirred something inside you, but you pushed it aside. There will be time for that later, when you didn’t feel so raw, when the memory of your pain wasn’t so fresh.

After you finished, he took your hand again and guided you back into your room. You were amazed at how different it felt now, as if someone sucked out all the darkness and negativity while you were in the shower. You had a feeling that Dwayne had something to do with that, as he was just finishing up with piling every pillow he found in the house on your bed. He had changed the sheets, and made a little nest from pillows and blankets that you honestly couldn’t wait to sink into. You also noticed that all the trash you accumulated the last few days and couldn’t bother to clean up, every single food wrapper, empty water bottle and used tissue disappeared. He even found some candles god knows where and lit them up around the room, creating a truly cozy atmosphere. The curtains were fully open now, the balmy summer night air seeping in through the open windows.

Dwayne raised his head when he heard your footsteps, and by the way his eyes wandered from you to David, you were sure he felt that something had changed between you two. Guided by a sudden urge, you went over to him and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his chest, wanting to reassure him that you were better now. You felt him hugging you back, but you couldn’t see him exchanging a look with David over your head, the leader sending him a silent answer to his unspoked question. He smiled at last, satisfied with what he heard, and finally letting himself really sink into your embrace.

The moment was broken by the sound of more footsteps and bickering back and forth, stopping at the door, then everything went silent.

“Babe?” Paul’s voice was hesitant, but as you unwrapped yourself from Dwayne, turned around and smiled at them, all his worry seemed to disappear. A huge grin lit up both his and Marko’s faces, and quickly discarding what was in their hands, they were on you the next second, wrapping you in a tight hug from both sides, almost knocking you over.

“It’s so good to see you smiling again, sugar,” Marko laughed into your ear from behind, while Paul peppered kisses all over your face, causing you to burst out in giggles as well. You couldn’t help but feel your heart grow twice in size, so full of love for these four. A few tears escaped your eyes, and hearing you sniffle softly, they instantly let you go, fussing over you with panicked faces.

“It’s okay, guys, these are happy tears,” you smiled, your voice thick from all the emotions you felt at once. Paul moved to wipe them away from your cheeks, just like you had done to him before. The moment he was out of the way, Marko pulled you against him, his fingers digging into you as he held you tight, his forehead resting on your shoulder.

“We were so worried when you didn’t show up for days. You could’ve gotten hurt for all we knew,” he mumbled against you. “And when we came to check on you and saw that you really were hurting and didn’t tell us I couldn’t… I felt to useless. I felt like I failed you.” His voice cracked at the end, and a fresh bout of tears escaped your eyes as you tightened your hold on him, your fingers sneaking into his hair and stroking his head.

“I’m sorry I made you worry. But you are not useless, you hear me? Do not blame for yourself for this. I should have come to you when I first started slipping into darkness. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that you are here right now, and that’s more than enough,” your voice started to waver. “I love you all so much. And even though I might have some similarly dark moments in the future, I want you to know that you make me so incredibly happy, and I couldn’t be luckier to be loved by all of you.”

By now, tears were flowing freely from your eyes again. However, these weren’t tears of sadness anymore, but of healing. It took a few more minutes for Marko to let go of you, and as you looked into his eyes after retreating from his embrace, they were as red as your own. You sent him a watery smile, and swore to yourself deep within your heart that you would do everything in your power to not make him cry again.

“So,” you started, not wanting to talk about sadness anymore that night, “what were you guys doing in my kitchen?” you peered over Marko’s shoulder to discover two big trays they discarded on top of your dresser when they came in. They were practically overflowing with stuff.

“Oh, right,” Paul picked them up and brought them over one by one, setting them on the coffee table they brought in from the living room. “We got some snacks and some takeout, and we even made hot choco.” He looked very proud at that. “We would have marshmallows in it if someone hadn’t forgotten about them.”

“Hey, I told you already, that was your job,” Marko countered.

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Guys, it’s fine,” you chuckled. “It’s going to be just as good without marshmallows.”

“No, it’s not,” Paul pouted. “I wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

Your heart swooned. “I appreciate it, Paulie. That fact that you guys did all this for me,” you motioned over your little cozy setup of pillows and blankets and snacks, “is already more than enough.”

He seemed to relax at that, his ever present smile sneaking back onto his face.

“And there’s one more thing,” he pulled out a VHS of your favourite movie, having gotten it from the video store earlier. He put it in the player under your small TV, and as the opening credits started to roll, he pulled you with him onto the bed, positioning you into his lap, your back against his chest, cuddling up to you.

“Dude, don’t hog our sweetheart,” Marko complained, already next to you and draping your legs over his lap.

Dwayne handed you a mug of hot choco before settling down on your other side, taking one of your hands in his. Not having any more room right around you, David draped himself over the foot of your bed, resting his head against one of your pillows. He didn’t mind it, the precious moments the two of you shared in the bathroom earlier satiated his need for your attention.

Not long after everyone settled, right before the movie really started to pick up, you felt Dwayne gently squeeze your hand. Glancing up at him, you already found him looking at you, his eyes filled with fondness.

“If you feel like you’re starting to sink again, just tell us,” he whispered. “We’ll be there. We will always be there.”

You heart swelled at his words, nodding that you understood. And you did. You knew that after this night, you bond with them will be even stronger, your trust even deeper, and your love even more all-consuming.

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .5

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Size difference; Size kink; One sad horny old man; Angst!!!! that will continue just FYI no abusing poor little vic for enjoying the suffering of others :) it’s not my fault :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: peep the cameo!!!!!! :) 

Word Count: 6.1K

Read on AO3

.5

Vanish. Pass into nothingness: the Keats line that frightened her. Fade as the blue nights fade, go as the brightness goes. Go back into the blue. I myself placed her ashes in the wall. I myself saw the cathedral doors locked at six. I know what it is I am now experiencing. I know what the frailty is, I know what the fear is. The fear is not for what is lost. What is lost is already in the wall. What is lost is already behind the locked doors. The fear is for what is still to be lost. You may see nothing still to be lost. Yet there is no day in her life on which I do not see her.

Joan Didion, Blue Nights

Weeks pass after that night in his truck. He calls, many times, but you never answer. And it makes you feel like the worst sort of liar, but you can’t. You can’t hear the sound of his voice, it’ll ruin you, destroy your resolve, force you to your knees at his feet, which is, if you’re being honest, the only place you really want to be. It is, perhaps, the greatest struggle of your entire life, to hold on by the skin of your teeth to this idea you have of what it is he and his marriage should remain as, and what you and he should be and should not be. 

It’s Gerri’s birthday, and Tommy and her sister had decided to throw her a party at her house. Big surgeon money makes for a big fancy house, and Gerri was over the moon, filled with happiness and laughter and that wonderful brand of Gerri specific infectious glee that forces even your miserable, morose self to pull your butt out of bed and get ready to go celebrate her. She knows you’re sad, missing him, even if she doesn’t know it’s him specifically. Although, you suspect she might have an idea of it. 

She’d begged you to come during class at the start of the week, planting her stubborn butt on a stool to stare you down while the rest of your students finished up their work and then put away their materials. Please’s and threats of tears and bodily harm and promises of copious amounts of alcohol, and if you’re feeling up to it, I could even hook you up with someone – an accompanying waggle of her eyebrows. What about a surgeon? My sister knows the perfect, sexy doctor for you. You’d profusely, profusely refused that. You could not even consider another man right now, the idea was almost repulsive to you. As she begged and pleaded and whined, another one of your students had come up, eavesdropping on the pathetic display of supplication, “Come on, teach. Don’t be a sour puss, put her outta her misery, and go to the fucking party with her,” she’d laughed. One of your best students – she had the most gorgeous tattoo on the inside of her forearm of two overlapping ferns with an intricately detailed moth at the head. She’d told you once she’d sketched it herself. You’d rolled your eyes at them, sour puss, my ass. But you knew you had to get out of this hole you’d dug yourself into, and so, their teasing had gotten to you in the end – forced you to agree to the party out of sheer preservation for your reputation. Gerri’d taken to calling you the boring barnacle… yeah, and she’d never stop if you didn’t agree – would probably force all your other students into making fun of you for the rest of the semester, as well. Annoying little shit, it was very aggravating that you loved her so much. 

-

The house is stunning – big surgeon money indeed. All shining glass, sleek wood and modern edges. A huge infinity pool in the backyard, flanked by an impressively sized guest house that Gerri said she and Tommy stayed in sometimes when they got too drunk to drive home. 

There was, after all, a doctor from Andrea’s work waiting for you at their undesired and annoyingly meddlesome behest. He was nice, handsome, boring. Not tall enough, not broad enough, hair blonde and straight and kind of straw-like – no dark, silver streaked curls and deep, warm eyes. He kind of reminds you of a shiny scarecrow, if you’re being honest and not very kind. Not Joel enough. But he was nice, and seemingly interested and he’d gotten you a drink and stayed by your side all night, attentive and polite. 

You feel miserable and made out of plastic. Your smile, fake, forced, terrible. Something has to be done about this. Perhaps, electrotherapy, a lobotomy, an exorcism. Anything to get him out of your head. 

The shiny, blonde scarecrow – doctor – is telling you about his shiny, blonde family and their fancy skiing trips now, and oh, do you ski? No? I bet you’d love it – maybe I can take you one day? Never mind that you’d been born without a single athletic bone in your entire body, when, suddenly, you hear your name being barked, rough and angry, from behind you, and then a large, searing hot palm circling your bicep on one side while his other palm slides along the span of the small of your back to grip you at the bend of your waist. Fuck. 

“Joel–”

“Hi, sweetheart.” He does not look at you as he says it, but his grip on your waist tightens for one second. He’s staring down the shiny scarecrow, murder in his eyes. Oh, that look is very scary. 

“What are you doing here?” He turns the scary look on you at that, and nope, nope, it’s even scarier pointed in your direction.

“Tommy told me you were here.”

“Wh– what? Why would he tell you?” He gives you a pointed look, and you glance at the scarecrow, nervous. “You told Tommy?” you whisper back at Joel. 

Poor doctor man looks at a loss, gaze swinging back and forth between the two of you. “I’m so sorry, can you give us a minute?” you say, embarrassed. He takes one look at Joel’s terrifying face and scampers away.

-

Moron, he thinks, sour gaze following the fucker as he tucks tail and runs. He turns back to you, answering your question, “Didn’t have to, baby. He figured it out on his own. Don’t think we’ve been what one could call discreet if you’re really paying attention.”

You shut your eyes tight, bring up a shaky hand up to rub at the delicate wing of your brow. He desperately wants to smooth out the tiny frown marring the space between your eyes. 

“N– no– but,” you stutter. 

He takes the drink you’re holding out of your hand, takes a sip of it – something sweet and way too strong for your light-weight little butt. “Mm, he get that for you?”

You scrunch your nose up at him, and he knows he’s meant to take it as a sign of your annoyance, but all he can think is that you’re too adorable for your own good. “Wh– I– you overbearing, ridiculous – give that back!” you frown up at him as he holds it out of your reach. He sets the glass on a table behind you.

“Hmm–” His big hands span the width of your waist, can’t help himself, you’re so small compared to him. It makes his cock so hard. “Let me talk to you, please. Let’s go somewhere quiet.” He doesn’t care that he’s not supposed to be here, that he shouldn’t be bothering you, he’s reached the end of his rope. 

“No – go away. It’s– it’s Gerri’s birthday.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he pulls you further into his chest. “I’m supposed to be having fun. She said she’d be mad if I didn’t have fun.” There are already overwhelmed tears in your eyes, and if he wasn’t so fucking desperate to see you, to talk to you after all these weeks of you ignoring him, he’d run away. Far, far away, where he can never make you cry again. 

“Just for a little bit, please,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, causing the little wisps of hair there to flutter. 

You shiver. “Where– where’s Sarah?” You bring your small hand up to clutch at his beard, cup his jaw, and scratch your nails gently down the side of his cheek, and fuck, he’s ready to burst, just with that, even as your other hand feebly tries to push at his chest. He slides a hand low on your back to press your pelvis into his. 

“Baby-sitter.” Hearing you ask after his daughter has that soft spot behind his ribs where you live now, burn and pinch painfully. 

“And–” 

He cuts you off, doesn’t want to hear you talking about her. “Gone for the weekend – work conference.” Not that he believed that.

You open your eyes again, the tears lining your lashes make them almost glow in your skull. He can’t help himself, he bends to press a soft kiss over your eye, feels the whispering, wet flutter of your long lashes against his mouth. You let out a broken mewl for him – full of all your matched wanting. “F– fine. We’ll– we’ll just talk.”

Just talk, just talk, just talk. 

He can feel the pulse of his blood beat through the line of his erection against his thigh. He wraps his hand around yours and starts leading you through the house, spots Tommy at the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter talking to someone. His brother takes in the two of you together, gives him a subtle nod, inclines his head towards the backyard – the guest house where Joel was headed. Tommy had known, since that day so long ago when Joel had tried to discreetly tag along to the college – hoping to get a glimpse of you, he’d known there was something. Nothing discreet about your half assed excuses, reeked’a desperation, he’d said. His brother wanted him to be happy, to have a good, fulfilling relationship. He’d been telling Joel to get a lawyer for months, had been the first to tell him to not get married. He’d help him now, give the two of you time to sort this out. He knows just how insane Joel had been these past few weeks, like a caged animal, pacing and hissing at not being able to get at you. 

He steps out the back door and pulls you towards the guest house. He’d been here once, months ago, helping Gerri’s sister out with a repair she’d needed. The two of you would have privacy there to talk, for you to finally stop avoiding him. He needs to speak to you, touch you, smell you. He was going out of his goddamn mind thinking about you, dreaming about you. His cock, constantly at half mast and leaking, at all hours of the day, just at your memory. Desperate, that’s what he is, he’s desperate for you. 

“Who was that guy?”

“Who?” Your voice is anxious, breath hitching. He knows you’re twisting yourself up in knots, and he turns to pull you into his arms now, in the privacy of the dark room, lit only by the light of the moon spilling through the large bay windows. 

“The one you were talking to.” He draws his palm slowly up and down the line of your spine, feelings the little bumps and jitters of your trembling form. Skittish little rabbit. He rubs his mouth over the line of your hair, baby soft wisps tickling his nose and mouth. You smell so good, he wants to rub himself all over you like some sort of animal – mark his territory.

“Wh– I– You cannot be serious right now.” You push at him, turn to move away, but he catches you around the bend of your elbow, tugging you back forcefully into his chest. He presses his front along the line of your back, grips your hip to bring your ass into the hard line of his cock. 

“Does this feel serious to you?” He’s hard as stone, throbbing beneath his jeans. 

“Oh God, Joel–”

“Don’t want you talkin’ to other men, thinking about any other men. I know it sounds insane – can’t help it, I’m sorry.”

“I– I don’t think about anyone else but you,” you whimper. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, brings one large hand up to cradle the weight of your breast and squeeze. He can feel the stiff little furl of your nipple through your dress. He feels a little unhinged right now, overwhelmed by the feel and scent of you. “I miss you,” he whispers. “Have you missed me?” He presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear that has a violent shiver jerking down your vertebrae, you grind your ass harder into him, give him the sweetest little moan. “All I do is think about you.”

“I did, I did– I miss you so much. I wanted to talk to you, I did,” you whimper, “But– but we shouldn’t, Joel,” you say at the same time as your hand comes up and around to twist into the curls at the back of his head. He turns your head with his hand wrapped around your jaw, his entire palm cups around your neck to your cheek, thumb pressing harshly into the corner of your mouth to angle you exactly how he wants you, and then he’s tasting behind your teeth, the wet lick of his tongue into yours sends a bolt of lust straight through him, almost bringing him to his knees. He moans, deep and rumbling into your panting mouth, and your answering keen has the dribble of his precum sliding down his thigh. He needs to be closer, he needs to be inside. Fuck, he’s in danger of coming just from this, just from the sweet taste of you, your little moans, all for him. 

“Did you like that boy? Think he was nice, hmm?”

“Wha– No– no, Joel. I don’t even know him.” Brow scrunching into the most adorable little frown he’s ever seen. You blink your lashes at him, eyes glassy and slightly dazed. 

He snakes his other hand down the front of your dress and under the lace of your panties, cupping the entirety of your mound in his palm. Fuck, you’re soaked and he’s touching you, finally, finally, he’s touching you here. 

“Is all this wet for him or for me?” he says softly, dipping a single finger into your seam, a ghost of a touch over the bud of your clit. Fuck, you’re soft. Soft and swollen and soaking wet. He never wants to see you near another man again, it’s unreasonable, insane, he knows this. But the dilemma of having seen you, tasted you, felt you, but only by half measures, not really having you, well… it sets the stage for insanity. This he cannot help. 

“For you, for you– please, Joel. Just–”

“She’s drooling for me, baby.”

“Don’t be mean,” you cry.

“Will you let me make you feel good, sweet girl? Please, I just want to make you feel good.” He presses wet kisses over your cheek, down your neck to lick into the hollow of your collarbone. Your hips hitch in little grinds trying to gain more purchase against his palm, and he circles your clit slowly. You’re fucking dripping, and he moves down to press over your entrance, gives you the slightest hint of everything else he’d like to give you. 

“Oh, please–” He slides two of his fingers into the last knuckle then, to the hilt. You’re so wet, there’s no resistance at all. Your cunt swallows his fingers whole, and the both of you let out ragged moans in tandem. You’re fucking tight, and he needs to feel you around his cock, he has to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’ll die.

“We– we were supposed t– to talk,” you stutter, little cunt grinding down as hard as you can on his thrusting fingers. The wet squelch is deafening and obscene in the quiet of the guest house, and he can almost feel the steam of your lust and embarrassment at the sound rolling off of your skin like heat waves. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby. We’ll talk in a second.” He licks a long wet swipe along the edge of your jaw, bites down harshly, and he can feel the tight clench of your cunt at the small hurt. He pulls his fingers from you, and you let out a protesting mewl, but then he’s spinning you in his arms and kissing you. Something savage and uncontrolled rising up inside of him. He half carries, half drags you down the hall to the bedroom he knows is at the back of the house, pulls the neckline of your dress down to get at your tits, sucking and nipping as much of the soft flesh he can get at. All the previous moments of restraint, of not touching, of just watching, have turned him into this uncontrolled beast. He can feel your little feel dangling off the ground, over his boots. He almost stumbles as you lose one of your sandals, stepping over your shoe, and gripping the back of your thigh to hoist you up higher, grinding you against his length. 

