#the tears and the 'Look how much you've grown!' and the refusing to let go of each other

[madd-nix]

Au with my oc Rosie. Ingo adopts her as a toddler and raises her for about 2-3 years. She's only 5 when he disappears suddenly.

Ingo can't remember much of his past life. He has dreams of vague impressions of people and Pokemon. A man that looks like him. A Pokemon with purple flames. The loud strange moving machine that makes a choo choo sound. A little girl with freckles and pigtails that's usually holding his hand. He can't remember these things clearly, but he wants to. His heart aches for them, and he feels a strange guilt whenever he thinks of the girl. He feels like he left her. He hopes she doesn't miss him too much.

[kenjakusbraincum]

can you pls write something about reader being sick and like not the cough and cold kind of sick- like really really sick, and sukuna realising how much he doesn't want to lose her to this sickness and how if she dies, he'll be alone again..🥺

You have NO idea how much I love this idea!!! I did go a bit overboard with it cause I love suffering though 👍 Still, this was SO much fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Vows

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, true form! sukuna, master/pet dynamic, fluff but most importantly ANGST, mentions of weight loss, mentions of violence, implied nsfw, reader dies in the end :( (sorry)

It's not the first time Sukuna has been made aware of your mortality. He recalls many instances when he's been reminded that you are human. Finite. The first time he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed with calculation while you were laying under him, and you looked up at him in fear for your life. Your little hand couldn't even wrap around his wrist, much less provide resistance. Or when he'd pull your hair a little too roughly, and hear a crack in your delicate spine. When you'd get sick, and humbly refuse his healing. So little as a tummy ache had you writhing on your bed.

You are so weak, so small, clinging to life like there was anything for you in it, beyond Sukuna. By all means he hates all of these things. So what witchery is this, and why does he care about you so much? Why does he keep you for years, and why does your company bring him comfort he hasn't ever known in his lifetime?

Still, as much as he cares, he doesn't notice when it starts. He's trained you to tolerate pain, after all. It's no wonder you hesitate to tell him. Little things like tummyaches and colds occur to you all the time anyways, and you never complain. Sure, you've grown closer to Sukuna, but he was still your master, and the rules he instilled in you from the start were always fresh in your mind, not to be crossed. Bothering him with everything that feels off always seemed inappropriate.

And Sukuna is just like that. If you're not screaming or crying, he won't know you're in pain. But he notices that you're acting off. And how he reacts really doesn't help your case, or encourage you to speak up about your condition. ''I don't have all day. What is wrong with you?'', he sneers when he catches you pacing too far behind him.

So you just sleep longer and preserve energy for when you are with him. You don't skip around as much anymore, or spend time doing your hobbies. Food doesn't taste so great anymore. You have a cough that gives you sleepless nights because it just won't calm down. And the time you owe Sukuna starts to feel like an obligation. You start to dread it. Dread slipping up, dread annoying him or failing to satisfy him. Dread being disposable.

When things start getting worse, it's hard to hide it even from him. He was taking you from behind one night, and you were grateful he couldn't see the look on your face. You thought you could do it. Sukuna was always demanding, but he would never force you to do anything. If only you told him before you felt yourself struggling for air, and your chest closing in on itself in tightness. You reached one hand back, frantically grabbing his wrist.

''Feathers, feathers!'', words came out as gasps, and you slumped forward when he let you go. You were panicked and crying by then, this kind of discomfort being foreign even to you, even after weeks of pain behind you. He hovered next to you with a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't even being that rough.

''What's wrong? Tell me.'', he said, and reached his hand to feel the warmth of your tears streaming down your face. He swiped your cheek gently. He didn't seem mad at all. Why didn't you say anything from the start?

''I just feel so sick.'', you muster up in between sobs, and shut your eyes. You were too embarrassed to even look at him.

''I see.''. His hand leaves your face, and he traces it from your neck down your spine. The pain subsided slowly, allowing you to relax and find comfort in his arms.

But the effects of his healing were short lived. Just a week later the feeling of fatigue creeps back into your life. Manageable, but lingering. And the cough persists. And it gets on Sukuna's nerves too. He's been quite patient with you, but his patience was reaching it's limit.

You're sitting by his throne as you often do, and as hard as you try to hold the cough in, you just can't help it. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, turning you to him. And he looks at you with all four, terrifying eyes. ''Can you shut up?''

''I'm sorry, I'm trying -'', you stutter, but just end up coughing more. He doesn't wait for you to stop.

''Get out of here.'', and pushes you away. You stumble down the pile of bones and fall, landing on your hands and knees. You don't remember him being this cruel to you in a long time. You look back at him with teary eyes, and he looks back like the merciless monster he is. The villagers awaiting him moved to make space for your fall, taking note of the tense situation.

That day, Sukuna sends word that he doesn't want to see you until you get better. You're forbidden from going outside again, in fear that that is making your 'cold' worse. It's a lonely week in your room, until Sukuna starts to crave you again. It didn't take him a while, counting the couple days he spent convincing himself he doesn't miss you. He does. So when he sends word for you again, and the servants come back to him saying you're still not feeling well... he's worried. So worried he comes to see it for himself.

Sukuna rarely comes to your room. It's the only space you have for yourself, and he doesn't want to take that away from you. Your room is modest. You have a bed, a carpet, and a couple shelves to house the books he's gifted you. There's a desk where you can eat and read, and a doorway to the garden. There's an empty glass of water and a napkin next to your bed. You're still sleeping, but the door shutting behind him wakes you up, so he doesn't get to enjoy observing you in your natural habitat for long.

It's not the first time doors opening and closing woke you up. But you know this time is different. The servants are always quickly shuffling around the room, cleaning up and moving around. Uraume clanks with plates. There is no noise now, other than your strained breathing and a cough brewing in the back of your throat. Besides, the aura that Sukuna brings with him everywhere he goes is recognizable. Especially to you. Heavy.

You turn around, and meet the gaze of his four eyes. ''Master...'', you struggle to sit up, and even a little action like that has spots forming in your vision. Then a coughing fit hits you. You pick up the napkin and put it to your mouth.

Sukuna sees your whole body strain with the effort of coughing. And when you call him master, even your voice sounds different. He knows your morning voice. He missed hearing it, but this... this is not it. You sit with your head hung low, staring at the napkin between your hands. There's a fresh splatter of blood on it. But Sukuna scares you more than the progression of your illness.

''Are you mad at me?'', you ask timidly, meeting his gaze.

''I'm concerned.", he says and sits next to you. You curl up to make space for him. "Two weeks is a long time for a frail human like you to be sick.", he looks at you, scanning your form up and down.

"I rested and drank every tea Uraume told me to!", your defense mechanism kicks in, and you start babbling.

Sukuna dismisses you with a hand and a pained facial expression. "I know.", he says. His brows are furrowed now, and he's looking at the ground, lost in thought.

You feel guilty for annoying him again. You feel guilty for the whole thing, getting sick, draining the energy it takes him to heal you, robbing him of the time with you that he deserves. Owns. He is very generous with the way he treats you, having all that in mind.

You tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Master... You deserve better.", and you're sobbing again. Sukuna gives you a pathetic look, but smiles as he pulls you into his embrace.

"Silly pet. I can survive a couple weeks without your assistance.", he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You run your fingers against the back of his hand mindlessly, not knowing how to respond. Caressing his knuckles, bones, veins... feeling his nails and their sharp tips against your sensitive skin. When you bring his palm up to your lips, your kiss stains it red with blood.

-

You still sleep with Sukuna sometimes. Less frequently, only on days when you feel well enough, and those are rare. You've lost weight by now, sickness making itself visible on your body. You're sitting on his lap and clinging to your robes, scared that he won't like you as much, that you won't live up to his standards. But Sukuna's demeanor about your illness has changed, as he seemed to sense something unusual about it. He flips you over so gently, like you're made of glass, and peppers kisses from your neck downwards, slowly undressing you as much as you allow him. When he takes you, he's so careful. Constantly checking you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. You feel so loved and relaxed, and pleasure comes so easy when you're in this state. It's not the first time Sukuna is this caring with you in bed, but this time is different. This time you can't help but feel like he's saying goodbye.

He holds you afterwards, tracing his fingers over the ridges of your spine and your shoulders. You were always little in his grasp, but now that he feels your protruding bones under his fingertips, you seem all the more vulnerable.

"Will you kill me?", you ask, breaking the silence.

Sukuna frowns. "Nonsense. Why would I do that?"

There's a gulp in your throat. "It won't be long before I can't even do this. I won't be of any use to you then...", you say.

"Stop.", he says sternly. "There's a lot more to you than what you provide me with in bed."

You smile to yourself, but there's still a hole in your chest. Your statement is still true, and you aren't comforted. But this is Sukuna, and you know that he's offered you quite a lot even with that little bit of reassurance. To your surprise, he speaks again.

"Don't upset yourself. It's been a long time since killing you crossed my mind.", he says. "Save the energy for something else."

You nod and thank him. Just moments later, you're asleep. Quicker than ever before, he notes. You usually love it when he lets you cuddle and talk to him. You would force your eyes open when you were sleepy, just to enjoy it longer.