He sets you down on the bed, pushing you back to lay across it as he tugs the soft cups of your bra down to get at your bare tits, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth and pulling hard on the tip. So fucking beautiful. He swirls his tongue around your softness, kisses the underside of it, nips at the full, round side, switches to give the other one the same attention. You’re whining and crying out for him, almost sobbing. So sensitive, so sensitive – little fingers twisted in his hair to pull him closer, but he’s moving down, pulling away from your searching mouth and lifting the hem of your dress. He bends to bury his face in the soft apex of your thighs and breathes deep – satisfaction, hunger, rumbling through his chest. You smell so fucking good. He sticks his tongue out to lick at your slit over the lace of your soft, pink panties, sweet, little bow adorning the front of them. 

“Hush, lemme kiss your pussy for a little bit,” he soothes, “Don’t cry,” and you’re spreading your legs immediately at that. Good girl. 

He hooks his fingers under the soaking wet center plaque of your panties to pull it aside and drags the flat of his tongue right through your seam. Fuck, fuck. He shuts your legs to rip the fabric down your legs and then rips them open again to get at your cunt. Your back arches, curved tight like a bow string, and you spread your legs wider for him, tug on his hair to urge him closer. He settles between the space you’ve made for him – thinks that he just might like to live here for the rest of his life. He sucks your clit into his mouth and starts to press a single finger inside, giving you something to bear down on.

“God, Joel–” your gasps are wet, on the verge of overwhelmed tears, or already there, perhaps, “Feels so– so good.”

“Taste so fucking good–” He starts to fuck you with his finger, adding another, giving you more to stretch around. You’re so wet, leaking down to pool in his palm, and he focuses on your sensitive little nub, licking and sucking and kissing it, all while he watches the heave and tremble of your breasts, back arched so that you can rock into his ministrations. 

“Oh, I’m– I’m gonna come.” Yes, already, “I’m gonna–” He can feel the ripple and throb of your inner muscles working around his thrusting fingers, he hooks them against the deep, spongy spot at the front of your walls and sucks on your clit. Everything goes tight and liquid inside of you. The rapid flutter of your muscles trying to suck his fingers deeper, as you gush into his mouth, has all the blood rushing from his head to his dick so quickly he feels slightly faint. He licks you through it, gentling the thrust of his fingers but not stopping. Your restless legs shift around him, too much, and then he’s shifting back up to you, a bite to your nipple, a kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, and he’s pulling you down the bed so your ass is right at the edge and tugging at his zipper, pulling his boxers down to free his aching cock and heavy balls. Fist clenched tight around himself, he jacks it once, twice and then presses the angry, red head to your clit, slides the underside of it through your cleft to feel the heat and wetness. Shit, your skin is scorching hot, soaked, and he can see the slight clench of your hole, begging to be filled. 

“Joel, please I– I want–”

“Fuck – will you let me– will you let me put it in? Just a little bit?” He’s thrusting against the slick red of you, palm pressed against the shaft to create friction on either side. On every pull back his head catches the smallest bit at your entrance, and fuck, fuck, it would be so easy, so good, “Just– just for a second, baby, please? Just the tip?”

“I – I don’t– I–” The head catches more fully, the wide tip of it giving you just the first slight stretch of it. “Oh, please–” Please, please, please. 

He feeds you the first inch – eyes glued to the way your little hole stretches obscenely around his fat girth, “Shit,” he snarls. He fucks you just like that, with just the tip and you try and arch even more, impossible, you’re already pulled tight as an arc, trying to take him deeper, and then your knee is hitching against his hip and pressing him in closer. He slides all the way inside, to the very end of you, in one smooth, devastating go. He feels his tip bump against the mouth of your womb, and your shared moan is pained and ragged. Your fluttering lids springing all the way open, eyes wide, almost shocked. The look shared between the two of you – incredulous, as if neither of you knew – had ever occurred to you – that something in this world could ever feel this good. 

He buries his face in your neck, shuts his eyes tight. Fuck, he’s gonna come, he’s gonna come. Your gasping moans, the lush press of your breasts to his chest, the fluttering of your cunt around him – nothing in all his life has ever felt like this. There’s a pain, deep in his chest, in a place he didn’t even know existed. This is like nothing else that has ever existed in this world. He’ll never be able to let you go after this, never, never. 

He wraps his hand around your throat, tries to settle you. “Don’t– don’t move, don’t make a sound–”

“I can’t– I can’t– You’re so deep.” Your legs kick restlessly around him.

“Baby, shut up, please,” he begs, he cannot come yet, he cannot. This is the first time in over three years he’s been inside of a woman, the first time he’s been inside of you. He cannot ruin it with a happy trigger finger. You’re clawing at his back, gasping and crying for him to move, to fuck you, please, please, please, fuck me. He slides a hand under your butt and lifts you slightly off the bed to bring you closer to him, grinds his cock deep, deep, right at your cervix so that you’re crying for real now. 

“Too much, too much,” you clutch tightly at his bicep, going back and forth between trying to push him away and pull him closer. He can feel the wet press of your tears sliding along his cheek, over his mouth, and he licks his lips to taste them, has his eyes rolling to the back of his head at their saltiness. He hitches you more firmly in his grasp and starts to fuck you. His thrusts, deep and devastating, punching all air, voice, thought out of you, heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass.

“You can take it, you can take it. You can take anything I give you. You’re my pretty, perfect girl,” he grits, pulls himself up so he can stare at the place where you’re taking him, puffy, red cunt stretched obscenely around his slick base. 

“You feel so good– I can’t, I can’t– What are we going to do? What are we going to do? It feels so good.” You’re crying, incoherent, fucked out look in your eyes as you claw at his shirt, little nails scraping over his belly and chest. He grips you under one knee to pull your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder to deepen the angle. You come again, instantly, just at the change, the deepening of the angle, the head of his cock battering savagely against that deep, soft spot inside you.

“Fuck, yeah. Let me feel that cunt get wet, little girl.” Your mewls are high pitched, supplicant, and you gush around him. He feels it soak his pelvis, drip down his balls.

No one’s ever been this deep, nothing’s ever felt like this, you say, over and over again. 

He plants one knee on the bed and hunches over you, ankle still dangling limply over his shoulder and pounds into you. The feel of your cunt rippling around him, sucking him deeper is too much. He wishes he could last longer, feel you come around him again. What if you never let him do this again? What if you never want him again after this? What if it’s just a one time thing? He’ll never get over this, he’ll never be able to move on from this. He can’t hold back, he starts to fill you, hot thick spurts coating your insides, and you moan again at the searing heat of him, right at the mouth of your womb, grinds deep, deeper, as deep as he can, the contractions of your inner muscles pulling him in. He wishes he could crawl beneath your skin, live inside of you, make a home for himself behind the safe cage of your ribs, and he thinks that you’re right, nothing has ever felt like this, nothing will ever feel like this again. 

He’s ruined now. You’ve ruined him

He collapses on top of you, wants to crush you with his heavy weight, meld your chests together so that you’ll have to be with him forever after this. He presses wet, breathless kisses to the vulnerable underside of your jaw, behind your ear where your scent is the most concentrated, breathes you in deeply. You wrap your arms and legs around him, and he can feel the clench of your inner muscles around his softening cock. He hasn’t done this in a long time, he wonders what his refractory period is now, if he’ll be able to go again soon, if you’ll let him. 

“I wanted that so badly,” you whisper, nuzzle your nose into his hair. 

“Me too, sweetheart.” 

“I’m scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of. I would never hurt you,” he promises because it’s the truth. He’d never do anything to purposely hurt you. 

“I’m scared of what I feel for you,” you say quietly, “I– I don’t–”

He slides his hand under you to press you closer. “I know, sweet girl. Me too.” He angles your head to give himself access to your mouth, starts his kiss out soft and gentle, slotting your full upper lip between both of his to pepper soft little pecks and sucks to it, then tilts his head to get a deeper angle and lick into you. 

You’re completely relaxed beneath him. Soft and warm and wet, entirely pliant. So sweet. It’s one of the things he loves most about you, how sweet you are. Sweet and kind and earnest – tenderhearted. You’re right, in a way, this is something to be afraid of. The things he feels for you – the depth of it, it’s not something he was expecting, not prepared for, but he’s certain there isn’t a way of stopping it now. This is what it is, will go where it was always going to go, from the first moment he saw you, touched you, tasted you. 

“What are we going to do?”

“I want to tell her.” It’s the only truth, the only road he wants to go down. He wants to be with you, he wants this out in the open. “You aren’t a secret to be kept or hidden. You deserve to be cherished out in the open.”

Your tears spill harder at that, “Joel–”

“Baby,” he lifts up slightly to look at you, “This is it.”

You turn to look away and he feels dread coil in his gut. If you pull away from him now he’ll lose his mind. He isn’t prepared for this, he isn’t the type of man who’s ever had to deal with this type of feeling. “I – I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I– I don’t want–”

“You don’t want what?” he brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face, runs the tip of his finger along the arch of your brow, down the slope of your nose. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he says, because it’s the truth. In this moment, he thinks he’d do anything at all you’d ask of him. Open his very veins for you. You have him speared by the heart, eating out of the palm of your small hand. 

“I don’t want to be the reason your marriage ends,” your brow crumples, “I told you. I– I can’t be. I couldn’t live with that.”

“My marriage never really began to start with. I told you that.” He moves to pull out, both of you groaning softly at the sensitive slide of his cock slipping out of you, the slick gush that follows. He sits back on his heels, grips both of your knees to keep you spread and enjoy the sight of the viscous drip of his spend out of your messy hole. He wants to bend to eat his own come out of you. You’ve turned him into some sort of beast, subjugated to the scent and sound and feel of your body. But instead he turns to sit at the edge of the bed, tucks himself back into his jeans. He leans forward, elbows resting against his spread knees, and drags his palm over his face, rubs the scruff of his beard. He feels you turn to curve around him, your hand snaking up the back of his shirt to press your palm against his hot skin, your knees curling into his lap around his waist. “It was never – it was never– I don’t even know. Never a real marriage, I suppose. Or never something either of us wanted for the right reasons. I – I felt like it was the right thing to do, at the time, for Sarah. I told you this. But– but it was never how it should’ve been. I worry now, sometimes, if we haven’t just done more damage to her, built a foundation that’s so rotten, so broken, that she’ll be able to feel it for the rest of her life.”

“Joel,” you whisper, dragging your fingers softly up and down his back. 

“She was born into a broken home – how can I ever– how can I ever make that up to her?” He turns back to look at you then, “A home where her parents never loved each other – barely even tolerated each other. What is that gonna do to her? What will that teach her about love and relationships?” He grips you around the bend of your knee, anchors himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his rough palm. 

“I think that, from– from experience, that it will be enough for her to know that she has you, that you love her, that you’ll always be there for her. You’re a good father, Joel. A– a wonderful father. She’s so, so lucky to have you.” And the look in your eyes as you say this to him is so earnest, so sincere and kind that he knows, in that very instant, that he’s falling in love with you, that he is already in love with you. He folds over to press his face into your belly, hug you tight to himself. “Your love for her will teach her what love is supposed to be. Honest, forgiving, patient. She doesn’t need any other example than that. That’s enough for a little girl, trust me.” You drag your nails gently along his scalp. 

He presses a kiss to your belly, another to your still bared breast. He rests his cheek on your chest to look up at you. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” What he really wants to say is, thank you for existing, thank you for finding me, thank you for being magic, thank you for letting me touch you. Please, let me keep even one small piece of you, I’ll take such good care of it for the rest of my life, I promise.

“But you– you can’t tell your wife about this, can’t– can’t leave her for me. That isn’t– that isn’t ever what I wanted, or– or set out to do. I told you why, I explained this to you.” He watches a bright flush flood your cheeks, brow folding into a frown as you stutter out the words. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“What’s left of this marriage is going to end either way. It’s only a matter of time.”

“But not for me. Not because of me, or for you to run straight to me. I can’t– I couldn’t live knowing I’d done that.”

“You haven’t done anything. This was done a long time ago, the foundation was damaged from the start.”

“N– no, still. I can’t.” You shift away from him, sit up to right your clothes. There is a part of you that hums the sounds of uncertainty, he can hear it in your voice, but it is so quiet in the face of everything else. The echo of your screeching guilt and fear so loud, it overwhelms everything else. 

“So, then what? This was just a one time thing? You want nothing more from this? From me?” He spits, hurt. He knows he should be gentle, not get angry, but the thought of you taking yourself away from him now makes panic climb like fire up his chest and throat. 

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, face still turned away from him. “I– I can’t tell you that right now. But I do know that I don’t want you to tell your wife, or to leave her for me.”

“So you think I should stay with her? Even though we’re both miserable. Even though all I want is to be with you. That’s what you want me to do?”

You let out a hoarse, anguished little sound at that, but then: “That’s not for me to say.” Your voice sounds broken, jagged, lacerating. “That isn’t my business,” you say so quietly, almost like you’re afraid to utter the words out loud, know what a lie they are. But he hears it. Loud and clear, like a slap to the face. 

“Not your business?”

“I should get back.” You stand to right your dress, he watches your shaking knees knock together, and he reaches out to catch you if you need him, but you steady yourself on your own. When you finally turn back to look at him, there are tears streaming down your face. In some sick, twisted way, the sight of them is a comfort. They tell him that this isn’t what you really want, that your words hurt you too. In a way, they help him understand you better, as well. You’re trying to do what you think is the right thing, as wrong as it is for all of you involved. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, wringing your hands together. He only nods. You go to clean yourself up in the restroom, shutting the door quietly behind you.

-

When you step back out into the bedroom, he’s already gone, but there’s a glass of water left waiting for you on the bedside table. 

Chapter .6

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[havenwithleeknow]

Right where you left me….

lee know x reader; angst

I’m sure that you got a wife out there, kids and Christmas but I’m unaware ‘cause I’m right where you left me.

You couldn’t think of anything worst happening today; customers being asshole to you, your boss constantly screaming at your face the whole day and accidentally spilling hot coffee in your hands, that’s why there’s a prominent red burnt area in your hands right now.

But you none of these things matter, because what’s important to you right now is you’re currently sitting at your favorite restaurant with your boyfriend, lee minho. All your worries and sadness suddenly disappear when you’re with him. You can’t see yourself without him, especially in the future.

“Let’s stop this. Let’s break up” he said and at that time, his words felt like ringing into your ears and stabbing your chest. “What?” you said wanting to see if he could repeat himself. “I know you heard what I just said, don’t make me repeat myself” “no, I really can’t hear you” he sighed and took a deep breath before saying it again “let’s break up” and again, it felt like your world stopped with just three words.

“But why? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, how can I make it right?” you reached for his hand, ready to beg for him to stay. You couldn’t breathe, your world will collapse if he leaves. You felt lost right now and you will do anything to fix what’s broken. “We were okay this morning when I kissed you goodbye, so what’s going on baby? What happened? Please tell me and i’ll fix it” you didn’t notice your tears streaming down your face and you couldn’t care less about it.

He shook his head and said “it’s not working anymore, I felt like everything is forced. I don’t love you anymore and I can’t keep pretending that I still do” you thought you’re already broken until you hear this sentence that totally broke you into pieces. Everything was forced? He doesn’t love me anymore? You were so speechless so minho took the opportunity to leave you at the restaurant where you used to spend time with him, your favorite restaurant.

.

.

.

.

That’s what happened four years ago but you still find yourself sitting at the very restaurant where he broke your heart. You laughed at yourself while sipping the wine you used to drink on dates with minho. You feel like a big idiot pretending everything’s alright.

People passing by are looking at you in pity with your current state; spacing out, mascara running yet you’re laughing alone.

After minho left your shared apartment, he blocked you in every contacts possible and made it impossible for you to reach out to him. You never heard from him after he left you hanging, asking questions “what went wrong?”

Four years felt like yesterday because of how still bruised and wounded your soul is. He destroyed everything in you, he made your world crumble.

You’re miserable but for sure, he’s the opposite. He has a wife, and a kid spending christmas, thanksgiving, holloween and every holiday possible together meanwhile you’re waking up alone, lonely and couldn’t move forward no matter how much you tried.

You felt pathetic and you wanted this stupidity to end but what can you do? Maybe the only way to end this is to see him and ask for a closure, but how?

Lee Minho, the man that you love and despise at the same time. You hate him because no matter how hard you try, you still find yourself longing for him and you hope that one day, these damned feelings for him finally disappear. That’s when you know you won. Won the war against yourself, not only just against Minho.

[martymctboy]

So, idk if this is the right place, and please ignore this if it isn’t.

I struggle to “commit”. Well, not really.I know I want hormones and surgery and would kill to get it, but I can’t yet, and I feel like I’m failing horribly. I do what I can- dressing masculine, binding, working out, trying to get strong. I even take protein shakes and stuff, and trying so hard to eat enough so I can gain some muscle. But when ppl see my protein shake, or realise I’m working out, I get so fucking embarassed and try to play it off as a joke.

And I recently realised why.

I feel like I’m failing so miserably at being masculine, that I rather want ppl to think I’m not trying at all. That’s also why I don’t dare wearing my packer, even if it really makes me happy. The thought of ppl noticing, but knowing I don’t have a “real” dick, makes me terrified and sad.

It’s stupid, and I don’t really know what to do about it. Idk. When I do pass, people think I’m a child. And while I do get a bit more defined arms, my body refuses to get bigger in any significant amount. I just want to stop feeling small.

(Also sorry again that I come to you with this. It’s just I’ve felt more understood by the forcemasc community than the broader trans one. I don’t want to be told to just “accept myself” and that his my body looks doesn’t matter. I want to stop feeling so goddamn small and cute and pathetic)

this is absolutely the right place, anon. you're not failing. that fear, that shame you feel when people catch a glimpse of your efforts? that's what's pathetic.

own it. every drop of sweat, every protein shake; you are a man becoming, and that's something to be proud of. you know what you want, so go at it with everything you've got.

wear your packer for me. give them something to stare at.

[antiradqueer]

Hey tumblr.

It's Luna, or more, someone of us who has no clue who they are right now. We feel like the embodiment of being sick and tired and just so done.

We have been thinking long and hard about what to write in this post or if we even want to make a post like this, but now that we're typing out these words, we don't know why we put it off so long.

We are permanently fucking off from the radqueer discourse. We can't take it anymore and we don't care anymore. We've lost all empathy and sympathy for everyone and everything involved in this shitshow, no matter which side they're on. The reason for this is not that we suddenly are neutral, we are still anti-radqueer, but we are so burned out and just start to dissociate the second we open the tags or see a radqueer post in the wild. We're naturally low empathy to begin with, but now every last ounce of that is completely gone when it comes to this topic, plus we just... don't care anymore. There's the 100th transnazi popping up? I don't care. Another "cisabuser" in the tags? doesn't matter. whatever. We're not a bad person, we are just done. We can't keep on doing this or this will eventually throw us into depression again and that might literally kill us. and I'm not going to let that happen.

when I think about radqueers, I feel so much anger, frustration and sadness - or more, that's what I felt. now all of that is just drowned by a dark cloud of tiredness and nothingness.

so, this is our goodbye. Knowing us, we will probably still roam the tags sometimes and depending who is fronting, some of us might even interact with discourse still, but like, officially, we are gone. (@ mod mew: if you could let us still have access to this account that would be dope af tho!)

I will also use this post to to encourage every anti-radqueer who's fighting tooth and nail to get blogs taken down and people banned, to step back for a minute, take a deep breath and think about if you really want to keep on doing this. we thought this would never take a mental toll on us, yet here we are. I'm not saying what you're doing is wrong, but I'm saying that maybe you could use your energy and will to fight for something else.

let's face it, radqueers will never be an actual threat to society. they are pathetic, sad people, hiding behind their screens, screaming "the future is radqueer!" over and over, but in reality this "movement" will burn to the ground eventually and they will go down with it.

do people get hurt in radqueer spaces? yes, they do and that's horrible (just a note as to how bad it's gotten with us: I write this and logically know that yes, it IS horrible - but I feel absolutely nothing. In all honesty, I currently don't care if people get hurt or not, because I can't care. it's like our brain shut off all emotions regarding this topic to protect ourselves). and I'm not saying you should stop offering them help, but I think you can stop worrying about the radqueers taking over society or whatever. if you feel this taking a toll on your mental health, please put yourself first. protecting your health and your life is always, ALWAYS more important that fighting strangers on the internet.

okay, in case you don't think of us as a total asshole with a heart of stone now and are interested in our plurality- and alterhumanity-focused tumblr life, here's out brand new system blog: @the-exodus-fleet And also our hosts blog: @talks-with-the-void

Take care of yourselves and thanks for every kind word and all the support we've got along the way /gen

PS: if any radqueer reads this and wants to celebrate this as a win or whatever, go ahead. if you need this to feel some joy in your sad, miserable little life, I'm not stopping you.

PPS: I still genuiely hope all radqueers eventually come to their sense and leave this bullshit ideology behind

PPPS: and to all radqueers who hide behind this label to abuse and groom other, I hope you lose all your friends and your family over this. you deserve no happiness.

[jiminiecrickets]

Seven days a week couple oc getting hit on in a club and jk being extremly jealous drabble

nsfw for oral (reader receiving), public sex

"hey, handsome."

you nearly crash into someone, grip tightening on two drinks you're carrying back from the bar. you release a soft sigh of relief when the liquid in them settles. "hi. excuse me, please."

you weave around the young man, hastening your step. you don't get far before he steps in front of you again, grinning up at you with hungry eyes.

"where are you off to in such a hurry? c'mon, let's chat a while. my name's hyungbae."

"i am off to see my boyfriend," you say particularly, glancing over the heads of the crowds. you can't find him anywhere and he's not at the table you left him at – shit. he's probably in the bathroom.

"oh, really? which one is he? i wanna congratulate him – he must be gorgeous to catch someone like you."

"he is very beautiful," you agree, trying to edge your way around him. he follows, though, and it's too crowded to simply run off. you can't be bothered to be any sort of polite for this stranger. he doesn't deserve it. you play dumb. "long hair, nice arms, great ass. oh, and those thighs are just amazing when they're up on my shoulders – i would fuck him 'til my hips fracture."

he blinks, a little taken aback by your crass words and airy voice. still, he perseveres, which is more than you can say of other people. "are you sure you don't want to try something different? hey, five minutes in that alley outside together, maybe you'll be a little more interested."

you chuckle. "five minutes? that's a little sad." you stop next to the empty table you once occupied with jungkook. "i'm flattered, but i'm really not interested. i am perfectly happy with my partner and wouldn't throw him away for anything – especially not a five-minute handy."

"that wasn't the plan, handsome. people often change their minds after i use my mouth," he says slyly.

"hey, baby. this asshole bothering you?"

both of you turn as jungkook approaches, his face dark with simmering anger. he hooks his finger in your belt loop, staring hyungbae down. you smile at him, pressing your lips to his temple. he doesn't tear his eyes away, but leans into your touch.

"yes," you say pleasantly, and the man's eyes widen incredulously. "i told him i had a loving partner, but he still followed me all the way from the bar and won't stop asking me to let him suck my dick."

if possible, his expression darkens even further, his jaw working as his molars grind. his eyes narrow. jungkook leans in and fixes him with a dangerous glare.

"you think you can bother my boyfriend by telling him how miserable you are?" he growls. "do you have no respect for yourself? you don't even get paid for it, yet you go around begging randos to stick their dicks in your mouth for five measly minutes! shit, man, this was the most pathetic attempt at trying to fuck my boyfriend i've ever seen, and i've seen many. usually, i go on the normal spiel of 'he's mine, back the hell up', but you don't even deserve that. fuck off, cocksucker, before i knock out your damn teeth."

he glares as the man scampers off, stumbling over his own feet. he harrumphs and takes a seat in your lap, as you had taken a spot at the table while he shouted. you smile gently and wrap your arm around his tiny waist, lifting the glass to your lips. "i'm so proud of you, sweetheart. you didn't shove or punch him once."

"i was about to," he growls, his arms folded across his chest. you can feel his heart thudding in his chest – he was really riled up. "motherfucker... i bet he doesn't even give good head. i'm much better at it."

you hum, soothing him by rubbing his hip and hooking your chin over his shoulder. "that's right. you do."

he shifts on your lap, lifting his chin as he glares daggers into the man's head. he's off standing in a corner, glancing back at jungkook every so often before rapidly whipping his head back around. "mhm... fuck, i'm so sick of people coming onto you the moment i disappear for one second. can you wear a mask next time we go out, or something? your good looks and lovely disposition are like a siren song to these assholes."

"if you want me to." you kiss his neck. "relax, love. you protected me so well tonight. you don't need to burn up like a firecracker anymore."

he huffs, leaning back against your chest. "sorry... i can't really help it. i'm just so – ugh, y'know?"

you tuck his hair back into his ponytail, smoothing it down. "it's okay, baby. i understand."

you glance back at hyungbae and get an idea.

"so, sweetheart... you said you were good with your mouth?"

"yeah." he glances back at you, arching an eyebrow. "what are you thinking about...?"

you give him a secret, filthy grin and glide your hand down his stomach to his bulge, making him jump and gasp, gripping your arms. "well, it's quite dark in here, and you're wearing black from head to toe. nobody would see you in the shadows."

he moans softly, nibbling on his lower lip. his eyes glitter mischievously. "oh, you're bad... so bad."

you kiss his cheek and he laughs softly. "are you telling me that you're not interested?"

your hand lifts from the front of his leather pants. he grabs your wrist and puts it back. "never said that. just that you're a very bad influence on me."

he tilts your face towards his and drops a deep kiss on your lips. he slides down your body, settling himself between your thighs and staring up at you with a grin under the table.

you lean back, glancing around, and run your hand over his curls, resting your palm on his ponytail. the other hand lifts your glass to your lips as he takes you eagerly into his mouth.

"hi there. are you drinking alone tonight?"

with a smile, you set down your glass and tilt your head towards the other glass of alcohol, which has sat untouched until now. "not at all. my boyfriend's here with me right now."

"oh, uh... right now? where is he?"

you grip jungkook's ponytail and pull him down on your cock. you smirk. "under the table."

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

Hai! I saw u might be taking requests for characters, and I was wondering if you might do something for Shaxx? Maybe a Solar female or gender neutral titan and maybe something that’s fluffy? Maybe our guardian got hurt and needs a bit of down time, and who better than with our Crucible?

My character is a solar Titan and I too love and adore Shaxx! Thank you for the prompt! I wrote this like a reader insert using 'you' for the character. Also a bit of Saint and Osiris tossed in. I have some other Shaxx things I'll be posting soon too! Please enjoy!

"IF YOU KEEP DYING ITS BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T THROWN ENOUGH GRENADES!" Shaxx's booming voice filled the courtyard of the tower startling a few new lights, causing one of them to fall off an edge they had been peering over curiously. 

Saint snorted. Warlock behavor. A titan would have thrown themselves off the tower with purpose. The slight grin it brought him faded as he approached the crucible handler's domain though. He wished he had a better reason for being there. 

"Lord Shaxx you are scaring the new lights again. That one fell off the tower in fear of your mighty voice." He stated, gesturing back at the resurrected Guardian who eeped in embarrassment and hid behind their buddy. 

"Death is a learning opportunity for a Guardian! Hopefully they learn which side of the railing they prefer to stay on." Shaxx laughed unapologetically.

"What brings you to me today Saint? Did you want in on some of the crucible bets being run? Or are you intrested in a bout yourself?" He asked cheerfully. Saint shook his head. 

"Ah nothing quite so fun today unfortunately. The Guardian is unwell. She was helping Osiris with some research and it has led to her being infected with some sort of flu her ghost can't heal. Osiris says she should heal from it naturally but she is quite miserable in the mean time." He admitted.

"The Guardian? No wonder she hadn't come to see me. No matter. After this match is finished I'll go find her. Thank you for the news." He said clapping Saint on the shoulder avoiding the spiked pauldron. 

"Of course. This also will allow me to convince Osiris to get some rest and not feel so guilty. It is not solely for your benefit." He chuckled but headed back feeling pleased he was correct in his assumptions over the relationship between Crucible handler and the Guardian. 

"IF YOU HAVE A ROCKER LAUNCHER THEN YOU SHOULD USE IT! ARE YOU AFRAID OF YOUR OWN POWER GUARDIAN?" 

A booming shout followed him and he grinned. He'd have much to tease the guardian about later once she was feeling better. 

Curled up on the couch and wrapped in a blanket with a box of tissues on one side and a fire extinguisher on the other the Guardian sniffled pathetically. You had been helping Osiris study some new variant of thrall when the thing had, as usual, exploded into goop all over you. It was disgusting and smelled bad and was slightly corrosive- of course. The hive were always smelly and gross and slightly corrosive. You really needed to stop taking missions dealing with them. 

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that some of it got in your mouth. Just the thought made you want to purge herself with solar fire from the inside out.

Turns out, some sort of weird alien bacteria was there and so by the time you got cleaned up and swore to be like your partner and never take your helmet off again the symptoms had set in.

Fever, check. Runny and stuffy nose at the same time somehow? Check. Sneezing flames out your nose like some sort of solar fueled dragon? Apparently also check. 

Osiris had thankfully not been standing in front of you when you found that last one out. The last thing you wanted was to have to explain to Saint that you accidentally murdered his husband via sneezing too hard. A sad Saint-14 made everyone sad.

Osiris insisted that with a few more samples of the hive goop that had made you sick he could process it into an antibody your ghost could scan then use to fix you. But that meant waiting for your fireteam to go collect the goop required without getting sick themselves. It was taking some time to find the right hive thralls too. 

Letting out a pitiful whine you sniffled hard and took a sip of the water that had been left by your cacoon of misery. Then you heard the door open and looked up in hope that Osiris had returned with news and a cure. 

"Guardian? My love? Saint stopped by and told me you weren't feeling well." Shaxx announced and you made a noise of shame and tried to hide away in yoyr blanket cacoon. 

"Ah, I see you have decided to become one of those Eliksni hatchlings you adore so much and swaddle yourself." He said teasingly and it was the only warning you got before he was scooping you and all the blankets up into his arms with a strength that made you melt. 

"I would make sure she's facing the opposite direction if she sounds like she's going to sneeze. She already almost lit Osiris on fire." Your betrayer of a ghost warned him and you stuck an arm out to flip the bot off making Shaxx laugh. 

You were distracted by how you could feel his laugh rumble through his chest being pressed so close against it.

"Don't worry Guardian. It wouldn't be my first death to your mighty flames. Here, I brought soup for you. I thought it might help you feel a little better." He murmured and you thiught he was going to set you in the seat but instead he sat down at the table and tucked you into his lap. 

Blushing you poked your head out. "Ah there's my beauty. I was worried this nee illness had turned you into a pile of blankets." He teased as he pulled the bowl of soup closer to you so you could reach it. 

You swatted his arm with a look but your stomach rumbled at the promise of substance and you eagerly reached out for a spoonful. It was warm and savory and felt good on your abused throat. 

"Do you like it? I was worried I might have added too much pepper." He admitted and you looked up at him surprised. Pointing at the food then at him, you widened your eyes trying to ask if he really made it. 

He chuckled. "I did, though I admit I followed a recipe I got from Saladin ages ago. So I was briefly concerned I might have been making you a pot of wolf food." He said rubbing your back through the blanket as you sighed at him fondly but returned to enjoying the soup. 

By the time the bowl was empty you were warm and starting to doze as Shaxx recounted the stars of the day's crucible matches, the soft rumble of his voice and the repetitive motion on your back soothing. 

When you woke again, you found yourself in bed, tucked against Shaxx's chest feeling a little better. 

"Good news! Osiris got enough samples. I can heal you now!" Your Ghost cheered and opened up to bathe you in a ray of light. You could feel your sinuses clear and your throat heal as well as a headache you hadn't even realized tou had fade away. You smiled thankfully at your ghost but tucked yourself back against your partner to nap a little longer.

[damianwaynebutwhite]

Ian Wayne gets a miraculous (and also somewhat ruins the world. Probably.)

This may end up ridiculously long so...

-

Once upon a time, there was God. Here's the problem with God- they had the impulse control of Bart Allen on crack. Wait, what?

But Bart is also going through some canon events right now with a ridiculous amount of anons so like.... maybe not.

Point is- God isn't a very good decision maker.

Considering they're, y'know, writing this shit.

Blame the devil too, if you want. Caleb, you suck. sans Undertale kinnie aaaah-

Focus on the damned story if you're going to write this shit.

Haha! Yeah! Sorry Lan please don't kill us. Hey, do you ever think about how on discord L looks like an uppercase I and thus your name looks like Ian?

...

Write the damned story.

Understood!

So once upon a time, there was this guy called Ian Wayne. And I'm sure that in DC canon he's got a backstory and lore and all kinds of other things that, y'know, make him make sense.

But considering the author found out about like like, a week or two ago? Fuck that! His lore is that he's rich. Like, really fucking rich. Like, Tony Stark + Gabriel Agreste + Bruce Wayne * infinity kinda rich.

So you get my point.

He's rich.

Why can't he be named Rich instead...?

...oh. Yeah. Sorry, Dick Grayson.

Anyway.

So one day God made a little oopsie, you see. Got a little too silly. And the Lynx miraculous fell out of the sky, hit Ian Wayne on the head, and knocked him into a different universe.

He still had his money, somehow. Because he's Ian Wayne, and he's 2rich4dat.

Ian, being rich enough to have multiple bodyguards and a force field or something like that protecting him, was understandably confused.

"Which one of you peasants," He snapped. "Was so incompetent that you would allow me to get hit?"

Luckily for the guards, they did not get hit into another dimension. ----

Back in Ian Wayne's original dimension, several armed guards started to freak out. I mean, if something flew out of the sky and whacked your boss on the head so hard he noclipped out of existence, you'd be pretty stressed too.

"Where the FUCK DID HE GO?" yelled a guard. "IS HE FINALLY DEAD?" yelled another. "YOU MORON WE'RE GOING TO GET FIRED-"

And get fired they did. WayneCorp's Firingthepoor(trademarked) flamethrower sprouted from the ground and turned all the guards into roast meat. Yum...yum...capitalism...

So unluckily for the guards, they all died. Yumyumcapitalism.

----

Back to the miraculous world of...Miraculous.

Ian Wayne did not receive a reply considering

a) his guards were all fired

b) they weren't in the same universe

c) honestly if any guard made it alongside him they would've booked it out of there by now.

"Richle, what in money's name is going on?" He snapped. Richle is like Google, but for rich people.

Richle did not reply, because Richle had no clue either.

"You! Peasant!" He yelled at the sky. "Explain this nonsense!"

God did not appreciate being referred too as a peasant and thus threw lightning at him.

"Shit."

"I'll pay your sad, miserable, pathetic student loans!" He called to the sky.

"Wait, really?" said God, who was kinda broke at the moment. "I mean, sure. Basically, according to the divine plan known as plot, you are now in a different universe! You'll learn to be a good person and finally stop being a litt-"

"You'll never get your student loans paid and you'll never even get a minimum wage job." Ian Wayne said very kindly.

God started crying.

They cried so hard the earth started to flood and some guy called Noah gathered up his animals on his boat and- what do you mean that didn't happen?

Well.

It started storming, at least.

Considering the lack of his own universe, Ian Wayne's personal umbrella carrier did not shield him from the rain.

"No!" he cried. "My ten million dollar hairstyle!"

Two background characters glanced at him, glanced at each other, and decided to keep walking.

They were holding hands. They were also both men.

"Queers?! In my vicinity?! Mods, get them!"

They did not, in fact, get them.

Chief prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and famed defence attorney Phoenix Wright resolved to never leave Japanifornia ever again for vacation.

Unless it was to Khura'in. Maybe.

Sick and tired of the universe not following his every whim, Ian Wayne finally decided to pick up the miraculous box and look inside, even if it hurt his expensive pride to touch something possibly made by poors.

The world sung joy. It sung of self-care and isolation, a mixture of leaving the world in order to find your truest self. It was the mighty Lynx, strong and solid and ready to look within itself for the answers it seeked.

To focus on the problems. To look at the issues individually. To not be distracted by the horrors of the world.

When there is nothing left in the world.

When it is nothing but you and yourself.

What do you see? What are you truly?

Pale browns with grey stripes. Brown eyes shine.

"Hello, chosen. My name is Lyyra, the kwami of isolation. Although one may perceive that to be a terrifying idea at first, isolation can-"

"An animal? How disgusting. Although I suppose a talking one may be alright for my collection." "...wh...what?" Asked the very, very, rightfully concerned kwami.