He feels guilty. He's your master, he's responsible for your well being. Yet nothing he does seems to help you long term. Healing you is temporary and he knows that without accessing the source, it will never work. If he could, he would find what was making you sick and rip it out of you with his bare hands, crush it with the force of his palm. He would have to look deeper, open you, and for once, he thinks he can't open a human being. He thinks of you trashing, screaming, and worst of all, looking into his eyes. Just the thought of you like that makes his chest feel like a gaping cavity. Worst of all, he's sure you would let him. He's sure you would forgive him for spilling your blood, and find comfort in his arms again. If you survived, that is. What has he done to you? And to himself?

Now, your head rests on his chest, and you're snoring lightly. For once, a repetitive noise like that doesn't annoy him. For once, he wishes he could listen to it every night. One day, that noise will be the only thing audibly confirming you're still alive.

-

Months pass and you're only getting worse. You barely leave your room now, too weak to even do so. You eat little, and it's showing in your sunken cheeks and eyes. You feel yourself withering away, loosing color, drying like a dying flower. Sukuna is in grief. He struggles to look at you, and visiting you falls heavy on him every time. He always finds himself thinking afterwards. Regretting that he let himself get this attached, wishing that he could simply forget you. But it doesn't work that way.

He goes to see you, after avoiding you for a week. He's Sukuna, he doesn't have any shame. You're sleeping, like you usually are when he comes to visit you. Your snoring is laboured, and it sounds painful. This time, the doors and the silence don't wake you up. He watches you, curled up under a stack of blankets, rising and falling with your struggles to breathe. How foolish he was, to think forgetting you would be as easy as avoiding you for days. How evil he was, trying to forget you while you are still alive under his wing, still his responsibility. Still his.

He sits next to you and leans over you, fingertips ghosting over your face. The snoring stops and you flutter your eyes open, turning in bed and feeling his body next to yours. You smirk at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and smile when you recognize him. ''Master.'', your arms wrap around his neck as you welcome him, your voice dry, but lively as you beckon him closer. ''I missed you.''.

He comes down to plant a kiss to your forehead. ''I missed you too, darling.''. Oh, the things that escape his mouth when he's alone with you. He cups your face, enjoying how much healthier you look with a smile on your face. ''Feeling any better?'', he rubs your cheek, lingering closely above your face.

You nod, but both of you know you only feel better because you saw him. Still, the little surge of happiness that brings you gives you more energy than you've had the whole week. You wiggle to the edge of the bed, making space and inviting him to join you. Sukuna lies down, hooking one arm underneath your neck and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your arm around him and lean your head against his shoulder. He's still as big as you remember him, unfaltering in the face of your illness. It's comforting. ''You didn't visit in a while. Were you busy?'', you ask, stroking his back. ''How were your days?''

''Monotone.'', he says. ''The villagers bring remedies for you every day, and wish for you to get well.'' It's no wonder. So many times, Sukuna found himself hesitating to kill just because you were sitting on his knee, dressed in something too pretty to be splattered with blood. In the local villages, word spread that you have ''domesticated'' Sukuna. As if such a thing was possible. Or was it?

''Oh?'', you smile. ''I didn't think they would notice my absence.''. You always were supposed to be Sukuna's accessory and nothing more. Remedies and good wishes make it sound like you're more important than just a pet. So it really is that obvious...

''They did.'', he says, and lowers his head, brushing his nose against your face. ''Some took that as an opportunity to gift me new pets.''

You blink at him, a bit taken aback by his honesty. You keep smiling anyways. ''Did you take any?'', you ask, and he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in your eyes. The truth is, you've had a lot of time to think about your place in Sukuna's mansion. You knew, especially in sickness, that you were never entitled to exclusivity with him. You knew that at some point you would have to be replaced, just by the virtue of being a mortal. A human, who would age and become ugly, wrinkled and useless. You were just unlucky enough to meet this fate sooner than you should've.

Sukuna sighs, the weight of the conversation shifting to him. ''Not to bed, no.'', he says.

You're quiet while you think of what to say. You still have a habit of picking words when you're with Sukuna, but the times when he would punish you for improper formulation are far behind you. "Why not?", you settle. You hope the implication is there, that you wouldn't be so mad even if he did.

Why not? Because he thinks it might break him. Because the image of someone else in your place, under him, feels unnatural and wrong. He thinks the guilt might eat him alive. For once in centuries, someone else's needs come before Sukuna's. He is gone, so far gone. You've raised his standards, and he's not sure anyone he takes now will be able to live up to them. Besides, training a new pet to fit your mold would take years, and even then... He couldn't train someone to love him. Not like you do.

''I wouldn't want you to hold back because of me.'', you say, and he realizes he's been quiet for too long. Years ago, if you dared to imply that Sukuna would do such a thing as hold back because of you, that he cared, you would've been minced meat ready for dinner. Now, he looks down at you tenderly when you say it. Well, a tender look from Sukuna is a docile one. You've gotten used to the way that Sukuna communicates love. Subtly, innocuously.

''Worry about getting well, pet.'', he shuts down the conversation, and moves away from you, sitting back on the bed. ''Any wishes? Food? Activities?'', he asks, and feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

Food? No, but... ''I'd like you to stay, please.'', you say, and take his hand with the two of yours, feeling it up with your thumbs.

Sukuna resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the thought of annoying him would upset you greatly. ''That's a given. Anything else?''

You pretend to think, then just babble your favorite food. Sukuna takes your order to Uraume. But when he comes back, you're already asleep again. He waits by your side, but you don't wake, so eventually he leaves. By the evening, the plate of your favorite food remains untouched.

-

You can't leave the bed on your own anymore. Sukuna carries you outside when you're feeling good enough. You barely have the strength to latch onto him securely. Still, it's hard to slip out of the grasp of his four arms. He says you've gotten pale. You lay in his lap and bask in the sun, while he tells you about his day or reads a book out loud for you to enjoy. You wish you could talk to him more, but your voice leaves you as days of endless coughing wreck your throat. No herbs and teas ease your condition anymore. You wait for your final day.

And Sukuna doesn't know when he's given up on the idea that you might get better. But he starts spending whole days with you, leaving your side only to sleep in his bed. He tends to almost all your needs personally. You think that if you asked him to get on his knees for you, he would. He is not familiar with this ache that brews in his chest when he looks to his side and doesn't see you there. It feels violating. To be as powerful as he is, and yet completely helpless in the face of the sickness that drains you in front of his very eyes.

He plays with your thinning hair one morning, and you look at him from his lap, as adoringly as always. ''Isn't it funny?.'', you say, and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you. ''I always imagined dying by your hand.'', you kiss his hand again, planting your dry, blue lips against his knuckles. ''Who would have thought?''.

You, you little human. You made him feel like a fool, like a coward. You made him feel powerless. Who could ever get away unscathed with making Sukuna feel like this? The thought of killing you now, even out of mercy, fills him with horror. He thinks he couldn't live carrying the burden of your death on his back. It's already hard for him as is.

When he's not with you, he withers away in his room, waiting. And when the servants finally come, and tell him you're at your last strengths, he feels as tense as he feels relieved. The servants shake in fear of his reaction, and he simply dismisses them. In a thousand years of his existence, he doesn't remember having to prepare to enter a room. His hand trembles as he brings it up to push the door open. He dreads what awaits him inside.

He expected blood, hysteria, chaos, yet there's none of it when he walks in. Just the pained noises of your breathing. A servant, your favorite, sits by your side and wipes sweat off your forehead. She talks to you in a comforting tone and pats your head gently. When he walks in the room, she lowers her head and moves to leave. It's only a second, but he sees the sad look on your face. ''Stay.'', he orders, and the servant bows and thanks him.

You move your attention to him, raising your hand to greet him weakly. He picks it up and bends down to kiss it. There's tears in your eyes as he settles into a seat next to you, and you open your mouth in an attempt to say something.

''Easy now.'', he shushes you, and helps you into his lap. You lean back, looking at him through a blur. His features appear even more doubled through the tears, and you still find his beauty mesmerizing. Your master. Your own little god and protector. Although he regrets it, you've never claimed the title of his spouse. Yet, he still stuck by your side, until parted by death. In sickness and in health.

He wipes your tears, and the mouth he conjures onto his hand kisses your forehead. One set of his hands caresses your face, the other massages the tension out of your bony shoulders. Sukuna knows how important it is for you to pass in peace. He doesn't want to curse you, or have despair turn you into a curse. "Relax now.", his voice is so soothing, as if lulling you to sleep. "It won't be long". You weep. What did an ordinary human like you do to deserve this honor? To be comforted on their death bed by a god. To be guided to death by him.

"Master.", you sob. "I'm so scared..."