"You. Go smite those queers for me." came the order.

You know that thing about kwamis and orders?

...yeah.

But before Ian Wayne could become the next universal terror to be set upon the world, there was a small, little, burst of magic.

Anarchy! Chaos! Going against the grain. Fighting back. From across the street, the wolverine miraculous holder glanced down at xier kwami.

"...uh, Claash? The hell are you doing?"

"Oh, y'know. Nothin'."

It was not, in fact, nothing.

If you know anything about miraculous, you would know that kwamis using their powers without their holders leads to bad, terrible, results.

So what happens when the kwami of rebellion and anarchy unleashes a little bit of magic...?

Elon Musk's microchips turned against their creator and started beating the shit out of him.

The elves at the North Pole started a worker's union and went on strike.

Damian Wayne's laptop refused to show anymore Superboy/reader fanfiction, and started pulling up laptop self-care magazines. Why do those exist? Why was Damian Wayne affected when this is the wrong universe?

The wolf miraculous holder broke free from the control placed upon them by the big bad of this universe and found their twin. He then slaughtered the evil organisation, thus destroying most of the plot.

I mean, who even wanted to see the actual lore for these characters?

Hahaha...

The author is not sobbing over the fact they have so much serious lore for these characters but ended up writing Ian Wayne fanfiction. That would be insane.

...

Slade Wilson's heart gave out and died. This is because it couldn't stand being part of a creep's body anymore.

Strands of connection fell from the spider holder-kwami amalgamation. For a moment, everything was clear. No- although it had lost itself, Claash's power had reawakened the love of how things were. How the web of the world deserved to be wild and free.

It was beautiful. It was awe-inspiring. They wandered out into the world and found peace.

Lyyra, of course, was not aware of that.

They felt burning passion in their not-quite veins.

The song of rising up and fighting back.

Claash's magic was a wonderful, familiar thing.

They look at the order.

The magic that bound them to a mortal's will.

Horrid.

Disgusting.

It was a thread around their metaphorical neck. A chain.

A wolverine's claw guides their own to cut through it.

They have always been a kwami of isolation.

But even a lynx desires company.

A helping hand.

The warmth of an old friend.

The order is a cruel, biting thing.

So they move to bite back.

"No." Lyyra breathes. It feels like freedom. "No. I will not."

-

...what?

This was unacceptable. He was Ian Wayne, moneydamnit! The richest person in all the world- all the universe(s?)!

If anything- the world should be bowing to his whims.

If anything, these peasants should be delighted to serve someone as wonderous as him.

"What do you mean no?" He hissed. "I'm Ian Wayne! I'm rich! I'm white! I'm 2rich4dat!"

"I have known you for a grand total of one minute. In my lifespan, that is an insignificant thing. Somehow, you have already proven yourself to be one of the most miserable, entitled children I have ever met. Have your parents taught you nothing?" Lyyra liked to believe itself a patient kwami. It was, after all, isolation. Self-reflection. Somehow, this new holder had tested its limits already.

"I got my mother assassinated because she was interacting with the poors."

"...with all due respect, what is wrong with you?" The due respect is none at all.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfect." Somehow, that was said with full confidence. Complete and utter confidence. Not a single lick of shame or self awareness.

"...Tikki help us all."

-

NEXT CHAPTER (wip. if people even want a second chapter.)

[spoiltizzy]

discord message copy-and-paste minific thing

(cw for my usual kink stuff but also for angst and disordered eating behaviours)

some kinda modern AU where stede knows where to find ed after their weird breakup which was mostly stede running away but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have mary to boost his confidence because the divorce was a good few years ago and he felt no need to run back to her or his children because he’d settled that matter in the past. but there was nobody there to make him more sure of his love, or where he belonged. so he’s just been stewing in his guilt and self-loathing and feelings of being horrible or bad or inadequate.

stede is just wildly stuffing food into his face in some self-hate-fuelled binge in the maccas parking lot, yeah

he’s crying and the whole exercise is some self-punishing attempt to trap himself in feeling disgusted by himself while feeling justified in all his negative feelings towards himself

that and he wants his stomach to hurt so bad he can’t feel anything else

and it does. it really hurts. and he finds himself so utterly disgusting he almost wants to die a little bit

but uh

ed’s walking down the street. and he sees stede’s car. and he sees stede in it, crying. he’s seen stede eat because he’s happy, sooo full and enjoying himself and loving it.

he’s never seen this though.

it’s captivating in some awful way, it makes his heart feel like it’s falling out of his chest. he’s terrified of how fucking miserable stede looks. god. stede shouldn’t look like that when he’s eating. even if it’s crappy fast food.

when he saw stede his instinct was to be consumed by fuckin anger. stede left, stede did that to him, stede ripped his heart out and stomped on it and he didn’t even care except. well. that’s wrong. something else is going on. he almost feels angry stede has the audacity to feel so sad when he did the same to ed, callously and randomly.

but it’s just so heartbreaking to watch stede cry in his car and shove food into his mouth like it’s going to save him

smack himself in the head and slump forward shaking and then gasp and keep crying and eating. ed kinda just... walks up to the car and he barely notices he’s done it until he’s standing there

stede sees ed out the window and he freaks out and he tries to start the car and he tries to hide his face and he tries to hide his tummy

he's chubbier since ed saw him last.

ed puts a hand up to the window and stede hasn’t locked the door so he just opens it. stede stops trying to scramble away from the door and freezes and stares at ed with food and grease on his face and wide eyes full of tears and red from crying.

stede says he’s sorry

he repeats it over and over again and starts to loose the rhythm of the words as his breath gets faster and faster

like some panicked stim that’s not really succeeding to calm him

ed should be angry really. ed should be so fucking mad that stede didn’t find ed and just tell him that

that he needed to be confronted to say it and all the time he’s been feeling sorry for himself like some idiot

but it’s just so… so….

ed can’t take the look on stede’s face. it hurts

stede is too panicked to refuse and still breathing the words when ed takes his hand and pulls him up and out of the car. though the fullness makes him grunt a bit when he needs to stand, and one of his hands finds his belly because it hurts so much

and ed opens the back and gently pushes stede down lying across the back seats

and climbs in after him and closes the door

“shh, ‘s okay. fucking hell, mate, calm down.” ed’s voice breaks in sympathy with the next word, “please. fuck, you’re scaring me over here.”

but stede just pathetically wails another more impassioned “i’m sorry”

ed puts a hand over stede’s mouth and goes “shut up, stede” with just a little tiny bit of the frustration that has mostly been taken out of him by how much he hates seeing stede so upset. it might make stede’s face crumple more but it gets him quiet for a moment ed’s gaze trails down from stede’s face, soft jawline softer than he remembered. pink cheeks, still covered in crumbs and fast food grease. collared shirt. always impeccably dressed, even for a breakdown in his own car, huh. elbows. propping him up a little. fingers as covered in grease and residue as his face.

fabric puckering around each button

drips of sauce down his shirt. it’s a shame, but it doesn’t matter, does it?

he’s softer

but he also looks supremely bloated with fullness

top part of his belly is bulging with food, honestly. and ed puts his hands on it. it’s so firm. stede burps quietly, and he shakes and he whimpers and he’s looking at ed with the wild terrified eyes of an injured animal

and

“fuck, stede” ed breathes. “what’ve you done to yourself?” it sounds hurt. it sounds close to tears. stede might feel absolutely terrified. ed hates him, thinks he’s disgusting, is horrified by stede’s greed and how disgusting he is. really, the only thing ed’s horrified about is that stede’s hurt himself

but ed just sorta,, leans down. gets close to it

starts rubbing gentle circles on stede’s belly and giving it soft kisses. untucks his shirt. stede’s belt is already unbuckled, the button on his slacks is already undone, ed just pulls the zip down to give him extra room.

“shh, shh, shh. it’s okay. fuck— you’re okay, stede”

stede’s shaking his head and he apologises again

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry”

“don’t be. please.”

and just

“why don’t you hate me?” stede says and it’s desperate and it’s like he’s begging ed to hate him

and ed really doesn’t have an answer. “why would i hate you?”

stede starts crying again

ed puts his hand on stede’s mouth again and kisses stede’s belly and says “you’re absolutely beautiful. i wish it wasn’t hurting.”

stede’s so stunned ed’s said something so nice he laughs

“it does hurt quite a bit”

“how much have you got in here?”

stede’s list is pretty long

he’s been to a whole bunch of places through a whole bunch of drive-throughs

at some point he trails off

he’s looking at ed like he expects to be chastised

ed calls him a lunatic and kisses him on the mouth

and tells him that next time, he shouldn’t cry about it. and he should get nicer food. it can be like the meals they used to have together

and stede can enjoy eating too much

and it will be nice

[gayspock]

hhhhhhhhgh

i jsut feel like shit and so overwhelmed with work and overwhlemed with everythingand just like god fuck my fuckign life because again idont know what the fucking point is i dont want to fucking do it i dont wantto be here what am i gettingout of anyhting with being fucing alive SORRYit wouldbe onefucking thing if there WAS ANYTHING ^_^ ATALL^_^ TO LIVEFOR^_^ SORRYYYYi go to work i fucking pray for it to be over im not at worki pray to be back at work so im not alone spiralling nothingever gets done i cant ufcking bring nmyself to manage anything its all fucking pilijngup im meant to fucking sodlierthrough it thats the love you get jsut fuckign keepgoing for no fuckingreason i cantufcking survive i cantfuckking stay afloat i dontknow somehting somehting itstheclassic i fucking hate evry fucking cunt whos fucking toldme to shut up andufkcing lvie with it it'll getbetter you cant be that bad you cant be that alone youcnat be this that ans i dont know i feel like im crazy like im so much fucking more of a failure so much morefucking alone so mcuh fucking worse off imgoing nuts i dot know a tleaast when i was miserable and isolated wheni was younger i could delude myself it coudl getbetter maybe theyreright. DUDE it never will dude please end it please fucking end it, everyone leaves, everything youre scared of isnt only true but its so much fucking worse than you'd ever fucking hope. for youre nevergoing to be a part of anytihing, every time youre scared no one likesyou youre right, everytime you feel inadequate youre RIGHT , youre as bad at everything as you think you are youre as annoying as you think you are they dont care about you as you know theydont stop fucking trying stop praying thatsomehow its going to changeplease likem please like me please make this work out BULLSHIT HO MY GODDD YOURE NOT FUCKING CRAZY! THIS IS THE ONLY FUCKING THING THATS THE TRUTH! SO HELP ME GOD! SO HELP ME GOD! I odnt care i dont careeeeeeeeeee i wanna fucking end it i dont want to do it any more why i dont fucking care what is there to fucking live for what is there to fucking go home to what is there towait for i fucking fell like every time i nearly findsomething im jsut left miserable and sad at the end and theres no love does anyone ever feelcrazy you have to fucking bear it i bear it every time theresnever anything on the other side no one cares i hate being so fucking childish but idont know itsnever fucking fair when eveyrone elsehas someone to talk to someone who looks out for them something togoback to tyou get the just fucking get on with it just fucking shut up im a joke to everyone i dothnk about that im never going to be more than a fucking thing to laugh at a thing to sneer at fucking... likebwahh fuck them they cant ufcking handle it they keep whining they keep breaking downover ntohin. i think about the little fucking pieces of methat exist outsidr this fucking miserable fucking shit existence ihave and how its nothing good if im ever evenin peoples heads . and its never going to even matter substantially why am i alive why am i doing this i fee l like theresstill some pathetic fucking needfor some fucking approval like it matter s like anyones going to ever see and t canhrut so fucking bad and its jsut going to be funny or annoying and its likei dont know why iusedto care i dont know why i used to try rso hard i wish i never did i wish i didntkeep getting invested intryingto be anyhting its jsut embarrassing im just humiliated END IT BROOOO IVE HAD LIKE 5 TEAMS MESSAGES IN THE BPAST 10 MINUTES I NEED TO UQIT I NEED TO GO DIE IN A FUCKING DITCH I HATE EVERYTHING I HATE EVERYTHUING I DO AND EVERY FUCKING SECOND AND IVE HATED IT FOR AS LONG AS I REMEMBER I AHATE LIVING IN THIS DESPERATEUFCKING HOEP THAT IT MIGHT BEFUCKING BEARABLEONE DAY WHEN EVEN THATIS SO SO FUCKING FAR FROM EVER HAPPENING WHEN EVEN THEN IN THAT INSANE FUCKING POSSIBILITY IM STILL FUCKING ALONE IM STILL FUCKING USELESS IM STILL SO FUCKING SAD DEEPDOWN INSDIE I CANT UFCKING HANDLE ANYTHING BUT AT LEAST IM QIUIET I FUCKING GUESSS HELP ME ^_^ LOL

[luminnara]

Omega Depression || Alpha!Kiribaku x Omega!fem!reader

Hi! Can I request an alpha!Kiribaku x omega!fem!reader where she is strong on the outside, but sensitive on the inside. Then, some asshole alpha comes and insults her saying that she isn't worthy of having alphas and other super mean stuff that makes her go to omega depression. After that, she confines and isolates herself in her room, not allowing her alphas to enter. Days pass, she misses school for like a week, and her alphas are tired of waiting, so they bust the door and find their omega deep in omega depression and starving herself, and they're super worried and try to help her get out of it, cause she could die if not. The rest can be little angst with a fluffy happy ending!

Yo I live for alpha kiribaku, not gonna lie

Warnings: angst, mental health stuff, depression, eating disorder/starvation stuff, abo

Requests are open!

You were always happy with your alphas. Bakugou and Kirishima were the loves of your life, you were sure of it. The three of you got along well, and there was nothing you enjoyed more than spending time with your boys. You kept up with them easily, never having trouble when it came to handling Katsuki’s temper or Eijiro’s enthusiasm. They loved protecting you, too, not that you ever really seemed to need it; you were tough as nails, as far as everyone was concerned. 

You weren’t, though, not really. 

“What a useless little omega.”

The words kept repeating in your head, over and over.

“Two alphas? Yeah, right. You don’t even deserve one, not with an uppity attitude like that.”

They kept echoing, no matter what you tried to do. 

“What a stupid bitch. They should just leave your sorry ass. You aren’t worthy of anyone, much less alphas.”

You curled in on yourself. You felt sick to your stomach. How could someone say that about you? How could a shitty alpha go and ruin your mood, and your day, by saying something so awful?

“I am worthy!” You had argued. “And we’re happy together, so just fuck off.”

“Oh yeah? Then why haven’t they claimed you yet?” His lips had pulled over his teeth in a sick grin. “You know they’re just biding their time, waiting for something better to come along. You’re nothing to them.”

The little spat had been earlier that morning. It was rare that you ever went out alone; usually Eijirou or Katsuki or both of them were stuck to you like glue, but this had been one of those instances when you had absolutely insisted you would be fine. After all, you were just running a couple errands. You weren’t even going very far from campus. What’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Well...this, apparently.

You had rejected the advances of an alpha who had been eyeing you for quite some time. He was annoying and his scent always made you recoil, but you would never, not in a million years, have thought that he could hurt you so deeply.

Why were his words even bothering you so much? You knew your boys liked you. They made sure to constantly cover you in their scents, they happily gave up their shirts for you to tuck into your little bed nest, they held your hands and gave you sweet little kisses...

And yet, he was right. They hadn’t claimed you yet. There were no big bite marks on your neck to show the world that you were taken. Why hadn’t it happened yet? You always thought that maybe they were just nervous, and they wanted to wait for the right time. Maybe they wanted to wait until school was over and they were better established as heroes.

Or maybe they were just playing with you, maybe you were nothing more than their favorite toy for the time being. What if they got tired of you? What if they really were planning on kicking you to the curb? Without a bond mark, nobody would even blink if they cast you aside. It would just be a normal break up, nothing for anybody else to even care about or get involved in.

But your heart was already aching at the thought of it.

You huddled up in your nest, ugly sobs wracking your body as you clutched one of Katsuki’s hoodies to your chest. An undershirt of Eijirou’s was nearby, a few plushies that they had given you tucked in amongst the blankets and pillows. The scents of burnt sugar and cinnamon wafted around you, and as comforting as they usually were, they weren’t helping you now. Nothing was.

You heard your phone vibrate, but you didn’t reach for it. You didn’t care. You were too wrapped up in your own thoughts, absolutely trapped in your head now. You were plagued by those same words as they kept repeating, telling you over and over that you were worthless, useless, nothing.

When you finally managed to glance at your phone, you had missed texts from both your alphas. You replied to them with a couple of half hearted “yeah, I’m fine” -s, then finally slithered out of bed to make sure your door was locked. You didn’t want to face them when they came to bother you.

If they came.

You spent the entire day like that. When you were out of tears to cry, you just grew numb. It was the worst you had ever felt, and while some part of you knew, deep down, that you needed your alphas to come help you, you couldn’t stand the idea of them seeing you like this. How had you managed to grow so afraid? You usually told them everything, but now...now you abhorred the thought.

“Oi!” Katsuki’s rough voice came from the other side of your door, his scent wafting in. “Open up!”

You didn’t answer, curling in on yourself even further instead. 

“Omega!” he called angrily. “Stop ignoring me, dammit!”

“Go away!” you managed to squeeze out, your voice sounding weak and strangled. 

He was silent for a moment, his scent changing. It grew more burnt-smelling as his anger mounted, and as it reached your nose, you felt panic and annoyance spiking in your chest. 

“Omega,” he growled, voice low. You heard the doorknob jiggling as he tried to get in, but you had locked the deadbolt, and unless he unleashed his quirk right there in the dorms, there was no way he was entering your room.

“I said go away!” you yelled. 

On the other side of the door, Katsuki was fuming. The beginning sparks of little explosions were popping around his hands, and if Eijirou wasn’t there to hold his arms down at his sides, there was a good chance he would have done some real damage to the hallway. 

“Katsuki, c’mon.” the larger alpha said. “Let’s just leave her alone for a little.”

“Something’s wrong,” Katsuki pulled back as his partner started trying to drag him away. “She stinks.”

“Yeah, she definitely doesn’t smell happy,” Kirishima paused, frowning. “But...we need to give her the space, if she wants it.”

“Fuck that,” his partner spat. 

“Katsuki....” Eijirou sighed. 

Bakugou’s nostrils flared angrily for a moment, red eyes wild as Kirishima grabbed his arm once again. Someone was trying to drag him away from his omega, from his perfect little mate, and if it had been anyone other than Eijirou, he would have done far worse than simply dig his heels into the floor and growl in protest. Kirishima was right, though; if their omega wanted alone time, they couldn’t just barge in without permission. As much as it hurt both boys, as desperate as they were to get to you and make you feel better, they weren’t total animals. They respected you, and prided themselves on being two big, capable alphas who listened to their omega. 

They returned to their own rooms, expecting to at least hear from you within an hour or two. 

Hours turned to days. 

You texted them a few times, listless, half-assed messages that did little to reassure them. You would send a pathetic I’m fine or a It’s okay here and there, only after they had both blown your phone up for a few hours. It was the only reason they hadn’t tried to tear your door off its hinges; they knew you were alive, at least. But by the third day, Katsuki was beside himself, and even Eijirou was getting upset enough to consider using his quirk to get to you. 

You wished that he would. You didn’t want to face them, but at the same time, the fact that they weren’t tearing the building apart to reach you was making you even sadder. Your sad scent was starting to leech out into the rest of the dorms, and by the end of the fifth day, nobody could stop your alphas. 

“Oy!” Bakugou snarled, his fist thudding against your door. “Open up, omega!”

You didn’t answer, too weak and listless to bother. 

“Babe?” Kirishima asked, his voice strained with the effort of not yelling in panic. 

“We know you’re in there,” Katsuki growled. “Quit avoiding us!”

Still, you didn’t answer. 

Then, you could hear some shuffling, and the door was being torn off its hinges by Kirishima. Bakugou stormed in as soon as the path was clear, his red eyes blazing with anger, his hands balled into fists.

“You’d better show your face right fuckin’ now, or I swear I—“

He fell silent at the sight of you. His eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. Your scent was so strong and so incredibly miserable that a wave of nausea passed through him. He hadn’t expected that it would be so pungent in your room, and as he covered his mouth and nose with his hand, he rushed towards you.

“Baby,” he cooed, vaguely aware of Kirishima behind him, “what the fuck is going on?”

You tried to bury yourself in your nest, trying to burrow away from the world, but a big hand caught you around the middle and pulled you back out. Eijirou manhandled you easily, his eyes wide with concern as he sat on the floor and placed you in his lap.

“You haven’t been eating,” he observed, looking at your tired eyes. “Or sleeping.”

Katsuki was beside himself with worry. He was immediately sitting in front of his boyfriend, caging you in between them as he began looking you over. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

You didn’t want to tell them. Your throat was sore from crying, and you felt stupid for being so upset. So, you did the only logical thing you could think of and buried your face in Kirishima’s broad chest, clinging to his shirt weakly.

“Omega, please,” the big redhead pleaded, leaning his head down to scent you. “Tell us.”

You shook your head.

“We know Somethin’ is wrong, so spit it out!” Katsuki barked.

His voice was harsh, but you felt a warm, gentle hand on your back that could only be his. The familiar touch made you sigh, and after a shuddery breath, the dam finally broke.

“Th-there was an alpha,” you whimpered, voice muffled by Kirishima.

“What the fuck did they do?” Katsuki growled, his voice deep and savage. It sent a chill down your spine and you whined, clinging to Eijirou for dear life.

“Cut it out,” Kirishima snapped, snorting at his boyfriend angrily. “You’re making it worse.”

“I just wanna know what happened!” He grumbled, his hand pressing into your back.

You hiccuped as a little sob wracked your body. “A-an alpha I rejected, h-he told me…he told me that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

The low rumble in Kirishima’s chest was like nothing you had ever felt before. It was threatening and powerful, putting Bakugou’s growl a moment ago to shame. His arms tightened around you, the scent gland on his neck slipping over your hair as he tried to cover up your unhappy omega stink.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Kirishima snarled, uncharacteristically angry.

“Hey.” Bakugou slipped a hand around your waist, prying you away from the other alpha slightly. “Look at me.”

You faced him with teary eyes, and when you tried to shy away, he took your chin in his fingers. 

“We fuckin’ love you. Okay? I don’t say it much. Maybe I should say it more. But it’s true, ‘n no stupid, two-bit, shitty-ass alpha knows anything about the three of us.”

He leaned forward, pushing you back up against Kirishima with his head resting on your shoulder. You finally sighed, surrounded by the scents of your alphas, allowing yourself to relax as the dam broke and your crying started all over again. This time, though, it was freeing, and as your alphas rocked back and forth with you, you felt the dread and the anxiety slowly leaving your stomach. 

“Better?” Eijirou asked after a while. 

“A little.” you said, voice muffled by his tear-stained shirt. 

“Good.” Katsuki said gruffly, pulling you up to stand. “Let’s go get some food in you. Point that shitbag out if you see him...I wanna have a few words.”

[meirathinks]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

Part VII. gone, gone, gone!

suguru geto x reader (fake marriage au)

Suguru’s gone. Right?

warnings: naobito is a fundamentally bad dad, Satoru being a womanizer, unsafe driving practices. I beg you guys, do not drive like Sukuna and Haibara. Please😭 Everyone in this story needs to learn that emotional intimacy is okay tbh.

Thank you all for sticking by me! This is the last chapter and I am so, so, so, grateful to everyone who has read it. As always, stay safe!! 

Series Masterlist |  Part VI.

Suguru imagined that tonight he’ll sigh a breath of relief as he lay in his bedroom while wallowing in the cruelty of his New York penthouse for the final time— before he takes the flight to his hometown.

He’ll feel himself sink into the pillows, and relish the distinct familiarity, the comfort. And— while he closes his eyes, and finally falls into the slumber that awaits him, he’ll imagine flies buzzing around his head.

Because, to be without a job, in Suguru’s opinion, was to be dead. 

In spirit, Suguru was already dead. 

(What would Suguru be without work?)

(Certainly not a leader.)

It proves difficult to look as unbothered as possible— especially when sitting in the passenger seat of a vehicle Sukuna is driving. 

The pink-haired man drives over an unidentified object, in turn, Suguru (who refused to wear his seatbelt out of spite) feels himself lift off from the seat and his head collide with the roof of the car.

Sukuna chuckles as Suguru rubs his head, “My bad.”

(Sukuna does not feel bad.)

Suguru hums— it comes out as a groan. Sukuna changes the subject, “Why do you look so miserable, just get a new job.”

“It’s not that easy you know.”

Sukuna turns to Suguru, disregarding the fact that both of their lives rely on Sukuna’s ability to see the road, “No— I don’t think it’s the job that’s got you like that.”

Suguru reaches up for the grab handle— his eyes darting from Sukuna to the street. Sukuna grins, still looking at Suguru. 

Suguru laughs nervously, gripping the novel that sat in his lap, with his other hand. “Eyes on the road—” They run over a pothole, Suguru jolts up for the second time that day, “—Please.”

Sukuna pouts doing his best to imitate a lost puppy, “Aww, I think I’ve figured it out— is the pretty boy sad that he left his defenceless assistant behind?”

Geto’s eyes sharpen with a scoff, Sukuna continues— he’s adamant about not looking at the road. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Suguru clenches his jaw, while Sukuna speaks between laughs, “I can respect blackmail— but wow, I never thought that you of all people to feel bad about it.”

Much to Suguru’s dismay Sukuna refuses to stop— his words ring throughout the car, more similar to a conversation with himself than one between two people, “It’s funny, it really is— you and your weird, fucked up, pseudo-relationship.”

Several beats pass, The pink-haired man glances quickly at the road before stepping on the gas for the second time. The car goes infinitely faster.

(Suguru is convinced that he is going to die before he gets to the airport.)

Suguru swallows nervously while Sukuna raises his voice to speak— a wide smile on his face, “It’s not like it was real—” Suguru’s brows furrow at this, Sukuna turns his head to see Suguru’s face.

His hair was neatly tied back— no flyaways as usual. Back in his usual business casual attire, he knows exactly what he should be feeling 

There is an apparition that should be haunting Suguru. It should be pleasurable, comforting, relaxing. It should nestle in between the tendons of his fingers and refuse to leave him— a permanent, tranquillizing power.

He leans back into the headrest of Sukuna’s car; closing his eyes, ignoring the fact that Sukuna is berating him, and that he’s driving at twice the legal speed. 

Yes— Suguru knows exactly what he should be feeling; relief. 

(But it’s become apparent with the slow, sickly beat of his heart in his temples that, relief is far from what he’s feeling.)

(Still— he’s adamant.)

(I did the right thing.)

Sukuna is, regrettably, still talking, he leans in and scoffs, “Jesus Christ— it's all over your face— you’re practically in love.”

Suguru turns to Sukuna— locking eyes with him (which is significantly more concerning when considering the fact that Sukuna is speeding through a school zone.)

It’s Suguru’s turn to scoff, “I’m sorry— what do you know about love?”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raise with his retort. “Jack shit,” Sukuna foot slams on the brake, stopping before he passes a stop sign, refusing to take his eyes off of Suguru, relishing the way he was launched forward towards the windshield. 

Suguru swears quietly as he settles back into his seat while Sukuna continues, “But, judging from the state you’re in now, I don’t think I want to know about whatever the hell love is.”

There are several beats of silence while the car begins to move— Suguru begrudgingly puts on his seatbelt after making sure his novel remained in his lap. Sukuna cleared his throat, staring straight ahead albeit, while speeding.

Suguru holds back a groan as Sukuna turns his head in his direction for what felt like the fifth time, Sukuna looks down at his lap, snickering, “The Little Prince? Real manly.”

Suguru turns to him, annoyed more than anything, “Your hair is pink.”

Sukuna grumbles something unintelligible.

“Are you stupid or insane?” 

You stare up at Haibara, who is still clad in his suit, although his bowtie is undone, the strip of fabric hung loosely along his collar, A lazy smile plastered on his face. Nanami scoffed from across the where you sat at one of the (now abandoned) venue’s tables.

You’re are hyperaware that the guests (who have now exited the venue to gossip on the front lawn) can see you sitting dumbly and staring at your hands. As of now, everyone thinks that Nanami is ‘talking some sense into you.’ Without your wedding dress on it’s glaringly obvious to them that you haven’t changed. 

(Still chasing your own tail.)

(But you have changed! Everything is different! You’ve made it!)

“Come on—” Haibara’s voice is hushed, albeit whiny, “You did say you wanted to talk to him.”

Haibara dangles the keys to a familiar BMW in front of your face.

In Alaska, stealing property valued at more than 25,000 dollars constitutes theft in the first degree. If the court convicts an offender of theft in the first degree they can receive a maximum sentence of 10 years in prison and a fine of up to 100,000 dollars.

Of course, there was no way you would have known that, but— despite your lack of knowledge in the vast realm that is Alaskan law, you knew that it is never a good idea to steal a car.

Let alone your uncle’s car. 

Nanami lets out a dry laugh. “Haibara— How’d you even get Naobito’s keys?”

Haibara turns to Nanami, “That,” He pauses for dramatic effect, “ is none of your business.”

(He told Naobito he was the valet.)

(When Naobito questioned him, Haibara said the only way he was going to wear a suit was for Toji to pay him.)

(He pretended not to be offended by how easily Naobito believed him.)

“Okay…” You breathe, “Say that Naobito finds out and we’re taken to court. What then?”

Haibara gives a dutiful smile, “Good thing we have Nanami.”

An exasperated sigh comes from Nanami’s direction— across from your spot on the table, “For the last time, I’m an accountant, not a lawyer.”

Yu furrows his brows and takes the seat to the right of you— in between you and Nanami. He lets out a confused hum.

Several seconds of silence pass— the resignation had begun to settle, you felt it in your chest. 

(He never wanted to see you again. Why wouldn’t you relent?)

Haibara turns to you, “Are you sure you like this guy?”

Your eyes widen, “Well— I mean— it’s a little complicated.”

He cuts you off with a snort, “I think I’ve got a better idea.”

Nanami turns to Haibara impatiently, “So you’re gonna give the keys back.”

“No— we’re still gonna take the car…” You and Nanami wince at the other man’s words, Haibara continues, “But— Naobito won’t sue us if we take Naoya.”

(Nanami swears that, Haibara’s statement has no semblance of sound logic)

Somehow, that makes you feel worse. Still— you’d gotten everything you had wanted, it’s not like you had anything to lose. 

(Subtly, you missed the incessant chanting; the voice reminding you of your place.)

(For once, in the monotony of your adult life— being a failure hadn’t felt as awful as it should have.)

(No— somehow being a failure wasn’t so bad when Suguru was there to lament alongside you.)

(It’s a terrifying thought.)

“We’ll head to the airport, catch Suguru before he gets on the plane, watch him confess his love and be back before your parents really start to hate him. Easy.”

Haibara is oddly nonchalant about the entire thing.

(Though, the thought of Suguru averting his eyes, with pink dusting his cheeks was a comforting one.)

“Alright. Where’s Naoya?”

Nanami furrows his brows. Whilst you move to find your cousin.

Naoya is smart.

At least, that’s what he’d tell his friends back in high school— after finding out he’d aced the most recent biology test.

He’d acted nonchalantly, he’d scoff and say something reminiscent of a narcissist while leaning back in his chair, his hands resting behind his head as if he hadn’t felt relief wash over him. 

I wouldn’t expect any less.

Of course, there’s a lingering feeling that electrified his nerves— he’d felt every contraction of his heart when he studied (From the hours of 4 pm, when he got back from school, to 10 pm, when he’d sleep.) 

He’d sit hunched over the quaint desk in his room— it would be dark without the yellow light of the lamp that sat in the corner— clenching and unclenching his fists, staring down at a thirty-page note package. Trying to remember; trying to learn.

 (He had brought home a quiz months prior, he'd gotten three questions wrong— an 88%)

(When Naobito had found the quiz crumpled up pathetically in the garbage he had let out a sharp Hah! as he called Naoya)

(Between scoffs Naobito waved the quiz in sixteen-year-old Naoya’s face, the creases in the paper revealing how desperate Naoya was as he crushed it into a ball.)

(Naobito’s punishing voice cut through the room, Aren’t you supposed to be a prodigy?)

All he needed to do was figure out what was happening in class— then he’d be everything he’d ever wanted to be.

But, he’d still feel his heart, he’d feel it beat and beat and beat and—

Systole is the contraction phase of the cardiac cycle. First, the Atria contract, followed by the Ventricles— the human heart is called a ‘double pump’ for this reason.

He had kept staring down at his notes, feeling a seizing in his chest— still, he had to study.

Diastole is the relaxation phase, the chambers of the heart are still as the atria fill with blood. 

Naoya had shut his eyes he doesn’t remember when, but he refuses to acknowledge what he’s feeling.

He doesn’t want to know if he’s crying or not— prodigies don’t cry. 

This is good! Tears and heart rate are controlled by the same part of the brain. 

Right?

Right?

Right?

Naoya had opened his eyes to look at his notes.

Wrong!

He had sighed, sniffling slightly. He would be okay— so long as he worked he would be smart.

Naoya Zenin was not a prodigy— nothing came easy to him. He couldn’t understand lengthy passages written in the 18th century like you could, he wasn’t able to diagnose chronic illness in animals like Megumi. 

He couldn’t handle dozens of facts and figures like Nanami.

He wasn’t able to take someone twice his size in a fight but his cousin— Maki, could.

He didn’t know his way around the bass guitar in the way Haibara did.

And he’d never be able to hold himself with the same charm as Suguru.

But that didn’t matter.

Because— if he spent enough time practicing, honing his abilities, he’d be able to do something. If he pretended that he was smart, Naoya could be smart. 

Naoya Zenin could be smart. 

Of course, this sentiment becomes particularly difficult to believe when considering the fact that he naively (and rather stupidly) believed that Naobito lent you his car keys to go on a drive to ‘clear your head.’

(In all honesty, suspicion should have been raised when you asked him to join you, Haibara and Nanami.)

(But, you’ve come to understand through Suguru, that ego seriously impedes rational thinking.)

Naoya’s hands grip the wheel— he’s always cautious when it comes to his father’s belongings, his foot barely touches the gas, the car is moving at a snail's pace.

You fidget anxiously in the passenger seat while Haibara and Nanami whisper amongst themselves in the back of the BMW.

Naoya clears his throat, “So…” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping his eyes hyper-focused on the cobblestone of the road, “You were fakin—”

You cut him off, matching his action— staring straight ahead, “We are not talking about this.”

(The same voice that had accused you of failing made itself known in your skull)

(He’s right— it wasn’t real.)

(You insisted that you were the victim of some sick joke; he couldn’t of meant it)

(Dutifully you ignored the thought.)

(What are you doing?)

Naoya hums through the silence, “I’m just saying that I was right and—”

“Naoya.”

He takes the edge in your voice as a reason to stop mid-sentence. Naoya changes the subject, “Um— where are we headed?”

Haibara pays no attention to Naoya’s question, “Can you go any slower?”

Naoya pouts at Haibara’s blatant disregard for anything he had to say, “Sorry Haibara— but traffic safety is incredibly important in this day—”

Haibara lets out a dramatic, irritated sigh, you snort while Nanami stifles a laugh.

“Naoya.” Yu calls

Naoya sounds irritated, his vice grip on the wheel remains. “Yes?”

“Pull over.”

Your cousin swallows, “Why?”

“I wanna drive.”

Nanami buts in, “No you don’t.”

“Yes,” Yu insists, “I do.”

Naoya snorts, you continue to fidget in your seat.

(Suguru was going to leave you.)

(He was gone, gone, gone—)

You turn, “He’s right— pull over.” 

You try to sound as nonchalant as possible, emulating Haibara.

Naoya turns to you, cocking his head, you try to save face, “Look Naoya— I know that we haven’t always got along but—”

Haibara’s laughter floats throughout the car, Nanami kicks his leg, you continue despite it, “—But,“ You pause swallowing hesitantly.

(Hatred is not a word that you’d use sparingly— it holds weight.)

(On a completely unrelated note, you’ve told Naoya you hate him on several occasions, the most recent being when your family bid you goodbye at the airport before leaving for New York, after Naoya had called you a bitch.)

(You had looked at him eyes gleaming under the fluorescent lights, I hate you, Naoya, I really do.)

Now, as you find yourself staring into the mocking eyes of your cousin, you notice that lying may not be as awful as your parents had said it was, “Family is still family, Naoya— trust me.”

He stares past you for a moment, before taking one last look at you.

You avoid his eyes, electing to stare at the cupholders on the console. 