Delicate touch against your skin. Sharp nails grazing your cheek ever so slightly, just barely enough to make their presence known. "Have no fear.", Sukuna looms over you like a snowdrop. "Where you go now, pain won't follow.". You speak to him a little longer. Tell him all the things you always wanted to tell him, but were scared of the consequences. Dangerous words, ones that were rarely associated with Sukuna. Love. And Sukuna is attentive, so human. Your blinking slows and you find comfort in his voice, as he returns every loving word back to you. Your pained breathing follows, and your eyelids are so heavy. But the sight of him is so hypnotizing, you wish you never had to look away. "You are so brave, my little dove. Go now, be free.". You were too good for this wretched palace anyways. The sight of him is etched in your memory as you close your eyes. "It was a pleasure to have you by my side.", you listen, feeling control over your body slip through your fingers. When you can't move, or feel his touch, you still hear his calm voice. "When you're ready, come back to me. I'll be waiting for your return.". Then everything is quiet, for you and for him. The servants cries are muffled by the sheets, where she has her head pressed by your side.

The hallways, silent except for the busy tapping of feet. Outside, the wind blows petals off of blooming flowers, leaving them bare and stranded. Autumn is here to carry you away.

Servants hold their breath when Sukuna walks by. One wrong look at him and the walls would be painted red. Just like before. Before you. And it's not long before Sukuna looks like a monster again - red eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face. Villagers bring bouquets, and lay them to the right of his throne, where you used to sit. He stares them all down, and only for a moment thinks that maybe, humans are not the scum he thought they were. But then he remembers, they only mourn you because you held him back from his destructive tendencies. Scum.

And he kills again. The first is a villager from afar, where news of your passing hasn't reached. Ripped to shreds for mentioning you. The women who screamed, their blood soaks the carpets and seeps through the wooden floor, dripping down to the cellars. He feels like himself again, unhinged, unbeatable.

Until the day is over, and he goes back to his empty room. His cold, empty bed, and the old habit of reaching for you in his sleep, only to grab nothing instead. And the crocheted figures of the two of you on his nightstand, watching him as he struggles to sleep alone. He can't bear it. So he leaves, and doesn't come back for days, weeks, months.

Smoke clouds the skies on the horizon once again, after years and years of peace and clarity. As far as the eye stretches, the world will know of Sukuna's wrath. But as thrilling as it feels to conquer again, when the village is burned and ash covers the grass on the ground, the thought of you still lingers. Your devastated eyes the first time he's killed before you. The first time he's felt guilty about his monstrous nature. When he comes back, no one's warm embrace awaits him. No one's there to brighten up his day. No amount of blood shed and villages burned replace the emptiness you left behind in his heart.

The grief settles, and sits heavy in Sukuna's chest, as he assumes position in his lonely throne again, and gazes at the row of people waiting to beg, talk, offer... bore him. Another eternity of boredom. An eternity of picking through thousands of humans, in vain hopes of finding you again. In vain hopes of recognizing you, even if it's lifetimes from now, when the last memory of your face has already faded from his mind. When generations change, and the thought of a monster like Sukuna being capable of tenderness vanishes. When the fire in his chest, ignited by love, is already a memory so distant, that recalling it feels surreal.

Maybe he will forget you by then. Maybe times will harden him again, and the idea of a pet becoming his lover will make him laugh. But for now, the thought of finding you in a crowd, taking you in his arms and never letting go, is his comfort and safe place. For now, he will wait for you. As long as it takes, like a stone, unyielding against the passing of time.

[mellowsadistic]

“That’s it, baby, let it all out,” I cooed. “Have a big cry. Daddy's here, little girl." I stroked my wife's hair gently while she bawled her eyes out like a two-year-old, sat on the floor of our bedroom wearing nothing but her sopping wet diaper.

She gasped in big lungfuls of air, her bare chest heaving with every shaky breath. “You… did something… to me!” she said between hiccups, batting my hand away and glaring at me accusingly. It seemed that I'd finally been found out.

"What did I do to you, sweetheart?" I asked softly.

"You... turned me... into... a cry... baby!" she sobbed, almost hyperventilating now, her words barely intelligible. "You... want me... like this!"

“That's right, darling," I said, and I saw her tear-filled eyes widen in surprise at my ready confession. "I want to be your Daddy. I want to take care of you. But you've always been so strong and independent. I knew I had to do something to change that, so I used some special hypnosis files, hidden in that night-time background music you like to listen to, to erode your emotional control. It's the same technique I used to take away your potty training.”

She looked at me in horror, but I just chuckled and reached out to stroke her tear-stained cheek lovingly with the back of my fingers. “It’s so sweet that you can’t control when you go pee-pee or poo-poo anymore." I patted the front of her soggy diaper. “And you look so pretty in your princess nappy!”

“You did this to me?” my wife whispered, so shocked that her wracking sobs had come to a halt. Her hand drifted down to the huge disposable diaper bulging between her thighs. "You made me need these?"

"Yes, baby," I said. "I thought making you incontinent would be enough, but even then you were still trying to be self-sufficient; insisting on changing your own nappies, refusing to let me comfort you after an accident. So now you're going to be emotionally incontinent as well, sweetie. No more bottling things up. No more self-control. When you get even the slightest bit upset about something, you'll be in tears."

“But whyyy?!” she wailed, her sobbing returning in full force. "Why did you... do this... to me?!"

“It’s not good for girls to hold in their feelings,” I said, running my fingers through her hair again. She seemed too appalled by what I was saying to even notice. “It’s so much cuter, so much more feminine, when you lose control and have a little meltdown instead.”

“But I don’t… want to be… like this!” she cried.

“I know, darling,” I said soothingly, “but this is how I want you. Daddy knows best. Being a tearful toddler suits you much better than being an adult woman. In any case, there's no undoing the effects of the hypnosis now, little one. I made sure it was completely permanent."

“No!” she wailed, bouncing on her wet bottom and beating her fists impotently against the floor. “It's not fair! I wanna be a grown-up! I wanna use the toilet! I don't wanna be a stupid crybaby! I don't wanna! I don't wanna!" Her words trailed off into incoherent blubbering as she devolved into a massive temper tantrum.

I couldn't help but smile. She looked so adorable! "Hush now, princess," I cooed, shoving a large pink pacifier between my wife's lips. Her mewling was cut off abruptly, and she started sucking on it at once - another product of the hypnosis files. She was left sniffling and whimpering quietly, her dummy bobbing rhythmically in her mouth. "Now I know you're very upset because Daddy turned you into a big baby," I said, pushing her back gently onto the floor, "but I'm sure a nice dry diaper will have you feeling better in no time. Legs up, baby! It's time for you to let Daddy take care of everything."

[hellcat8908]

Love Lost Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Miscarriage, Emotional Hurt, Angst

All it took was the loss of your unborn child to create a rift in your relationship with Azriel. The moment Madja broke the news, he shut down and, by doing so, shut you out. You were left to process the grief and guilt by yourself as Azriel found every excuse to be gone. He always came home late and left early. He hadn't touched you in weeks and could barely look at you.

You tried to get him to come back to you in the beginning, but it always ended in a fight with him walking out. You eventually gave up and hoped he would work through it on his own. The bond you shared had grown dark and cold on both ends. You knew you were standing at a fork in the road but refused to make a choice, leaving you stuck. Azriel made the decision for you without even realizing it.

You were visiting Feyre and Nesta at the river house. Azriel was with Rhys and Cassian in the study. You were drinking tea and talking about books when you heard shouting from the study. Feyre and Nesta started walking towards the commotion with you behind. "She needs you!" Rhys shouts. "Stay out of my relationship! Just give me the assignment and let me be on my way!" Azriel shouts back. "No, you're not working until you deal with your grief!" Rhys states, noticing Feyre and Nesta enter.

You linger in the hall not wanting to make matters worse. "What's going on?" Feyre asks. "Rhys needs someone to check on the camps but won't send me!" Azriel says lowering his tone towards Feyre. She studies him for a minute, "Az, I don't think..." she starts to say but stops when you step into the room. "Let him go, if he wants." You say as everyone looks at you, well everyone but him. "Are you sure?" Rhys asks. "You can't be serious?!" Cassian and Nesta say in unison. "Let him." You say before turning away and leaving, not caring to hear anymore.

You make your way home and settle in on the couch. A while later, the door opens, and Azriel walks in. You ignore him as he moves about grabbing what he needs. "What were you doing at the river house?" He asks. "I was visiting Feyre and Nesta." You answer. "Don't you have other friends? Friends who aren't a part of my family." He says. "Your family?!" You shout as anger builds up inside of you. "They're my family too. They've been more of a family to me than you have lately." You say. "You so selfish! You can't just let me have one thing, can you?!" He shouts.

"You're seriously calling me selfish? Maybe you should look in the mirror." You say. "You're the most selfish person I know y/n!" He says. "Oh yes, I'm so selfish to sit back and watch you pine over Elain when it was killing me, or when I'm not sure you'll make it home alive but don't beg you to stay because of how much you love this court and your family, or how selfish of me to lose your unborn child!!!" You scream as tears flood your eyes. "I'm so selfish to stay here and give you space to grief while I barely hold myself together. Go on your mission, Azriel, bury yourself in work, and keep ignoring me. When you walk out that door, though, just remember you made the decision."