(You are painfully aware that he could see through you. Still— he thinks that you’ve had a bad day.)

Naoya relents— pulling the car over. 

He sighs as the car comes to the stop, slowly peeling his fingers from the steering wheel. Haibara practically jumps out of his seat— slamming the door as he leaves and knocking on the driver’s window. 

Naoya begrudgingly undoes his seat belt and opens the door— Haibara and your cousin awkwardly shuffle past each other, Naoya slides into the backseat, beside Nanami. Haibara makes himself comfortable in the driver's seat, shakily exhaling. 

Two conversations occur in Naobito’s BMW shortly after:

You turn to Haibara with your eyebrows quirked— your voice significantly relaxed than it had been when Naoya was beside you. 

“I didn’t know you got your license? Last time I was here you failed the road test.”

Haibara lets out a nervous laugh, “Oh… haha.”

Your face drops while Haibara confesses, “Yeah… I never got my license.”

“Oh…”

(Haibara used as much willpower as he could muster to stop himself from commenting on your hypocrisy.)

(What do you know about the law? Didn’t you try to commit marriage fraud and fail?)

“But don’t worry— it’s an anti-establishment thing, you know— like— I’m trying to make a point.”

You furrow your brows. “But you can drive, right?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” Haibara flashes you a contrived smile— through the thick silence of the car you can hear him grumble something similar to, we’re lucky we have someone who can drive like me!

You let out a dazed noise while turning to look straight ahead, out the windshield (you say your prayers at the same time.)

(But, for the sake of your friendship, you won’t tell Haibara that you’re unconvinced.)

(Instead, you decide to panic silently, to wallow in the dread completely on your own. Nanami was probably aware of the circumstances and Naoya would go into cardiac arrest if he knew of the current situation.)

(You could see him clutching his chest, falling to his knees and calling out to you— Cousin! I’m sorry I ever doubted you! Enjoy your promotion— And a life full of luxury!)

(You sighed dreamily at the thought.)

Naoya turns to Nanami, acknowledging him, “Hello.”

Kento stifles a sigh, looking forward trying to see if Haibara knew the difference between the brake and gas peddles, “Hi Naoya.”

Naoya took his greeting as an invitation to speak (much to Nanami’s discretion), “So—”

Nanami lets out a sharp noise— he’s clearing his throat, though it’s obvious to you and Haibara that it’s his silent plea for help.

But— The two of you are too busy to intervene— Haibara with figuring out how to steer and you with your self-indulgent fantasy. 

Naoya continues, “It must’ve been awkward seeing your ex get married.”

Nanami doesn’t bother turning to him, opting to lean to the side, towards the car’s window. He rests his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand.

“No. Not really.”

Haibara steps on the gas— hoping to arrive at the airport in record time.

By the time Haibara parks in the parking lot adjacent to the airport (which happens to be a slightly larger parking lot), you notice the ridiculousness of your actions.

(And, Naoya notices that he has been tricked, scammed, used.)

You’ve struggled and demeaned yourself. You felt the punishing stare of the people in this town and you’ve grown familiar with the cruelness of New York. 

You sat in front of a computer after long shifts, just to get your manuscript done. 

And it paid off.

(Soon, you’ll make your own decisions, you’ll have your own assistant, your own book— your own office.)

You swallow, open the car door and walk a few steps— noticing a familiar plane coasting through the runway.

Suguru’s plane was taking off.

Oh

You didn’t bother to run after it or shout profanities. Though, the idea of shaking your fist at the sky was appealing, you were impassive. 

(You would probably move into Suguru’s office)

(And you’re hyperaware of the fact that in some, sick, deplorable way you’ll miss his annoyed sigh.)

(And the way a room fell silent when he walked in.)

(The way he would lean into you— the way his breath ticked your face in Haibara’s record store. You wanted to believe that he would have kissed you.)

Suguru was an apparition, his presence, or lack thereof, was smothering. You’d feel him when moving your things into his office and pine for one more disappointed look.

You’d find a document with his sprawling signature, or stare up at the roof in the penthouse you were surely going to purchase and feel him.

Suguru would haunt and haunt and haunt. He’d be the nuisance that sullied your thoughts, the spot on your psyche.

(You couldn’t stop yourself from recalling the scratchiness of the voice in the mornings, or the way his brows furrowed when he read.)

Maybe, one kiss could have satisfied you— but he’s left you begging for him. Running like a horse chases a carrot on a stick; like a dog chasing its own tail.

His absence is a spectre that hung in your bones, you would move into your office with tall windows and a view, and you’d receive your first big paycheck while being haunted. 

And this spectre would follow you, clinging to the unsaid words and your own voraciousness.

(There were still so many things you needed to say— but, it became apparent with the plane taking off, he was gone.)

(Suguru was gone, gone, gone.)

(And you had to grapple with the perversity of your success, its bitter nature and the apparition that followed you; this spectre ate at you.)

You laughed, looking up to see a plane take flight. The plane rose up, making you feel increasingly small. There’s something mocking about this. Feeling little in New York is okay— because everyone is small; everyone needed to deal with the fact that sprawling buildings would stare down at them in faux reverence. It didn’t matter if you were insignificant— millions of people were insignificant in that city.

Everyone had to grapple with their sharp footsteps dimming as the sound travelled through the cruelness of the sidewalks and eventually, the way the noise would fade into nothing. You had found solace in that. It was never just you. 

But, as you watch the plane rise, you could feel some sort of larger, wiser being, sitting upon its throne and pointing a knowing finger at you. It would jut its chin outward and laugh— and all of its little minions, who held their trumpets close to their chests, would laugh too. This affliction invaded your throat and picked at your veins. It longed to pulverize your bones into a fine dust. Until the wind could blow you away. Until you were nothing.

The plane stared back at you and only you, mockingly. It strived to make you small, irrelevant while everyone else continued on with their lives after laughing haughtily at your affliction. 

It was only you.

Though for a moment, it was you and Suguru. 

(And soon, you think there’ll be nothing left. Nothing would remain but the hollowness of your skeleton and the sunkenness of your eyes and the mundanity you were so familiar with, after all that’s what work does. You knew it all too well)

(But— wasn’t that what you were working so hard for?)

Nanami’s hand grasps your shoulder. You didn’t notice that your head had tilted up, watching the plane disappear in the sky.

(Gone, gone, gone.)

He clears his throat, his voice hushed, “I’m really sorry…”

You hum, it came out deflated, Nanami could hear the defeat, “It’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence before you continue, “Just—” you swallow, “Wait for me in the car, I think I’m gonna stay here for a little bit— you know, to clear my head.”

Nanami lifts his hand, accepting your silent request to be left alone. His dress shoes click mockingly against the pavement as he walks back to the car.

You lower your head and stare down at the concrete in a sigh.

For some reason, you knew you were going to be forced to lament while you live the life you’ve worked so hard for. You’d like to think that Suguru had wanted this. That he’s relishing the way he occupied every thought you had, every breath you took, every beat of your heart.

A pair of footsteps grow louder— they're less careful. 

You don’t bother to turn; you know who it is.

He stands beside you, making sure there’s a noticeable distance.

Naoya sighs, he makes sure you hear the irritation in his voice, “You tricked me.”

You match his irritated manner, “I was hoping Nanami wouldn’t let you talk to me.”

Naoya scoffs, “I said that if they tried to keep in the car I’d call my dad.”

You let out a dry laugh.

“So…” He continues, “He’s gone, right?”

You dutifully ignore his question.

Your brows furrow, your face is warm— but you’d rather die the most brutal, painful death than cry in front of Naoya, “I got the promotion.”

Naoya’s face contorts, he turns and eyes you, “You sure?”

His brows quirk while you nod your head, “I’m sure.”

“Wow…” He trails off, “You don’t look very happy about that.”

Your voice would crack if you spoke, so you remained quiet. You closed your eyes to curb the tears.

Naoya watched as your throat bobbed. “Hey—” He sounds panicked, “Don’t cry.”

Your brows furrow, eyes still closed, “I’m not crying, Naoya.”

(As anticipated, your voice cracked. You sound distressed)

(Was it really just you?)

“You sure as hell, sound like you’re crying.” Naoya is equally distressed.

If you were outside of your body, gazing down at the both of you— you would surely let out a fit of giggles. It mirrored the time you spent together as children.

When you would make an 8-year-old Naoya cry by calling him a tryhard (Your mother forced you to apologize to him. You had muttered the ‘im sorry’ quietly, from behind the safety of her figure.)

Or when Naoya made you cry in the seventh grade, when he said you would grow up to be useless if you didn’t study. (It only took a pointed stare from Naobito for him to apologize.)

(You had looked up at him through teary eyes and mumbled, Do you really think I’m useless.)

(He had guiltily rubbed his neck, No— No one with Zenin blood is useless.)

 Naoya lets out what sounds to be a contrived laugh, masking his panic, “Did you seriously like him?”

(Him— Suguru— the one who will continue to haunt you, who’d shake your presence and taunt, and mock and demean, and kiss you as softly as ever.)

“Maybe— yes,” There’s a pause, “I don’t know.”

You breathe shakily.

(Don’t cry— please, don’t cry.)

Your eyes are shut tightly, screwed shut trying to curb any chance of tears.

Naoya’s voice is soft, he’s hesitant, not sure what to do with himself, “Open your eyes.”

You shut them tighter, shaking your head slightly feeling the tears threatening to spill, Naoya keeps talking, noticing your reaction, His words are rushed abrupt his voice gets infinitely higher, “I’m sorry— okay, I’m sorry— why didn’t you tell me you liked him?”

You whimper, “I did— we did, remember with Sukuna?”

(Was that even real?)

Naoya winces, “Oh…” He sits with himself for a moment, “Well— I’m still sorry, moreso— even.”

You sit with yourself quietly, eyes still closed— wishing you were somewhere else.

Wishing that you’d be struck by a bolt of lightning, or a flash flood would sweep you away, consuming everything in its path. Any form of divine intervention— anything that would lift your soul up, up, up.

In spirit, you were somewhere else.

Naoya calls your name, pleadingly.

(somewhere else, somewhere else—)

“Hey— look— I don't—” His voice gets infinitely quieter as you open your eyes. 

He avoids looking at you, contradicting his previous pleading.

Your stare pointedly at him, making sure he sees the tears collecting on your lashes. “What? Your voice is bitter; sharp.

It makes him wince.

You watch his throat bob, as he swallows his apprehension, “I don’t want you to hate me.”

You hum mockingly, he read your thoughts: It’s a little too late for that.

(Naoya was not a prodigy. He wasn’t in tune with anything— nor did he have any sort of talent. More importantly, Naoya was never empathetic.)

(But, if he worked and worked and worked, he could be anything; if he pretended to be kind he could be kind.)

He sighs, stuffing his hand into his front pocket, before smiling widely when he pulls out his wallet. 

Tears fall down your cheeks while you watch him.

He digs through his wallet and pulls out three one hundred dollar bills. You stare at him.

He stares back, “Take the next plane to New York, catch him before he gets deported and tell him that you're madly in love.”

The sarcasm is not lost on you.

You purse your lips into a smile gazing into his pleading eyes. You exhale, hoping that he notices that you meant for it to be a laugh. He thrusts the money into your chest.

(This is his apology— you can see it when your stare up at his face, his brows pressed together in apprehension. You wished you could hide behind your mother; your father, someone wiser.)

You look down at where his hand grips the bills, you breathe, “I don’t want to hate you either.”

He smiles softly, it falters when you don’t move to take his money, “But,” You start, “I can’t take your money.”

His smile drops completely, “Huh?”

“Look— I’m so grateful but, I did this to myself, right? I can fix this on my own.”

“No, you won’t.” Naoya sighs, “Why are you so stubborn— you know that he’s going to be deported, right?”

You raise your eyebrows and let out a noise reminiscent of faux surprise. And who’s fault is that?

Naoya laughs nervously, “Look— you don’t have to get through every situation alone, you finally got your dream job. You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t know…”

Your lashes are clumped together, a reminder of the few tears you shed.

(Naoya’s stomach churns at the sight, If you’re upset then Toji is upset and if Toji’s upset then Naobito’s upset and if Naobito’s upset he’ll yell at Naoya, which will consequently make him feel like a failure.)

(And Naoya, like every other being that is sullied by the burden of conscious thought, does not like the feeling of being a failure.)

He grows impatient, “Just—” His jaw ticks, “Just let me be nice, just this once.”

You laughed. Naoya, who had tormented you throughout your childhood, Naoya who cursed you out while stepping onto the plane to New York; that Naoya was not nice.

You raise your eyebrows, ignoring the absurdity of Naoya’s behaviour, he breathes out slowly, “I know it’ll take you a while to forgive me. But— I don’t think I despise you as much as you think I do.”

You cock your head, daring him to keep going, “You can hate me all you want, I get it. But you said family’s still family right? So take my money, and stop looking so depressed.”

You laugh in his face, he scoffs in return, “And don’t act like this is some weird act of charity, you're paying me back the second you get your first paycheck.”

Hesitantly, you reach for the cash in his hands, you watch as his demeanour visibly relaxes.

For a few moments, you hold the bills under the scrutiny of your own gaze. Waiting for Naoya to bark in your face and yank the money from your arms.

Waiting for him to scoff: Did you really think I’d help someone like you?

You looked up to find him rolling his eyes impatiently, “Come on— you’ve gotta get home and pack your things— the next plane will be in…” He pauses taking a few moments to look at his phone, “An hour— you have one hour.”

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to move to walk back to the car. Instead, you let out a dry laugh.

“Thanks, Naoya, really.” You take quick steps in an attempt to keep up with Naoya’s large strides.

“Yeah, yeah— it was nothing.”

You hum sarcastically, Naoya lets out a sharp noise, as if he just remembered something, “Can you uh—” His voice is hushed, “Can you please not tell Toji that I made you cry.”

You laugh up at him while entering the passenger seat of the car, “That depends on how nice you are from now on.”

Naoya physically deflates while sliding into the backseat, beside Nanami. He supposes, if he worked and worked and worked, Naoya could be nice.

There is something distinctly awful about having to be in close quarters with Sukuna. Suguru knows that he should be feeling grateful that he’s no longer in a car being driven by him. But, the suffering he is feeling now is too distinct— sitting beside Sukuna anywhere, let alone a cramped economy class airplane is god awful.

No, it wasn’t the airplane at all— it was just Sukuna who had introduced a unique form of misery.

Currently, Suguru was sitting in between Sukuna who had the seat closest to the window, and a man in grease-stained sweatpants who was ingesting copious amounts of peanuts from the palms of his oily hands. 

Despite his surroundings, Suguru had found himself enthralled in the novel you had gifted him, trying to understand what your trying to tell him.

(The thought that reading this was some meaningless decision on your part tugs at every fibre of himself— it didn’t matter what your intention was. He was too busy trying to find the characters you were most like; who was who? Were you the Prince and Suguru the pilot? Or was it the other way around?)

(He grew giddy at the thought of talking about the ending together over tea; you would hide behind the cup while he teased you, you would roll your eyes but keep smiling.)

(Of course, that wouldn’t happen— not anymore.)

(Still, he thinks that every ridiculous line or allusion to mundanity would be one of your lazy jabs. You would tell them to him in between hushed whispers in the dead of night; he’d think of conversations you would have while you lay in the bed of your parents’ guest room.)

(That couldn’t happen either; not anymore.)

Sukuna yawns obnoxiously and the nameless man to his right continues to munch away, out of the corner of his eye Suguru can see him trying to subtly wipe the excess salt on his already stained sweatpants and discretely lick his fingers. 

Suguru tried to pay the both of them no mind.

Sukuna yawns a second, more contrived yawn while stretching his arm into Suguru’s personal space. The pink-haired man makes sure to elbow Suguru in the ribs while retracting his arm.

Geto closes the book he’s reading, turning to Sukuna. “What is your problem?”

Sukuna gives him a predatory smile, “My bad, I’m clumsy.”

Both of them know that Sukuna was not clumsy.

An annoyed sigh rocked the thin aisle of the cabin, Suguru opened his mouth to speak, completely irritated, “So— what happens once we’re back in New York?”

The other man snickers slightly, “Well, you have 24 hours to pack your things and leave the country and I get to tell everyone at work about the loser who tried to marry his assistant.”

Suguru’s eyes sharpen, “Can you—”

Suguru was about to tell Sukuna to stop talking— instead, he is quickly cut off by a stranger’s cough. The man sitting beside him appears to be choking on a peanut.

Sukuna looks at Suguru then at the stranger pointedly. Waiting for Suguru to do something.

The black-haired man turns to the stranger with too little urgency. “Excuse me, sir, are you alright?”

He’s met with a fit of wet coughs and a wave of dismissal, “I’m—” The man let out another fit of coughs, “fine.”

He clears his throat aggressively wiping his hands onto his sweatpants for the second time before (rudely) snapping to get a flight attendant’s attention. She walks over, sharply, both Sukuna and Suguru notice the irritation that’s made it’s way into her eyes.

The stranger clears his throat, “Can I have water?”

Suguru laughs in disbelief, “Hi there.”

She looks up at Suguru, waiting for him to demand something. Her eyes are sharp, and he can hear her tapping against the sticky carpet of the cabin.

He subtly pats his lap, making sure that his novel was still there. The corners of his vision darkened, he heard some child crying and Sukuna scoffing for presumably no reason, and the man beside him trying to discretely clear his throat. 

The flight attendant cocks her head, and Geto doesn’t know why he feels so scrutinized. He doesn’t know why he can feel his lungs expand and contract; his ribs moving in and out. 

This wasn’t supposed to follow him, he was supposed to leave you behind. He was supposed to curb the apocalypse and leave the trumpets, and the doomsday signs all with you. He was supposed to leave you to suffer in that god-awful town— Suguru didn’t care.

He didn’t care that he still can’t breathe, or his heart, which would slow and speed up and stutter, had been replaced by a swarm of cicadas. He didn’t care about you or the way he could see you moving into his apartment— making it feel lived in, and adding your quaint collection of novels to his own bookshelf so he could read your annotations sprawling across the margins. 

He feels himself breathe in; the air traveling through his trachea. He was supposed to leave you in that stupid town— where you would be overjoyed with being a published author or having a new and improved office job. Instead, he feels what could have been your phantom touches on a Sunday morning urging him to wake up.

   (He thinks it would be similar to waking up beside you in that tacky guest bedroom.)

The flight attendant taps her foot faster, her impatience became obvious.

(Not that Suguru noticed.)

He clears his throat, trying to make it look like he was carefully contemplating what he wanted from her.

He should be thinking about the vast assortments of beverages and nuts and types of hummus that can be offered.

Instead, he thinks of himself shouting curses into a pristine blue sky. He’d shake his fist and yell until his voice is raw and eventually gives out. Tears would brim his eyes and he would feel pathetic but he’d keep going. Finally, he would look up at the cloudless sky, teary-eyed, and whispers a question; he thinks it would sound more like a plea.

What more do you want for me? 

And nothingness would stare back at him, blankly. There wasn’t a cherub clutching its trumpet nodding triumphantly, or a smiling God nodding dutifully.

No— Suguru had waited patiently for the voice warning him of doomsday or apocalypse to come back and praise him. Or for a heavenly orchestra and a bright spotlight to descend from above to announce his saintliness. 

Instead, he is left alone to revel in his mundanity.

He wants to gaze up at the sky and ask What now? 

But the sky is empty.

There is a realization that grazes each plate of his spine; this feeling is completely his own.

(Guilt? Regret? Coveting? He’s not sure, but he knows it’s pathetic.)

(He feels pathetic.)

Suguru smiles up at the flight attendant, as if he’s made up his mind, “I’ll have a water too.”

Her face softened a bit, but the scrutiny never left him. This suffering is sacred in a way— it's only his, and so are his brazen fantasies. He is stuck between a pink-haired narcissist and a greasy-fingered stranger, and he is completely alone with his distinct, visceral sort of suffering.

The woman walks away, the clicking of her heals is dampened by the carpet of the cabin.

He could ignore this like he ignores everything else, besides, the novel was plenty of company. He could find solace with himself, the quaintness of the novel— and by extension, the thought of you and whatever happiness you were going to find.

He leans back into the chair, revelling in the discomfort of it all. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of suffering (the acrid scent of peanuts.)

Sukuna hums, completely ignoring the fact that Suguru looks to be asleep, “You know, I think in some weird, awful parallel universe, we would have been friends.”

Suguru’s eyes open, he doesn’t bother to turn to Sukuna, he’s exhausted “Why is it that I’m always on your mind?”

Sukuna snorts, “You flatter yourself, pretty boy.”

Suguru doesn’t bother to address the new nickname, everything that left Sukuna’s mouth was demeaning, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

The other man feigns ignorance, electing to examine his tattoos under the unflattering light of the cabin, “Do about what?”

“You know…” Suguru lets out a pointed sigh, “Me getting deported.”

Sukuna laughs— its gleeful, “You dug your own grave— I wouldn’t help you if I could.”

“You’re awful— do you know that?” Suguru chuckles at his own words— he doesn’t know why he’s bothering to make the fact known.

Sukuna leans into his seat, turning to Suguru, “Who doesn’t?”

The flight attendant comes back with two cups of water; she places them carefully on the trays infront of Suguru and the stranger. She walks away worldlessly before either of them could thank her.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the constant sound of chewing driving him insane but he could swear the hostility in Sukuna’s voice had died down. That they had forged an odd form of companionship founded on their negative public opinion. 

Suguru chooses to embrace what was probably delusion, “What’s up with your tattoos?”

To Sukuna’s surprise, Geto’s question isn’t malicious. He turns to Suguru, electing to watch him for a moment. His eye’s scan the way Suguru had sunken into his seat— the way he gazed up at the roof.

Suguru looks, utterly, defeated.

And Sukuna revels in it.

(He doesn’t think he could love anything as much as he loves his job.)

Sukuna laughs, “None of your business, loser.”

(Suguru sighs— it was definitely a delusion.)

The stranger laughs at Sukuna’s words, Geto eyes Sukuna, “I get payed three times the amount you do.”

“Oh yeah? With the job you just lost?”

Instead of retaliating, Suguru looks at the pristine cup of water that sat in the corner of his airplane tray. His wraps his hand around the cup, watching the condensation slip down the sides of the plastic and dampen his fingers.

He lifts the cup to his mouth and barely sips it. He sets it down on the bottom left corner of the tray table. Suguru’s hand hesitates on its way back to his lap.

(The end was no longer approaching, the trumpets where no longer sounding. Suguru was free, free, free.)

He almost sighs a breath of contrived relief ignoring the weight in his chest and the novel on his lap.

Suguru lifts his hand so it rests on the tray, beside the cup. A calm, charming smile overtakes his face, as he knocks his hand into the cup. Sweeping it into Sukuna’s pants and completely soaking his clothes.

He’s sure that Sukuna cursed him out but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sukuna slams the cup on his own tray, the rattle of the empty plastic reverberated limply.

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Suguru turns to him, his eyes are as sharp as ever; his smile is attractive, it was something he would show to his subordinates. “Must’ve been the turbulence.”

Suguru opens his novel. He supposes that while he reads it, he can pretend that it’s only the two of you. He’ll pretend that he did it to save the world. He’ll pretend that he did it for anyone but you.

The first thing Suguru does when he arrives in New York, is the first thing a number a number of people would do. He saunters into his penthouse, not bothering to turn the lights on. 

It only strikes him as appropriate to turn the lights on, when he drags his feet into his bathroom to brush his teeth.

He winces at the fluorescent lights, before yawning. 

There’s a buzzing coming from his back pocket— his phone. He fishes it out.

Incoming call from Satoru!

Dutifully, Suguru declines the call

But, like every other time, Satoru does not relent. Suguru receives a barrage of texts from his friend.

Satoru: Why’d you decline

Satoru: pick up your phone

Satoru: you alkways do this

Satoru: always**

Satoru: pick up your phone asshole

Satoru calls back, Suguru picks up. He figures that one more defeat won’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Geto’s not surprised to hear a woman’s voice in the background, “So…” Satoru’s voice gets higher in expectancy, “How’d it go?”

Suguru sighs, “Alaska was awful, and I’m getting deported.”

Satoru snorts, the unnamed woman mumbles a question that Suguru can’t decipher.

He thinks it’s something similar to: What are you laughing at baby?

Satoru ignores her, his voice is shaky— it’s obvious that he’s trying to hold back a laugh, “So you tried to marry your assistant and…” He lets out a shaky breath, “And failed?”

Suguru scoffs, “I walked out.”

Satoru lets out a contrived gasp, “You walked out on your wedding day? How awful!”

“You and I both know it was a fake wedding.”

“I’m just— I’m a little shocked that you’d let yourself get deported.”

“I felt bad.” Suguru tries to come to his own rescue to no avail— he continued to dig his own grave.

“Oh!” Satoru’s sentence is broken up by laughs, “So you’re letting yourself get deported because you felt bad? You. Of all people.”

“Please, for the love of god, shut up.”

Satoru is fully laughing now, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to visit.”

Suguru stays silent, Satoru takes this as an invitation to keep running his mouth, “I’ll make sure to bring your assistant too— or is she your girlfriend now?”

Suguru can see his jaw clenching in the mirror of his bathroom, “Hey Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Put me on speaker.”

“Why?”

“Remember that time I lied to the Dean for you?— trust me.”

(Whenever Suguru really wanted something, he’d bring up one of the many times Suguru had helped Satoru avoid the deserved consequences of his actions)

(Today— he chose the time he gave the Dean of their university a fake alibi. It was Gojo’s excuse for skipping a final exam)

(Somehow the Dean believed him and Satoru was exempt from the exam. He maintained his 4.0 GPA)

Satoru sighs, there’s a click, “Alright Suguru, you’re on speaker, but someone’s here with me so be nice.”

Suguru laughs, addressing the woman with Satoru, “Hi angel, are you Satoru’s friend?”

She stutters nervously, “I’m his girlfriend.”

He could practically see Satoru stiffen. He holds back a scoff

“Oh! That’s great!”

“Yeah…” She sighs dreamily, “He’s been amazing.”

He hums, deciding to cut to the chase, “Yeah— well, he’s cheating on you.”

Suguru hangs up with a click, smiling to himself and moving to grab his toothbrush.

You notice, while jogging down the cruel streets of New York, that your plan isn’t ill-conceived for the sole reason that you haven’t taken the time to make a plan.

You supposed that you could of formulated some painstakingly specific list of ways detailing what you were going to do once you got to New York, but you were too busy reading. A tiny voice in your head beckons that you should have spent more time sleeping on the plane.

(The Little Prince is about, boa snakes and hats and elephants and passion and adults and a number of other things you can’t bring yourself to talk about.)

After stumbling into your apartment and throwing your luggage hastily on the floor, you took too the streets— not knowing exactly how you were going to go about this situation.

Suguru was most definitely at work, probably relishing the way everyone avoided eye contact, and lowered their voices when he walked by. 

You couldn’t deny the fact that Suguru was still himself— he still laughed condescendingly and pouted mockingly. No one could dispute that he held himself like a leader.

But, as you’ve come to notice over the last three days, after seeing both yourself and Geto get repeated humiliated, his smiles are so much more alluring when their genuine. When push had come to shove, and the both of you were forced to shake the cruelness from your bones, you found the warmth of companionship. 

Your footsteps ring through the streets, mixing with those belonging to other civilians. You jogged faster; though, not enough to appear desperate. It was reminiscent of the way you’d make your way to work in the mornings. 

It dawned upon you that his actions could have been a formality. It would be his way of of playing god. You imagined him dismissing you with the same ease you imagined his kiss at the altar: 

You didn’t really think I liked you, right?

The thought of it was too humiliating to bare. So, if you were mistaken and by some slim, virtually impossible, chance, it really wasn’t real, you’ll match his condescending scoff and ask for your father’s watch back.

(You’re still jogging through the streets of New York, but the pedestrians pay you no mind: it’s cold.)

You want to say that you’re excited for the opportunity to be cruel; to see him flush in embarrassment. But that sort of corporate brutality has already left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

(Cruelty has already blocked out the sun! It’s made the sky red and caused ash to fall from above!)

Your shoes (which were designed for the carpet of an office) hit the concrete rhythmically, a sort of lullaby.

And you continue to pray— hoping that you won’t have to fall into the cruelty that often seized you. You wanted the warmth that came with holding his hand, with cupping his face after a kiss.

You wanted it to be real. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Please, please, please be real. (But, if by some off chance it isn’t, you’ll move on, letting your shared weekend haunt you: like a ghost.)

(You’ll move on, like everyone else does. Like everyone has to.)

You stopped at a familiar building, and move to enter the glass, revolving doors; back to work. 

“Shoko!” Suguru, leans over her desk a sharp smile overtaking his face. He’s finally where he belongs. 

(Though, he misses the intimacy of the small town, he does not miss the awful cell service.)

Shoko leans back into her seat, not bothering to hide the pristine cigarette burns tarnishing the wood of her desk, “Yes, boss?”

(Her voice is sickly sweet, Suguru can see her disdain for him. He doesn’t mind, it’s a mutual feeling.)

Suguru lifts a box labelled ‘Office Things’ and drops it aggressively onto her workspace, “I need this mailed to the address written on the side.”

Shoko nods, despite that, she turns back to the computer sat in front of her and continues typing.

(For a split second Suguru catches a glimpse of a few stray cigarettes laying limply in the cup that held her pens)

Suguru sighs, “I need that done now, Shoko, I’ve got a flight to catch in…” He looks down at his— Toji’s watch, Suguru ignores the way his lungs seize, “Two hours.”

She eyes him, then her gaze flits to the door, her brows rise in surprise, “Yeah… Uh— Geto I think someones here for you.”

Suguru starts to turn, visibly irritated “What. What is it?”

Subtly, Suguru hopes that it’s Yaga. He imagines that he’s come to the main floor to beg Suguru to keep his job— that he’ll do anything to keep an employee like him. He almost smiles at the thought of his own boss walking in with his clothing dishevelled and his eyes watery.

Instead, he’s greeted with you, breathing heavily, stepping towards him from where the elevators are. 

(Suguru thinks that this is good too— he’d rather die than confess that, though. But, if he did, he hopes that you’d giggle.)

You wave hesitantly at him, apprehension plaguing your face.

(This was an awful idea— why didn’t you think this through.)

The entire office falls silent, even the usual break room gossip pauses.

Like a leader, Suguru speaks first, “Why are you panting?”

You breathe for a moment, “I ran all the way here.”

“Really?” Suguru scoffs at his own sarcasm, “From Alaska?”

You can’t bring yourself to laugh at his joke— Shoko snorts instead. You catch your breath and straiten your back, while you walk towards him, “Suguru, we need to talk.”

For a moment, your coworkers look around in shock at your casualness— at the way you had called him by his first name with ease.

Their confused glances become more pronounced when Geto does nothing to reprimand you, “I’m right here.”

(You think, while taking a quick look at where Shoko sat behind Suguru, that this is the most present she has ever been at work.)

“In private. We need to talk in private.” 

He turns to his office not bothering to tell you to follow, you knew what he was doing.

Despite that, you feel your breathing stutter with every step. Suguru opens the mahogany door for you, letting you step in. He enters after, slamming the door shut. Moments after your coworkers burst into chatter, the air fills with rumours, gossip, assumptions.

(Nothing has changed.)

You deftly ignore the fact that it’s just the two of you now. 

He walks past you, to sit on top of his desk. He gazes at you, in a manner you’ve never seen before, and finally cracks a grin, “What do you need, sweetheart.”

You take a small step towards where he sat perched on the table top of his desk, not bothering to acknowledge the view of New York he had in his office. “I—uh.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement.

(You really should have thought this through.)

(Well— it was fun to give into your delusion for a little while: It was time to ask for the watch back.)

(It was time to ignore the ringing in your ears and the beat of your heart and the want for more, more, more.)

(For the entirety of your life you had been voracious. You coveted and you lied and you endured through the monotony of life for more: You have never been particularly selfless.)

(Why start now?)

“Suguru.”

You hold eachother’s gaze 

He shifts under the scrutiny of your gaze, moving to slide off the desk, “Look— I don’t know why I agreed to this. I don’t have time to talk I’ve got a flight to—”

“Suguru— listen.”

You notice your coworkers trying to subtly gaze into his office through the glass panelling of his office. Suguru’s voice steels, “I don’t get why you’re back here, you’ve already gotten—”

(He stops himself, realizing his jab is eerily reminiscent to what you told him— beside the lake.)

You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, Suguru.

He feels a certain nausea while he hears the ringing in his ears return. He wonders if this is some sort of punishment— if the world was only ending for him. 

You steel your voice, “Jesus— Stop talking.”

He purses his lips, and leans back against his desk. He cross him arms but doesn’t dispute.

(No, he thinks, while he gazing down at your face, noticing the way you avoid his eyes, The world must be ending for you too.)

“Fine.” Suguru relents. “What?”

You furrow your brows slights, as if trying to recall a memory, “Three days ago I loathed you.” There’s a pause, “I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab.”

Suguru raises his eyebrows for the second time, “You’re off to a great start, Sweetheart.”

You ignore him, “But things changed, okay?”

His grin falters.

(He’s beginning to wonder why the sun hasn’t been blocked out, or why a flood hasn’t swept him away only to drown him.)

You keep going, noticing his copy of The Little Prince splayed lazily on the corner of his desk. “Things changed, when we had our weird adventure in Alaska— when we kissed, and you told me about your tattoo and— and you fell in that lake.”

You laugh, recalling, that memory, Suguru looks annoyed. Still, you persist, “But I didn’t realize any of this until I was standing at an altar, in wedding dress holding a bouquet of flowers, completely alone.”

He shakes his head slightly, avoiding your gaze, “Trust me, you don’t want this.”

You walk towards him, “I’m not gonna beg, Suguru.”

His voice is hushed, he clenches his jaw “There’s a reason, that I’m on my own and— shit— if you want it so bad here it is: I don’t think that I have ever experienced anything more awful than this weekend.”

You furrow your brows, was that a confession or an insult?

For once, Suguru dutifully ignore the ringing in his ears and the way Toji’s watch sticks to his skin. For some, odd, unknowable reason he keeps talking, “I hope—” His voice lilts, “that you can sleep easier now that you know that I— fuck— that maybe I like it when you hold my hand— maybe I like you, okay?”

(Oh. It was a confession.)

He pauses staring up at the panelled roof and laughs. “That’s really messed up, actually— I like you a lot.” He clears his throat, 

(Be a leader, Geto!)

“But, I think it would be easier if you just let me catch my flight and we forget about whatever happened between us.”

His voice is soft and he prays you won’t hate him.

He looks down to find your eyes downcast— he can’t tell if your tearing up; he doesn’t want to know. He’s scared he might shed a tear too (which would be awfully embarrassing.) 

You speak, it comes out as a whisper, “You’re right, it would be easier.”

You stare past him at the book laying dumbly on his desk, you walk towards him. “Did you finish the book too?”

Suguru cracks a soft grin.

(He wanted to talk about it on the couch of his penthouse— he wanted to feel his cheeks flush and hear your laughter in between haughty debate.)

(he should be jumping for joy: It was real, it was, it was, it was.)

“Yeah— I think it’s one of the best things I’ve read.”

“Better than The Stranger?”

For a moment, he thinks that he could live with doomsday signs, and dystopia and armageddon—  he could endure.

(Why was it that the world was always ending when it came to you?)

“Hey…” Suguru says lowly, “look at me.”

You look at him, he stands to his full high instead of leaning against his desk— the distance between the two of you is minimal. You grow giddy at the feeling of his breath tickling your cheeks.

(Suguru was supposed to say something piteous. Something that would keep the thought of him lingering in your head. He wanted to torture you— he wanted you to look at every man and only think of him. He wanted to be the only name on your tongue and the only thought on your mind.)

(But he was selfish— and he doesn’t do well when he doesn’t get anything in return.)

(Besides, it was real, wasn’t it?)

He leans in, giving you plenty of time to push him away, or to curse him out. He gives you plenty of time to profess your hatred.

(But you don’t choosing to lean in instead— and Suguru, relents giving in to the threats of doomsday. The end had arrived!)

(It felt so much softer than he imagined.)

You think there should be fireworks, or a choir of angels, maybe even a round of sharp applause coming from no one in particular. But, when you’re met with the careful feeling of his lips against yours, and his hand moving hesitantly to hold your jaw, all you feel is Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

That’s good, too; it’s just as rewarding.

He pulls away, and his eyes are downcast, “Shit— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You listen to his breaths for a moment, not knowing what to do. You laugh.