His anger building at your words, too upset to fully understand the subtle ultimatum you gave him. He crosses to the door and walks out before soaring towards the sky. You feel the last of your heart break. After the tears have dried up, you quickly pack a bag of clothes before writing a note.

Azriel,

I can not do this anymore. You made your choice, and by doing so, you've made mine. I hope someday you'll be able to deal with your grief in a healthy way. I know you love me once, and I love you, but now love isn't enough anymore, not for us.

- y/n.

You leave the note on the counter with the dagger you planned to give him after the baby had been born. You take one last look at the house before you winnowed to autumn. Eris had agreed to let you stay after you had reached out to him, knowing it might come to this, no matter how badly you had hoped it wouldn't.

Next Part: 2

[michaelsfavgirl]

crestfallen

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: After Michael cheats on you with Diana Ross you cross paths again at the Grammy's.

Tags: angst, infidelity, hurt no comfort.

Word Count: 2k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: this is my first time writing angst so be nice pls

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

You step onto the Grammy's red carpet, and instantly, the paparazzi swarm like bees to honey. Their voices blend into a cacophony of shouts, yells, and screams, all clamoring for your attention. "Over here! Look this way! Smile for us!" they cry, their cameras flashing relentlessly, each burst of light illuminating the chaos around you. The flashes are blinding, but you've long grown accustomed to the relentless barrage of attention. You've been in this spotlight for years, and it's become a part of your reality.

Every step you take is deliberate, graceful, as if you're gliding across the red carpet with the effortless elegance of a swan. The eyes of the world are upon you, and you know they're scrutinizing your every move, every detail of your appearance. But you don't falter. You maintain your composure, your facade of perfection.

Yet beneath the surface, turmoil and heartbreak churns within you, a storm raging in the depths of your soul. It's a feeling you've grown all too familiar with, a constant companion in the midst of fame and adulation. The memory of betrayal lingers like a shadow.

The world sees only the polished exterior, the flawless face of success and glamour. But they don't know the pain that lies beneath, the wound that refuses to heal, the shattered love and broken promises.

The memory of him lingers like a bittersweet melody, haunting your thoughts even as you walk the red carpet. Michael was your everything, the center of your world, until he wasn't. 

–

You sit on the edge of the bed, the soft sheets beneath you offering little comfort as your heart aches with betrayal. Michael kneels before you, his grip on your knees tight, as if he fears you'll vanish into thin air if he lets go. His eyes, usually so warm and full of love, are now red and swollen with tears, mirroring the pain in your own.

Tears blur your vision, despite your best efforts to hold them back. You never thought you'd find yourself in this position, confronted with the harsh reality of infidelity in your own home, in your own bed. It's a betrayal that cuts to the core, leaving you feeling hollow and broken.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Michael whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I never meant to hurt you, I swear." Apologies fall from his lips in a desperate stream, each word laden with remorse and regret. But you can't bring yourself to listen, can't bear to hear his excuses and justifications. You thought he was better than this, thought he was a good man. But now, all you see is the shattered remains of the man you once loved.

Finally finding your voice, you cut him off with a quiet, trembling whisper. "How long?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The silence that follows is deafening, heavy with shame and guilt. Michael hangs his head low, unable to meet your gaze, and your heart clenches with the realization that this betrayal has been going on for much longer than you anticipated.

"Speak up," you demand, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. Michael mutters something almost inaudible, and you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. "Four months," he finally admits, and the weight of his words crushes you like a ton of bricks.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you. You swallow hard, pushing back the tears threatening to spill over. And then, with a strength you didn't know you possessed, you meet his gaze, your eyes cold and distant.

"You don't love me," you say softly, the words heavy with resignation. It's not a question, but a statement of fact, a bitter truth that you can no longer deny.

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Four months. Four months of lies and deceit, all hidden behind a facade of love and devotion.

Michael shakes his head and reaches out to you, his hand trembling as he tries to wipe away your tears. "No, no, that's not true baby i-," he insists, but you pull away, unable to bear the touch of his hand against your skin.

You glare at him, anger burning hot in your chest as he tries to defend himself, but you cut him off with a sharp raise of your voice. "If you loved me, if you respected me, you would have never done such a thing," you say, your words laced with bitterness and hurt. He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to the floor as he takes in the full extent of the pain he's caused you.

A heavy silence hangs between you, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. You watch as he struggles to find the right words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But you know there's nothing he can say to make this right, nothing he can do to erase the betrayal that now stains your relationship.

With a trembling voice, you speak again, your words barely above a whisper. "I always knew," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "I always knew that you loved her more than you could ever love me." His silence is deafening, confirming the painful truth that has been gnawing at your heart for far too long.

Tears blur your vision as you continue, your voice shaking with anger and sadness. "But I never expected you to be such a coward," you say, each word a dagger aimed straight at his heart. "To go behind my back and fuck her like some pathetic mutt." He stays silent, knowing better than to argue with you. 

You roughly push his hands away from your knees, the contact suddenly feeling suffocating and unbearable. Without another word, you stand up, your legs shaking beneath you as you take a step back. "Don't ever contact me again," you say, your voice cold and final.

–

“Hey, are you alright?.” You sit in the crowded room, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the ceremony. Your manager, seated beside you, leans in and asks. 

“Yeah, yeah..I’m fine.” You nod, offering a small, strained smile as you try to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. The truth is, you're anything but alright. But you can't let anyone see that, not here, not now.

Your thoughts drift as the ceremony progresses, the familiar rhythm of the event lulling you into a state of detachment. But then, a name is announced, and your breath catches in your throat. Michael. He's won an award for "We Are the World" As you watch him take the stage, a pang of nostalgia washes over you, mingled with a hint of bitterness.

His smile, the same smile he used to give you, sends a shiver down your spine. You quickly avert your gaze, not wanting anyone to notice the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you. Your eyes wander, landing on Diana. You can't help but feel a surge of resentment toward her.

But you push those thoughts aside, unwilling to let them sour your mood any further. Instead, you turn your attention back to Michael, just in time to catch his gaze. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes lock with his, his big, beautiful brown eyes, and for a moment, it's as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you.

He stumbles over his words, drawing a chuckle from the audience. They think it's nerves, but you know the truth. He's stumbled because he's seen you, because he's still affected by you after all this time. Shamelessly, he keeps his eyes locked on yours throughout his speech, and you can't help but feel a flutter of something deep within you. Though not enough to mirror his.

As he finishes his speech, his eyes still locked on yours, his words send a jolt of electricity through your veins. "And lastly I want to thank the one I love most," he says, his gaze unwavering as he looks directly at you. The audience assumes he's talking about Diana, but you know better. You scoff inwardly, knowing that his words are meant for you and you alone. 

You make your way through the throngs of people. The ceremony is over, but the weight of what just transpired hangs heavy on your shoulders. As you approach your waiting limo, you can sense someone running after you. Your heartbeat quickens, but you refuse to slow down or halt your steps. Then, you hear his voice calling out to you.

“Wait! Please, slow down.”

Despite your best efforts to ignore him, he manages to catch up to you, gently grabbing your arm. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, his skin so soft and familiar. But you push aside those thoughts, refusing to let them overpower you.

With a quick motion, you take your arm out of his grasp, treating him as if he's a stranger to you. The hurt is evident in his eyes as he opens his mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words.

Finally, he sighs and simply says, "I'm sorry." His voice is soft, almost pleading, but you remain silent, blankly staring at him. 

He continues after the awkward silence, admitting that you were right, that he was pathetic for what he did. "I wasn't in love with Diana," he confesses. "I was in love with the idea of her in my mind. But I've realized now that I've only ever loved one person so deeply, and that's you."

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. He pours out his heart, apologizing profusely, again and again, his breath picking up, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. His hands tremble, itching to touch you again, to hold you close. You can tell he's being genuine, but your face remains emotionless, betraying nothing.

After he's done with his monologue, you take a deep breath and nod, giving him a small glimmer of hope. But then, you shatter it with your next words. "okay…I don't forgive you," you state calmly, firmly. 

He tries to argue, to plead his case, but you shut him down with a simple, "I hear you, but I still don't forgive you."

You look him up and down one last time, taking in every detail. "I wish you all the best," you say quietly, before turning and walking away, leaving him more broken than he was before.

There's a moment of silence as he processes your words, his expression crestfallen. 

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs as if it might stop any second. His hand trembles as he presses it against his chest, trying to calm the frantic beat. But the realization that you're driving away, that you're never coming back, settles in like a heavy weight on his chest.

He backs himself against a nearby wall, his knees unable to support him any longer. He slides down, his back hitting the cold surface, his legs sprawled out in front of him. The tears he's been holding back finally break free, tracing a salty path down his cheeks. It feels like his whole world is collapsing around him, the only person who's truly cared for him now gone because of his own stupidity.

His face feels hot with embarrassment and shame. His clothes suddenly feel too tight, constricting his every movement. The street lights overhead seem blindingly bright, casting harsh shadows on the pavement below. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory input.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't escape the suffocating feeling of loss that grips him. It's like a vice around his chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second. He feels like he can't breathe, like the air around him is too thick to inhale. All he can do is sit there, consumed by his own despair, wishing he could turn back time and make things right. But he knows it's too late for that now. You're gone, and he's left alone to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @theladyinmoscow @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @anivkye @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw @b3rk1ey @maybe7tommorow @falllovesomemichealjackson

[mochimooon]

Redamancy - jean kirstein x reader

title - redamancy [requited love] pairing: Jean Kirstein x gn! Reader summary: Your solitary evening at the beach is interrupted by the man you've fallen for in secret. word count: 1900+ notes: Another piece written earlier this year, a little angsty in the beginning, but it's fluff afterwards. Context is that reader pines for Jean but due to past heartbreak is scared to own up to their feelings/is also insecure. Set during Valentine's Day. Beginning scene, reader and Jean are asleep on the floor of a friend's house. There is a minor perspective switch, so it might feel a little disjointed. I didn't want to change it because I liked how it felt in this, so I hope it's not too jarring. Also, one of the very pieces I've written in past-tense. warnings: minor angst, hurt/ALL COMFORT, and topped off with fluff, happy endings only ☻

It happened gradually, beginning with a seed planted in your heart. At the time, you didn’t feel anything, unaware that something was in the works. The past had left a deep scar on your outlook of dating that you refused to partake anymore. 

But you would be remiss to deny that you fantasized having someone to talk to in excess over the phone, go on dates with, holding their hand, being kissed… They were passing thoughts, you told yourself. They weren’t real. And yet, as Jean sank into sleep on the floor inches away, chest heaving in a steady rhythm, you realized he became the center of your fantasies—and it broke your heart to think about. 

In the darkness, you pondered if he felt the same way for you. The deeper you thought, the idea made your stomach flutter whilst pricking your heart like a thorn. He hasn’t said anything or made a move. Were you falling into a delusion again?

You two had grown close, spending more time together that it was more unusual to be apart. While you didn’t talk on the phone, he texted you every day. Each message was without preamble, void of awkward tension, and easy. You didn’t get worked up if he didn’t respond right away because there was a trust that he was available if you reached out. 

Turning to where Jean slept, you looked at his extended arm with forlorn eyes. If either of you shifted any closer, his fingers would brush against your arm. The thought triggered a new fantasy within your headspace, one where you burrowed yourself against his form with his arm wrapped around your body. It was newfound closeness you yearned to achieve, except…

You scooted along the rug a little to give you both enough space that if he stretched, there’d be no contact. You can’t. 

Your eyes met the ceiling, mind reeling from the last time you had let yourself get close to someone. After two years of back-to-back rejection, mixed signals, and heartbreak, you had given up. Jean was becoming a good friend, and you’ll lose more than his friendship if you expressed how, you truly felt. You’d lose yourself completely this time.

Holding back never did you any favors, however. It’s why you were honest in the past, yielding unwanted results every time. Now, you’d bottle your emotions up, no matter how much it tugged at your heartstrings. It was the lesser of the two evils, but you could keep your ego intact, and you wouldn’t be erased again.

The weight of it all was so staggering that it forced a sob from the pit of your stomach. You sucked in sharply, stiffening, worried that Jean would stir awake. Too afraid to glimpse in his direction, you exhaled slowly to relieve the pressure. But that didn’t stop the tears from gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

Using the darkness as a veil and Jean’s sleep, you didn’t worry about the tears as they fell down your temples. You sniffled, wishing things were different, wishing you weren’t impossible to love. 

These types of nights were becoming routine: lying awake to lament your loneliness. You were exhausted from this burden, desperate for rest and peace. 

Sniffling again, you rolled to your side, facing away from Jean. Curling into position, you hugged yourself, clutching onto your shoulder tightly for reassurance that no one else could ever offer. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jean laid awake with saddened eyes. His fingers itched to reach out and pull you towards him, to take your anguish away and to let you know that he wanted you. 

…...

The closer the shore came into view, the sharper the chill. You refused to let the night air dissuade you from enjoying your night at the beach. 

It’s just after sunset, which arrived sooner these days due to winter. And because it’s February, it’s the least ideal time to visit. However, that did not stop you nor did it stop the couples that walked along the sandy shoreline to spend Valentine’s Day together. As the sky darkened, you anticipated that most would file out to celebrate elsewhere. 

You unfurled your large blanket after you found a good spot with a view, but far enough from the water. Setting your bag down, you dug into it to take out a glass bottle of soda and a warm burrito wrapped in aluminum. 

Despite the jacket, boots, and beanie, the cold air nipped at your exposed skin. Still, you made these plans for yourself, and you would not let yourself down. You pulled out the top half of the burrito, stashing the other half away for later. The explosion of flavors, texture, and heat was like tasting sunlight. 

The purple sky darkened by the minute, a natural phenomenon that left you and those at the beach awestruck. 

Your phone buzzed by your hip. Careful to pick it up with your greasy fingers, you tapped the screen with your pinky. 

Room for one more on that blanket?

You whirled your sights, surprised to see Jean walking over. 

He waved, crossing the sandy surface until he stopped by your blanket. “Hi.”

You failed to restrain the smile that formed on your lips. “Hi. How did you know I was here, stalker?” You knew your lighthearted question would not rub him the wrong way. 

Jean shrugged, feigning innocence. “Annie might have mentioned something.”

You nodded, scooting over to offer him a seat. He obliged, taking up the spot next to you. You dug into your bag again, offering the other half of the burrito. “It’s still warm. But we got one drink between the two of us.”

Jean smiled, unwrapping the foil. “Won’t be a problem if this isn’t that spicy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, rummaging through your bag again and pulling out a small container of green salsa. “I got you covered with the wimpy salsa.”

Jean scoffed, taking the container. “Not everyone has a stomach made of steel.”

“Or not everyone has a stomach that catches fire from the slightest drop of heat.” You laughed at his eye roll. 

The two of you caught up like you always did, taking bites of your burritos and sharing micro-sips of the soda. And like always, the conversations would drift to anything and everything. 

“Why the beach?” Jean said. “Did you forget it’s winter?”

“I like the beach when it’s cold, less people are around.”

“I remember you telling me that,” Jean said. And he did. He raised an eyebrow when you told him how much you dreaded the idea of spending summer on the beach, but your eyes lit up when you mused about how peaceful it was to go during the colder months. “I mean why tonight?”

You paused, brows furrowing. “I mean, why not?”

Again, Jean rolled his eyes in jest. “Was it spontaneous or…?”

“It was planned. It’s healthy to take yourself on a date sometimes, and Valentine’s Day made sense.”

“So, you’re your own Valentine?”

You turned to him. “And you’re yours.”

Jean bit his lip, reflecting. 

He never cared for the holiday before and he can’t say he thought much about the concept of a Valentine until recently. Because you hadn’t brought anything up about it before, he doubted that you were indifferent as well. But as he sank into your company in that moment, he was burdened with how much he wanted to kiss you. “Nah, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Says who?” You flashed him a sardonic look. 

“Says…me. And everyone else.”

Reaching over, you rubbed his shoulder to tease him. “You’re not one to follow the tide, Jean. It’s okay to be your own Valentine.” For dramatic effect, you batted your eyelashes.

Jean hissed lightheartedly, which was followed by a moment of silence. From the corners of his vision, you stared at him with a softened gaze for a moment. It was when he turned that your hand flew off his shoulder. 

You cleared your throat, reaching for the bottle. “My bad, I might have gotten burrito grease on your jacket there.”

The loss of contact left Jean forlorn as he attempted to capture your gaze though you had averted your eyes. 

“It’s better than nothing,” he said softly. 

Peering up, you lifted a brow. “Better than what exactly?” 

Jean flitted his eyes at the space between you two and he inched closer. You noticed the gap shrinking, pulse racing. While you didn’t move closer to meet him, you didn’t avoid him either. Your knees and elbows bumped together, his weight and warmth at your side.

Much like the night before, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the hand on his knee, clenching your fist to keep your fingers from latching onto him. You bit your lip, venturing a glimpse to Jean’s face and yours heated up when you caught him watching you. 

The lamps along the pier were aglow when the last shred of daylight was tucked under the starry sky. Closer to the shore, a bonfire danced along the horizon, casting all of Jean’s beautiful features. 

“It could be better,” you murmured. You can’t explain the boldness, but you assumed it had to do with how your intuition guided you to Jean. 

Jean whispered his reply, leaning closer. “Tell me.”

His honeyed eyes, kindled from the bonfire shined like amber, held your gaze with an intensity that you longed for in secret. 

Your hand reached for his, and your pulse quickened when he tied your fingers together. 

Jean’s face hovered by yours, whispering your name. “Is this, okay? I…want to…”

“Please,” you intoned, eyes fluttering closed. 

Jean kissed your lips, and it was how you always imagined it would be: warm and plush. He pressed his lips again onto yours, dragging it upwards to graze the tip of your nose, and land on your forehead. 

Each brush of his lips sent you into a stupor, so peaceful, you could fall asleep in bliss. 