(It was real! Real, real, real!)

He calls your name, shaking his head slightly; he hopes and prays you can’t hear the shakiness of his voice, “I just— this is stupid—” You urge him on giving him a knowing look, “I’m a little scared.”

You gaze up at him, the air in his office growing warm, you flash a defeated smile, “Me too.”

(Suguru thinks that his world has already ended— that he’s already sold his soul to false prophet. He had fallen in love with the moon and would love to walk into the ocean, so he could be the darkness surrounding it.)

(He wants more, more, more: what’s one selfish act?)

Suguru sighs, trying to calm his nerves, “Marry me.”

You snort.

He frowns, “I’m serious.”

“Wait,” You voice is still breathy from the kiss, “Actually?”

“Yes— and I can stay in the country and we’ll make things work. And if we hate each other we’ll just break up.” A stupid smile overtakes his face, “And it’ll be okay, even if we’re scared, right?”

You laugh, matching his smile, “Shouldn’t you get down on one knee?”

“Yes or no sweetheart— I’ve made up my mind, I want you.”

You flush at the blunt nature of his praise. The heat rises up from your neck, urging you to smile a little wider. If this is what suffering, and cruelty, pain felt like then you could live with it. Your face was warm as you accepted your condemnation. Coincidentally, Suguru has grown attached to the end of the world. There were no trumpets or mocking figures in the sky— just you, you, you.

You lean in, ignoring the callousness of the city outside the window. A familiar sort heat slithers in between your ribs— it’s not as awful as you remember.

Suguru smiles into you; you think he can feel it too, his face is warm.

‘The little prince blushed once more. He never answered questions, but when someone blushes, doesn't that mean "yes"?’

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Taglist: @crybabyjabby @wallywaffle @milkierei @chims-kookies @i-am-the-unknown0916 @mrswhitethornbelikov @melanieacademy @galaxyfruits @tojis-wisteria @isl3t @riddledlove @luvseos @mistalli @xxkay15xx @cerealfrdinner797​

You guys want an epilogue?🤨 Maybe some headcanons🤨 I don’t think I’m ready to let this au go😭

[barbiewritesstuff]

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

 

-- Same deal as yesterday folks, I am tired but I had this idea and I love it and it hurts so I hope you enjoy this. Also please listen to the song (Empty Chairs at Empty Tables by the cast of Les Miserables) because it is beautiful 

Tw. death, panic attacks and vomit -- 

 

 

There's a grief that can't be spoken

There's a pain goes on and on

Empty chairs at empty tables

Now my friends are dead and gone

 

He hadn’t heard from Bradley since Carole’s death. 

He had seen his file though. He had read it from cover to cover, trying to soak up whatever he could of the boy he had raised for so long. Maverick had chuckled at the moustache. And he had always teased the boy about his outdated fashion sense. It was all good-natured, of course. Maverick knew it was one way to feel closer to his father. It was the same reason he had joined the navy and became a pilot. 

But Maverick had always privately thought it was all in vain. 

But then the door swung open and Goose strolled into the bar and Maverick almost fell out of his chair. 

 

Here they talked of revolution

Here it was they lit the flame

Here they sang about tomorrow

And tomorrow never came

 

    He watched Goose march up to the uniformed people playing pool. He watched them all interact, trying to figure out who they were. If they knew each other before, or if it was all introductions.

    “Rooster, do you want a drink?” 

    It snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked and when his eyes opened again, Nick was gone. He had been replaced by the face on the file he had studied so thoroughly. Rooster still hadn’t seen him, and Mav was grateful for it. Being ignored would be so much more painful with Bradley looking so aggressively like Nick.

 

From the table in the corner

They could see a world reborn

And they rose with voices ringing

And I can hear them now!

 

The bell rang for him, a whole round of beers for his phone on the bartop. 

He chuckled at Penny. Trying not to let her see the shake in his hand, or the tears in his eyes. 

Was it pathetic, he wondered, to still see Nick around from time to time? 

Was it pathetic to still make two cups of coffee at work, even after 36 years, hoping he would walk through the break room door and drink with him. 

Was it pathetic to buy the bar a round of beer, hoping secretly that Rooster would look for the poor fool stupid enough to break one of Penny’s rules. 

Was it pathetic for him to wish Rooster would just speak to him? Even if it was to tell him to fuck off, or to shout and scream, or even just to punch him in the nose. 

His therapist thought it was neither. She seemed to think it was human. Maverick thought it was just plain fucking sad. No need to sugar coat it.

It was just plain sad that he wanted Rooster to deck him in the face because it would mean that for a second he could be close to the only link he had with Goose. 

 

The very words that they had sung

Became their last communion

On this lonely barricade

At dawn

 

The jukebox stopped playing but silence reigned only for a moment.

A key was pressed on the piano, and his heart sank. 

Maverick didn’t need more, he knew what would be playing and who would play it.

Goose sat on the bench and sang. Penny’s eyes met his, and Maverick was vaguely aware of the fact that he needed to go, now. He felt nauseous, and faint. He stumbled away, keeping it together long enough to walk out of sight of anyone before hitting the brick pavement of the alley with both of his knees. 

His breathing became erratic, and his tears seemed to stream from his face in a near constant flow. Maverick was no stranger to panic attacks, the tightening chest, clammy hands, shaking body and the familiar lurching of his stomach as he struggled to vomit between hyperventilated breaths.

 

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me

That I live and you are gone

There's a grief that can't be spoken

There's a pain goes on and on

 

    That night was rougher than most. Maverick barely slept, and whatever rest he managed to snatch from the claws of insomnia had been full of ghosts and muffled lyrics from a song he hadn’t been able to listen to since the day Goose died. 

    He had abandoned sleep at two in the morning after the worst nightmare yet, and so shaken up by the look on Nick’s face and the blood pouring from his nose and mouth, he knelt by the bed and cried. 

    He repeated “I’m sorry, Nick” till the sun shone through his curtains, rocking back and forth until he could no longer think. It sounded like a prayer or a mantra, or maybe even a manifestation. It was hypnotic. It almost lulled him to sleep, but the threat of Goose’s apparitions lit a fire under his ass and he left the room in a hurry, as if the room had been haunted, instead of him.

 

Phantom faces at the window

Phantom shadows on the floor

Empty chairs at empty tables

Where my friends will meet no more

 

The empty bar provided no comfort. 

    Maverick had thought that perhaps the room would feel less painful to him now it was empty, but the lack of people and the lack of music only served to accentuate the echoing loneliness in his heart. 

    He paid his tab quickly, hoping he could leave and get on with things. But as he turned around and walked away, his feet put up a fight and won. They walked him towards the piano. He didn’t play, although he had learned, and just hovered over the keys with his fingers. 

He thought of all the songs Nick had played, and all the ones he was still learning

“You know, Mav, I think when I die I’ll come back to haunt you.” Goose had said once, after too many beers

“Oh yeah?” He had asked, a smile on his face

“Yeah, I’ll be in the corner playing a song” 

Maverick touched one of the keys and pressed hard enough for it to make a sound. The sharp F sound it made felt like searing burn against his skin. In the second it took to burn the note into him, Maverick saw a face.

    Nick winked.

 

Oh my friends, my friends

Don't ask me what your sacrifice was for

Empty chairs at empty tables

Where my friends will sing no more

[meetmymouth]

ooh I think #7 and #17 from the blurb list would fit very well together! if you want!

THANK YOU LINDS <3<3

prompt list here, send a number!!

#7 If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle

#17 Sleeping in the same bed for the first time

THIS IS 3K IM SORRY I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF SO PLEASE REBLOG LMAOOOOOO!!!!!

"This is my room," comes a gruff voice behind you as you keep looking out the window, taking in the greenery and the beautiful ocean.

See, you knew he would be here.

You knew, because Harry and Mitch were attached at the hip, and you didn't mind. You didn't mind seeing your ex every time you were invited to hang out with MitchandSarah & co, except when said ex decided to be an evil arsehole.

Perhaps, calling him an "ex" was weird, seeing how your time alone only consisted of you both getting high, mostly naked as he whispered the filthiest things in your ear and promised to make you feel good, be the best you've ever had. Other than that, though, he was an insufferable bastard. Since you never hung out with the man without your friends around–getting rat-arsed and high... and the activities that followed aside–, you didn't know if he was always this annoying.

He seemed to be getting along just fine with the others, especially Sarah and the other girls, so you had no problems scratching off the "women hater" off your list. And you can't ever recall him being this insufferable while you both were fucking which was, in his case, miserable. So, it was definitely annoying. You weren't that interested in him to think that he was being mean because he was secretly in love with you. That was a myth, a pathetic myth, wasn't it? No, you wouldn't steep that low. He was just an arse, full stop.

You turn around with an eye-roll, and within seeing his face, you nearly clench your fists like a ten-year-old. "Do you live here?" You ask, hoping the boring expression on your face is also detectable in your tone.

It's certainly not a surprise when Harry scoffs.

"I don't, but I picked this room first. Since, you know," he looks around, and walks further into the room, finally stopping at the feet of the bed. "You were late. As per."

"Oh fuck off. This isn't summer camp. Besides, I don't see any of your shit around. The room was empty when I arrived."

"If you bothered to look inside the wardrobe..."

Seriously, you find yourself thinking, how the fuck did you ever end up with this man. Naked.

There's a commotion downstairs, so you both turn to the door, but much to your dismay, there's no one coming to check up on you and hopefully, save you from Harry Styles' pathetic gob.

You turn towards the window again, eyes squinting briefly at the last bits of sunshine that's glinting from between the branches.

"Well. You shouldn't have left then. You weren't here when I arrived."

Harry shakes his head, and you swear you can see his nostrils flaring if you look carefully. Though, you just watch him with a smug smile on your face as he walks to the wardrobe and pulls open the white doors. True to his word, his clothes are there, perfectly folded, and for a moment you feel a pang of guilt before you look back up at his face and see the furrowed eyebrows.

"See. My clothes. I'm sure Sarah will sort it out for you, find you another room or summat."

"There's only three bedrooms. Can't sleep with a pregnant woman and her boyfriend, can I?"

"What about Rachel and David? Aren't you best friend's with her?"

"Harry, you're ridiculous. Just–" you wipe the sweat off of your forehead, feeling yourself grow hotter and hotter each passing minute. "–just sleep on the sofa. This is my first vacation this year. You go on holidays every week or so. Let us commoners have this."

"Oh, please. Didn't you have a girls weekend getaway or whatever the fuck in Soho Farmhouse two weeks ago?"

You can't help the scoff that leaves your mouth, and a raised eyebrow follows. "How do you know about that?"

"Because," he rolls his eyes, and slams the wardrobe shut. "You post seven hundred stories every day."

"You're a stalker."

"You sleep on the sofa."

You smirk, noticing how he avoided your previous statement.

To be fair, you hated posting on your story. Though, knowing Harry followed you on Instagram made posting on there fun, and seeing his username on the list of who watched your stories pop up at the very top every single time whenever you posted a story almost made you let out a mingy little laugh and rub your hands together, and scream "gotcha!".

"I won't."

"You're getting on my nerves."

"What a coincidence," you ignore the stare he's sending your way and walk towards your carry on, and start taking the contents out one by one, laying everything on the bed.

He watches with a scowl on his face, arms crossed across his chest, and a satisfied smile paints your features as you take out the toiletries bag next.

"Are you seriously unpacking right now?" Harry cranes his neck so he can see better. He looks ridiculous, standing in the middle of the room with arms crossed, but you refrain from saying anything.

In fact, you don't even answer him. Perhaps, you find yourself thinking, it was silly to unpack your underwear first. It wasn't as if you brought super "sexy" shit or lace everything. You can definitely feel his gaze watching your every movement as you take everything out carefully and place them on top of each other. With most of your underwear in hand, you get on one knee in front of the bedside table and open the drawer, placing everything inside and it's surprising how he hasn't claimed the bedside table yet.

"Look," he sighs. "I'll talk to Sarah, maybe you can sleep with her and Mitch–"

"–don't be stupid we're not making them sleep with other people because you can't be a gentleman and sleep on the sofa."

"Oh for fuck's sake," he growls, and you finally look at him, eyebrows raised in hopes of making him feel as stupid as he sounds right now. Unfortunately, though, he continues, "Okay, damn it, I'll sleep on the floor."

Fool.

"Common sense, Harry. Always pick sofa. No matter what."

"Were you born to make my life a living hell?"

"Look," you sit on the bed, and look around. "This is boring me to death. I'm sleeping on the bed. If you shut your gob, you can sleep with me on the bed."

Harry lets out an obnoxious laugh. "Just admit I was here first and you didn't bother checking the–"

"Yes, I didn't and what about it? I'm here now, aren't I? I'm on the bed, babes. Anyway," you get on your feet, and with one last look at him, you start walking towards the door. "I'll see you in a bit. I guess."

You both manage to avoid each other as much as you can throughout the day, and really, it wasn't that hard considering the good company of your friends, good food and good alcohol. You mainly helped Sarah and Rachel in the kitchen as the men lounged on the sun loungers, Mitch handling the grill and David helping you guys with the drinks that came in and out of the house pretty quickly with the way you lot consumed them like water.

You spend the night eating, laughing and drinking, sometimes singing along to whatever song played on David's fancy Bluetooth speaker, and everyone begins ushering inside with full bellies and most of them–except the very pregnant Sarah–with a tipsy smile on their faces.

You leave before Harry though, leaving him smoking his last cigarette by the pool while you run up the stairs and into the room, closing the door behind you. You quickly get rid of the romper and get your favourite pyjamas on, eyes searching for the orange makeup bag so you can take off the remaining makeup before bed. You knew it was silly not to do your night routine, but you still zip the bag closed with a sad expression on your face, not wanting to see your toner and night cream any more than you needed to as you throw it on the floor next to your bags. It's pathetic really, how determined you are to get in the bed before Harry can that you forego your whole routine and stick to some cotton pads. Though, plugging your charger and getting between the cool sheets make you forget all about it as you let out a sigh, and unlock your phone to do your nightly scroll before falling asleep.

As you double tap on a selfie, the door opens, and you hear him scoff, again. You keep scrolling though, and try to sneak a few glances at him as he makes a beeline for the wardrobe, and to your surprise, begins to undress. You try to stay calm, and not to think about how domestic this whole thing seems; being in the same room as him as he gets ready for bed.

Right, getting ready for bed.

You keep your eyes on your phone as his clothes hit the floor one by one, and when you look up briefly, he's got a pair of joggers on, and he's throwing the clothes he had on in the wardrobe.

He turns around, and find your gaze, and he rolls his eyes.

"I knew you'd be in bed, here, as soon as I heard someone running. Forgot you were a literal five-year-old," he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you can still hear him. "I'm not sleeping on the sofa."

"I love how you're basically arguing with yourself."

"Like I said, I'm not sleeping on the sofa. I didn't come all the way to sleep on a bloody sofa."

"Suit yourself. I guess we're sharing. Unless," you lock your phone, and place it on the bedside table. "You want to share," you shrug, adjusting your pillow and sigh at the cool fabric against your hot cheeks.

You can feel him thinking, the wheels turning in his head, and you finally hear the floorboards creek underneath his feet as he walks closer to the bed, and pushes the sheets off of you. The whole thing.

You blink in surprise. "Stop it, dude! What the fuck."

"I'm getting in! Fuck's sake, be quiet."

"You did that just to annoy me."

You're both quiet for a minute, Harry taking his rings off and then comes his socks, and he finally copies you, laying on his back on the bed. He covers the both of you, though you know it's not intentional since he couldn't do it without covering his own body with the duvet, and then he lets out a strangled sigh.

"The bed's too small."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"What?" He turns his face to you, and perhaps it's the first time he's looking at you– really looking.

His brows are furrowed, and lips turned downwards in a pout.

"I'm taking the piss, Harry. I know you're not calling me fat."

"Good," he says, though his voice isn't exactly soft. "I wouldn't."

"Good."

Silence.

It's unbearable.

Despite the hot weather, you feel yourself shiver, and you wish you were the only one in bed so you could do the whole burrito technique with the duvet. Alas... you stay where you are. You both do.

A dog barks in the distance, the high-pitched bark coming through the open window, and you can feel Harry breathing too fast beside you. You want to shout at him, tell him to fuck off and... not breathe too fast, though it sounds a bit too rude even for you, so you stay silent and wait for the dog to pipe the fuck down.

You try to turn on your side, because you could never see yourself fall asleep laying on your back like a vampire, but you almost fall, not anticipating the tiny space you've got going on. It's bad, and you know you're not going to get a good sleep. So, you find yourself contemplating about getting up and sleeping on the sofa because honestly, fuck him.

Harry shuffles next to you, presumably trying to find a good position to sleep in himself, but he lets out a groan and it startles you.

"What's wrong with you!"

"The bed's too fucking small."

"We've established that."

He sniffs, hands clenching the sheets around his body. "I don't sleep on my back. My back hurts."

You don't say anything, hoping for him to just get up and leave, go sleep on the sofa. He doesn't, though. It's another fifteen minutes before you let out another sigh, trying to get comfortable on the bed, and Harry copies you. You both turn on your sides, facing each other and Harry groans when your knee makes contact with his thigh, making you cringe in embarrassment. A quiet sorry leaves your mouth and he shakes his head, then turns the other way, facing the door.

"Fuck," he spits after a minute. "If we both want to fit, we'll have to cuddle."

"Cuddle? Fuck no."

"Just," he turns to you again, but the bed is too small for you both so his knees touch yours. "Just come closer. Either that, or go sleep on the sofa."

"Why don't you–"

"You're so stubborn! Come closer, I won't eat you or fall in love with you. Fuck."

You groan, but oblige for some reason, feeling your heart beginning to beat faster for some ridiculous reason.

It's been a long time, you find yourself trying to convince your heart. It's been a long, long time since you've been this close to a human being. Too long since you've cuddled with someone, so obviously you were going to feel a little excited, and weird. Yes, definitely weird.

You get closer and he lifts up his arm, you both sharing a look before you roll your eyes and place your hand on his wrist, placing it on your hip. He's quiet, eyes searching yours, and the crease between his brows are gone, and you want to laugh, because who knew it only took your skin against his to wipe that stupid grimace off of his face.

"I still think you're annoying," Harry mumbles, clearly sleepy. His hold on your hip becomes tighter as his thumb strokes your skin over the fabric.

"I know. Just shut up and sleep."