Your eyes flew open when he pulled away though it lasted only a moment as he let go of your hand to cradle the sides of your head, and bring you closer to deepen the kiss. 

A match was lit, igniting embers of passion the longer you stayed connected, it was the warmest you had felt in a long time. Not prepared to end the kiss, your fingers dug into his shirtfront to keep him glued to you. It was breathtaking like you were floating from the exhilaration of releasing the pent-up pining for Jean. 

Finally, when you were both out of breath, your lips disconnected but you continued to hold onto each other. 

A breathless laugh spilled out from you, head spinning like a snow-globe recently shaken. 

Jean laughed too: hearty and full of relief. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long. And I’ve been wanting to let you know that I like you. Please, I want you, everything.”

The confession landed with grace, taking up the spot that was previously occupied by pain. You didn’t think this opportunity would ever come again. But here he was. 

Smiling wider, you flung your arms around his neck, catching him off guard and sending him backwards. Despite the grunt, he tucked your hair behind your ear with one hand while the other traced along your face. 

“Yes, I like you too, Jean.” Before he could meet you halfway, you pinned him down with another kiss.  💜

[tetsumie]

𝐈 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋

pairing: kuroo x gen!neutral reader

genre: angst

a/n: slightly self indulgent :( but anyways this is my first fic on this blog and i'm trying to get back into writing again which feels really nice <3 also i miss my boy kuroo :(

god, how you wish you wouldn't have to do what you're about to do.

sitting on the bench in front of the lake, you fiddle with your fingers waiting for your boyfriend, kuroo, to show.

it wasn't a date or anything and he told you he was coming from a study group with some friends to meet you. the whole thing was an incredibly sporadic meetup.

"y/n!" you hear his voice and you turn your neck to see him slightly jogging towards you with his messy hair.

"hi tetsu," you reply with a small smile on his face.

he slows down his pace as he reaches you and his lips turn upwards into that smirk that you've grown to love in the months of your relationship with him.

his stupid little smirk.

"did i keep you waiting for too long?" he asks you.

you shook your head. "no no no! i was just looking at the lake for a bit and listening to some music. don't worry about it."

"sorry... study group kind of got carried away. organic chem is kicking our asses," he replies with a chuckle and you let out one as well.

"but... i did get you flowers!" he pulls out a bouquet of white carnations and your heart flutters but the feeling is immediately retracted when you remind yourself why you called him over.

"t-tetsu, you really didn't have to," you begin to stammer.

"sure i didn't have to but i wanted to," he kisses your cheek. "anything for my pretty."

he puts the bouquet in your hands and sits with you on the bench, viewing the lake with you. you're unusually quiet and kuroo feels something is off.

as he's about to ask you what's wrong, you intervene with, "tetsu can we walk for a bit?"

"y-yeah sure."

the both of you stand up and begin to walk around the sidewalk surrounding the lake. people of all kinds are here. some are walking their dogs, some with their kids, others out on a jog, some riding their skateboards, and more. even couples just like you and kuroo are present.

you still aren't saying anything and any topic kuroo brings up, you're giving curt responses and it's worrying him. what's going on?

"y/n," kuroo's upbeat voice turns to one with a bit of a more stern tone. "stop."

you stop moving and you turn to meet his honey golden brown eyes.

those honey golden brown eyes filled with love and affection just for you.

looking him in the eye was still intimidating to you even after all this time and you felt the goosebumps form on your arm.

"what's going on?" he tilts his head. "you haven't said much the entire time we've been here."

you break eye contact and you're looking everywhere else on his face other than his eyes now. you know the moment you look into his eyes, he's going to read you like an open book and you're going to burst into tears.

"my mom and dad want us to break up."

the world around kuroo silences. he can't hear the dogs barking anymore or the sound of the skateboard wheels riding along the cement or the laughter from the children walking around with their families. the only thing he can hear are your words.

"oh."

you can see the heartbreak take over his handsome facial features and you can't help but feel at fault for all of it. it's your fault now that he's upset.

"but why? i didn't do anything! i mean, we haven't formally met, but we've said hello and stuff on call! i don't think i was disrespectful? right, i wasn't disrespectful?" he begins to ramble.

"no, tetsu, you were never disrespectful to them." you reply in a low voice.

"then why do they want us to break up? it doesn't make sense.. we haven't done anything wrong?" he asks.

"they just... they think me in a relationship with you is all too soon. us being in such a committed relationship is too soon."

you bit your lip waiting for his response and his gaze refused to leave your face. "y/n, there must be something more to this. tell me the entirety of their reasoning."

goddammit, he would always be able to read you like an open book.

"they were talking about how... well.. they don't think you're good for me.." you mumble.

he doesn't say anything for a moment and you feel your heart drop. you look at him and now his face is unreadable. you can't seem to figure out what's going through his mind.

"i'll talk to them," determination laced with his voice. "i'll change their mind."

"tetsuro, please..." you grab his wrist and you refuse to look back up at him knowing if you do, the tears will unconventionally fall. "it's not... it's not worth it."

"our relationship is worth it to me!" he says, his voice growing louder. "your parents are trying to pull us apart and you're just letting them! don't you want to try?"

"don't you think i did?!" you reply.

"i told them you're different! i told them how much i love you and how much you care about me and how i'm willing to spend the rest of my life with you if you asked me to! i would do it in a heartbeat! i told them that you, you, are my first love."

he hears the pain in your voice as you begin to tell him.

"kuroo, i never wanted to hurt you but i... i'm in a tough spot where i don't want to hurt my parents but i don't want to hurt you either."

he feels the wet tear droplets on his wrist and he realizes you're crying. and it hits him.

"how long have you been keeping this in?"

"..."

"how long, y/n?"

"about a month now..."

you've known for so long and yet you couldn't tell him. were you that horrified to tell him about it? he sighs. he hates the fact that you're crying.

and a part of him feels responsible for your tears.

"so what now?" he asks. "what do you want to do?"

you begin to wipe your tears, still refusing to look him in the face. you can't bare to see the expression on his face after everything that's been said.

"i... i don't know."

silence fills the space between you too and neither one of you know what to say. you refuse to look at him and he won't stop looking at your figure in front of him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'll look up at him.

"y/n," he says with a strength that you weren't expecting from him. "look at me... please?"

it comes out as more of a request and you can't not look up at him. your heart breaks even more at the sight. there are tear stains on his face and his eyes are stained light red.

his eyes. his honey golden brown eyes. the ones that would hold a soft gaze reserved just for you have now turned erratic and empty altogether.

he looks so vulnerable right now and you feel that it's your fault that your relationship is crumbling so quickly.

"let's break up kuroo," you tell him before he can say anything to sway your heart and mind. "i've been thinking about this for too long and i need to accept my parents' wishes."

his heart chips even more when you call him by his last name. his body screams to stop you from making this decision. he wants to believe this is all some horrifying prank but with the way your eyes are looking at him, he knows it's not.

"okay," he says.

"okay," you reply back.

he bends down a little and takes your face in his palms and you resist the urge to rub your cheek along his familiar palm like you used to. he rubs his thumb along your cheek and you feel the hot tears forming in your eyes.

right as a tear slip pasts your eye, kuroo's lips meet your cheeks and he begins to kiss away every tear that seems to slip away from your eyes.

you're never going to be able to feel his touch on your face again.

you're never going to feel the warmth of his skin on yours again.

you're never going to be able to feel the way his calloused hand fits into yours.

you're never going to be able to feel him again.

his last kiss ends on your lips and you don't have it in you to kiss him back, scared of making a decision you would regret. as he pulls away from you, you open his palm and place the bouquet of flowers back in his hands.

"don't give this back to me; it's yours," he tells you.

"please take it back... i don't want them."

with much hesitation, he takes back the flowers he picked out for you and his arms drop to his sides.

"i love you, you know that right?" you begin to say. "i love you. so fucking much."

he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i love you, always," he speaks it into the air and places a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

"i always will."

© tetsumie 2023 all rights reserved 

[alhaithamhabibi]

( the final part!! unedited version but i'm proud of myself for this cause there were so many ways this could go. and this version seems to help fit with the next arc better than the others. after this, i will be going on a short break so i could get to my other works as well. so enjoy! )

flowers were ever so delicate yet resilient. with the proper care, they could bloom beautifully. or they could wither and die just as easily. it depends on their environment and how much care is placed on them. and the flower's visuals in the greenhouse were beautiful. there wasn't a single bad flower as you looked around. you were sure there were some poisonous ones just like the ones back home but you didn't have time to admire them greatly.

since your mother-in-law was hellbent on escorting you to her tea party at the moment. the worst part was that you weren't even properly dressed for such an extravagant outside event. though the greenhouse was warm, the cold chilly air hasn't left your skin. or was it really the cold?

my dearest ladies, maria stopped in front of the numerous tables where you can assume these were lante's wives and children sat, i was lucky enough to snatch my son's elusive wife and have her join our tea party. isn't that exciting?

there are a lot more exciting things, you thought as you bowed respectfully at the ladies in front of you, like burning down this damn household. but it's not you can like you can say that so you hid your thoughts well with a charismatic smile. though you barely got to answer any of the lady's questions as maria's hand was tightening enough to pull you away and have you sit down next to a blonde woman.

her cerulean blue eyes shyly glanced at your stiff figure as you tried to get maria off your back. it was only through your eyes that met hers that you remembered who she was. she was one of the few sane women in the household and perhaps the kindest woman in your past life. but it went so much deeper than that.

aunt sierra, you hesitantly asked, with a little hope that she remembers. but when she warmly smiled at you, taking away the chills in your bones, you clasped your hand on hers. you've grown quite beautifully, haven't you?

in your last and current life, you never felt the maternal love of your mother who you shared the same blood. unsurprisingly, nor has your mother in law didn't the same. but sierra was the closest thing you felt for a mother's love. the last time you saw her was when you were around three years old. your mother and she were close acquaintances just as your family's previous generations were. however, after becoming pregnant with her first child, you hadn't seen her since then and your mother refused to talk about her.

well, dearest sierra, maria looked back between you and her, don't you be keeping secrets from me. as sierra began to explain your and her family's close relationship, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander around the tea party. because of your previous life, you were obligated to attend maria's tea parties so...you knew of the horrors that came with it.

but the tea party was noisier now with the arrival of another participant. just who could it be? you got your answer the moment you looked up in front of you and were met with scarlet-colored eyes. it was the eyes that resembled lante the most. yet her lustrous blonde hair was a giveaway of who her mother was. roxana agriche.

but you knew then. you could still remember the days filled with glances and glimpses of each other lives, the nights of quiet laughter, and the glimmer in her eyes as she confessed that you were the first person to make her feel like she wasn't alone. it was the same for you. and when dion began to go out and take a mistress home, she was the shoulder that you were able to cry on. when your child died in your arms with a wound caused by their father, you remember spending your nights with her, tears staining the pillows as she attempted to soothe you. when she was suffering, she could only turn to you as you took care of her. how could you forget your beloved companion?

you must be dion's bride, roxana's melodious voice brought you back to reality as she watched you carefully. you could only nod, a bit embarrassed you zoned out, and bowed down respectfully to her. you were afraid if you spoke, that the pain would be evident enough to raise questions. as she sat down at your table, so did you as you tried to focus on the drink in front of you.

as the tea party went on, you mindlessly watched the others around you. they were all fitting for the name of agriches as they talked about their toys and how their preference. you couldn't hide the shock when roxana talked about her toy and for a moment, you wondered if she came back from the past as well. or was this another side of roxana that you never knew about. there was a pang in your chest when you realized she has changed to become her family. but you only recalled she had one toy in the past and you were sure it died little while ago. in the corner of your eyes, even sierra looked frightened by this sudden change as well.

expectedly, maria had brought out her doll to your table, watching closely at your reaction. with more control, you were able to shift your features into a more calm and collected look. you weren't gonna give her the satisfaction of watching you squirm. you're much stronger now. but the same couldn't be said for sierra. instinctively, you held her hand on top of her trembling one as the maid filled with stitches poured the tea.

it was quite a feat to see maria be so...obsessed over sierra though. perhaps it's because sierra resembles more of an innocent dove

before you could say anything to get the maid out of there, roxana stepped in by pouring away her tea much to your astonishment. where was this boldness coming from?

somehow, you were weaved into escorting sierra out of the greenhouse and back to her quarters. you had no idea if roxana knew your uneasiness being here or not but she provided you with a getaway plan and you would take advantage of that.

however, it wasn't much of an escape as you and sierra ended up walking into another's beast trap. luck was never a strong suit in the agriche household as it seems. somehow with all the chaos going around, you lost sierra who called for roxana. entering the now open space, you found the fair haired woman quickly but you noticed two other men several feet away from her. as you rushed to sierra making sure she was okay, you turned around only to find a monstrous creature coming your way. the courtesy of it being dion's action.

but that's fine, isn't it? gives it more all the reason for you to thoroughly destroy your husband to ruins, yes?

you pushed both yourself and sierra out of the monster away only to see it drop down dead. looking at your mysterious savior, you felt the air knocked out cold at the bluish silver haired man. cassis pedelian. by this time, shouldn't he be dead? whatever it was, you didn't have time to think more about it. your head was filled with rush thoughts and that one voice that told you to go ahead and just kill your husband right now.

subconsciously, you marched yourself in front of dion with such anger, such contempt burning in your eyes. you were careful enough not to step on cassis, who could only glance at you below. the rush in your head and the beating of your heart made the world sound so loud and yet too quiet at the same time.

however, for the others present or those who arrived just now, they could only hear a sickening sharp slap. your hand burned as you let out a heavy sigh. the pain will no doubt be there tomorrow. you could distinctly hear sierra's cries and wails as maria attempted to comfort her. this situation has gotten quite messy, hasn't it? you grabbed dion's forearm and pulled him off cassis and forced his head closer to yours as you settle your lips next to his ears.

if you ever place aunty sierra in danger ever again, you whispered as you grasped his chin with your fingers to draw enough blood. the bastard dares to chuckle which only kept your grip on him much tighter. i will make sure you, who don't know an ounce of mercy, beg for mercy on my feet.

[eveningdance]

You Get Pregnant

| Masterlist |

Giyuu:

Giyuu doesn't know how to properly react at first. He's stunned in his spot for a while before he looks up at you and in the tiniest voice, "R-- really?"

When you confirm, he seems to hesitate before gently touching your stomach. He admits that he never thought he would live to see himself become a dad and bursts into tears. He hugs you tight and lets it all out while you soothe him.

Kyojuro:

Kyojuro is frozen for a moment, but then the biggest grin you've ever seen spreads across his face and he picks you up, spinning you around in joy. He's so excited he's like a puppy, asking you questions and touching your stomach and holding you tenderly. He hasn't been around a baby since Senjuro, and he remembers his brother fondly. He remembers the long nights his mother had, but he's convinced that you both can do it. The two of you immediately make plans to tell his father and brother the good news (as well as make the grumpy grandpa-to-be smile, dammit!)

Gyomei:

Gyomei's eyes immediately fill with tears, and he presses his hands together and starts to pray. He's overwhelmed with the news -- nervous, surprised, excited -- it's been so long since he's taken care of children that he doesn't know if he can do it for a moment. Part of him feels horrible guilt for it; while his orphans were long dead, here he was, sharing a happy moment with his wife, about to have a child of his own. But then you gently place your hand on his wrist and smile up at him, and he remembers how blessed you both are to be alive. You reassure him and the two of you share a kiss. It's enough to make a grown man cry... and that's okay.

Sanemi:

Sanemi is shocked beyond belief for a moment. Then he's so careful, so gentle when he asks, "Are you really--?"

When you say yes, his eyes fill with tears for a moment before he tries to discretely wipe them away. He pulls you in for a hug, hiding his face in your neck. He's so nervous about it he can't stop shaking. After what happened to all of his siblings in his childhood, he never wanted to even think about caring for a child again -- but now here he was, on okay terms with Genya, with a wife, and now, a child on the way. He loves you, all three of you, with all his heart, even if he doesn't always show it.

Akaza:

Are you a demon?

If not: Although his first reaction is to be overjoyed, Akaza feels horrible.

Demons and humans can't have children together. With a demon mother, their body will absorb the embryo immediately. With a human mother, the embryo/fetus will begin to kill the mother from within. In 99% of cases, neither survive. In the other 1%, only the baby will be born, but the baby will be significantly weaker and will likely not survive infancy. The entire pregnancy and birth is horrendously painful and the mother gets sicker and sicker until she's bedridden and almost comatose, unable to move until she dies.

While Akaza has dreamed of having a family of you, he doesn't want to lose a loved one so soon again. He'll beg you to abort the baby. If you refuse, he'll instead beg you to let him turn you. He knows you don't want to discard your humanity, but if you can't and/or won't abort the baby, then it's your only option of survival.

If so: Akaza is ecstatic.

All he ever wanted was to have a family of his own and get away from his ugly past. When you come to him, telling him that you're pregnant, his first reaction would be to question it, but when you confirm that yes, you want this, and yes, he's going to be a father, he starts to cry. He picks you up and spins you around, telling you how excited he is and how much he loves you.

Douma:

Are you a demon?

If not: Douma is incredibly disappointed.

He'll ask if you want to keep the baby. He'll be incredibly serious when he tells you the odds of survival and then ask you again. If you don't want to abort, then he'll ask if you want to be turned. He wants you to be safe no matter what.

If so: He's a little nervous.

Douma has some experience in taking care of infants (thanks to Kotoha), but he's never had to think about his own children. Still, he's interested in seeing where this goes.

Kokushibo:

Are you a demon?

If not: Kokushibo is apprehensive.

You're the first human in four whole centuries that he feels a legit connection with (and it's not just about your abilities anymore). The last thing he wants of you is to have to watch you struggle through a doomed pregnancy and ultimately die, whether or not you take the baby with you at birth. Kokushibo does not beg, but eventually you'd find him trying almost desperately to persuade you to abort the baby to save your life if you decide not to turn.

If so: Kokushibo doesn't know how to react at first.

He faintly remembers his own human wife and children, so he has a feeling he knows what to do, but he doesn't know if he could do it again, especially in this state. It'll take a lot of reassurance and space between you two for him to eventually come to terms with it and accept it. He's proud deep down that you're having a child, and with his meager memories (which, really, aren't much, considering how busy he was at the time), he can and will be a father.

Muzan:

Are you a demon?

If not: Muzan is upset.

He had actually caught feelings for someone for the first time in, well, his entire life. And to hear that you, his human wife (his actual human wife, mind you), is pregnant, it turns his entire plan up on its head. He is not going to lose you, daylight be damned. He'll explain everything that he knows about demon-human pregnancies, and he'll ask if you want to turn for your own safety. It's either that or abortion. This is one of the few areas where he will not accept no for an answer, and it will lead to a few fights between you. Once you do make a choice, however, he arranges for the least amount of pain possible for you. He cares a lot about you and will not let you die. He understands that turning you will deprive you of your freedom (and he hates to think of it), but you're his family now, and he doesn't want to lose you like he has others, like Rui.

If so: Muzan is pleased.

There aren't very many cases of demons procreating with one another, given that they tend to be pretty hostile to one another unless under an alliance. And now the most powerful of them all is going to have a child with another powerful demon (because come on, you don't believe that your spouse would let you be a weak starter, did you?), and what if this is his chance to finally unlock the secret to walking in the sun? Until now, no pureblood (AKA, him) had ever conceived with a changeling (AKA, everyone else). What if the child had new abilities that he could not? Old habits admittedly die hard, and for a while he'd genuinely wonder about devouring the child at a certain age if they showed promise. But then he'd think of you and hesitate for once, ultimately deciding that there must be another way to conquer daylight.

Yoriichi:

Yoriichi is. just. so shocked.

He honestly never thought that he would be able to have a family like this again. When Uta and the baby died, they took a piece of his heart with them. But now here you are, happily pregnant, and he's on top of the world. He sweeps you in for a tight hug, tears burning in his eyes as he thanks you.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Revenge

Notes: Again, pulled this off my phone's notes, and it has been seen by most ppl on the gc, but for anyone else, here you go. I'm sorry, but ISTG high schooollll. . .ughhhhh

TW: blood, death, violence, past trauma, restraints, bone fractures, kidnapping

"I'm not a sadist, no. I don't enjoy the infliction of pain. Especially on innocents. The concept makes me rather sick."

Hero circled the room languidly, in a rather preditorial fashion. "But if I'm being completely honest, I do have a bit of a thirst for revenge."

"Revenge? Who even are you?" his captive asked.

He let out a shrill, cold cackle. "Don't you remember your little nightingale? Your favourite pet?" he spat. He lifted his hood, revealing his face.

And sure enough, it was him. He used to be a skinny, little thing, but now, he towered above him easily, and even though he remained somewhat slender, he obviously had a much stronger build. His face went from being somewhat childlishly soft even in its bony countenance to being harshly contoured with sharp lines. The nightingale had grown up. He wasn't an adult, no. He looked about sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Even if Supervillain was bound harshly to the chair with relentlessly tight ropes, he was determined to have the upper hand. He had a hold on this kid, he'd marked him, scarred him enough, and through all of his pride, he'd made him beg. It didn't matter if the intention was to escape, it still happened. One blissful time. And it was this boy's utter refusal that made him so beautiful to break. It was rarer, scarcer and thus more valuable.

"Oh, so you got all big and strong just to fight me, nightingale? How thoughtful of you!" he chirps with misplaced enthusiasm.

The crime-fighter laughed again, and it almost looked genuine as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Don't give yourself so much credit. You don't occupy that much space in my head. I trained for myself. I got stronger because I wanted to. You didn't inspire anything in me aside from this visceral urge to rip everyone who ever wronged me to shreds. I'm not giving you a taste of your own medicine. I'm giving you a taste of my most bitter poison."

"But you still made the effort to show up, no?"

"I told you. I'm into revenge. It's nothing personal. You're a liability to me. Means to an end. Basically, I'm a bored cat and you're my plaything. You've stripped yourself of the right to be treated like a human being." He shrugged casually as though they were talking about what they liked to order at a coffee shop.

"Well, what lovely activities have you got planned for me, nightingale?" the evil-doer crooned sweetly.

Hero swiftly sliced through the ropes with a knife. He grabbed him by the collar and threw him harshly across the room. He wasted no time on kicking him down roughly with the heel of his boot. He didn't give him any chances to recover. Aiming cruel punches to his face and kicking his ribs so many times he'd practically smashed his entire ribcage. All while the older man let out maniacal laughter.

"What a beautiful show you're putting on! Wondering what you might want with this?" he wheezed.

Cartwheeling and letting his boot smash mercilessly into his chest, the boy let out a downright animalistic snarl. "What I want, is to give you what you ultimately deserve. I was just some kid. Hurt, broken and naïve, and you turned me into a goddamn toy. And maybe sick people like you think it's funny, but none of your victims share the sentiment."

He wheezed again, sputtering blood. "Are you going to kill me, nightingale?" Supervillain let his voice drop down to a stage whisper.

"Of course I will. But this theme park has rules. Can't experience the giant roller coaster without going through all the other rides now can we?" His voice dropped dangerously low, dripping pure venom.

He ended up breaking almost every single bone in his former tormentor's body. All with nothing but his own hands smeared in blood that wasn't his and his feet that were clad in heavy combat boots. And endless cycle of throwing him against the wall "Like a single player game of catch," he'd stated, and he never gave him a chance to breathe, let alone get up.

He'd made sure every movement was an absolute pain. He'd rendered him useless now. If he'd thought he could power through this and break the boy's spirit once more, he was horribly mistaken.

"Nightingale, don't you think you've had enough fun for today?" he rasped out breathlessly, words feeling slow and heavy on his tongue that was now slick with blood.

His-previously-captive-turned-assailant laughed again, a sound almost as grating as nails on a chalkboard. "You better hope God has mercy on you because I don't. I am just a mere human being, lacking God's capacity to forgive atrocities. And this is far too personal."

He pulled out his knife and stabbed him in the chest so many times that he lost count. All the rage, pain, humiliation, just all of it fueled his every hit, blinding him with a flurry of pure, unrelenting hatred, like a monster drunk on its lack of mercy.

"N-never. . .never forget that I broke you before nightingale."

"Oh, and never forget that I built myself up and came back to break you, permanently."

He walked further inside, kicking the rusty himges of the ancient door down to find a little girl, same age as he was when he got taken by that sick freak. She tried to squirm away, useless against her restraints.

"Hey hey hey, relax. I won't hurt you. The man that took you, he's gone now." He crouched down to her level, expression soft and voice soothingly gentle.

"G-gone? When's h-he coming back?"

"Never, sweetheart. He's gone for good."

"Y-you killed him?" she whispered, terrified.

He bit his lip, not wanting to emphasise that he'd just committed first-degree murder to an eleven year old, but he nodded slowly.

He cut through the ropes, trying his best not to freak her out. The child got closer to him slowly, and as if on instinct, she wrapped her arms around his waist, or at least she tried to, and sobbed into his hoodie. He slowly reciprocated, taken aback by the gesture and surprised by how trusting she was. She was probably in shock, the poor kid.

He didn't let go until she did. "Do you remember any of your parents' numbers?" he asked.

"My mum's."

He talked to the mother, explaining exactly what happened as per the child's story. All the while he let the girl, frozen with fear, cling to him as they waited. Whispering words of comfort to try to get her to at least calm down.

After getting the location, she was eternally grateful to him for getting her daughter back.

And that was more than enough to outweigh any inkling of guilt he may have had for killing this psycopath. He'd spared so many kids, not just her, the hell he had been through.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-whump @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @dodo-docs @vernilliom @sirrsnakesssss @starssabove

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[meownotgood]

baby (child) aki :(( makes me think about being childhood best friends with him nd then falling in love w each other 💔 best friends to lovers trope. i'm crying.

and, HES SO ADORABLEEEJWJAKA

I've had this sort of idea for a long time.... and another anon mentioned childhood friends with aki too......

you've been friends with aki since grade school. he'd always come over to play with you when his little brother was sick. your house was close to his, but yours wasn't hit, so when aki suddenly stops showing up to play, you have no idea why.

the next time you see him, it's a couple years later, and to say he's unrecognizable is an understatement. in the time since you've grown from kids to teenagers, he's closed himself off; he refuses to meet your eyes, staring down at his feet when he speaks, and his voice is quiet, cold. regardless, you treat him in the same way you did all those years back then, and for you, he seems to come out of his shell, just a little.

when he's not busy, the two of you spend time hanging out, getting ice-cream, watching movies, and just doing all the things that teenagers normally do. you both get along quite well, just as you did when you were little, and aki seems to be softer around you; he speaks to you in a tone much lighter, much more relaxed than how he talks to everyone else.

it seems like things are looking up. you're happy to have your childhood friend back in your life, you're even happier whenever you get to spend time with him — but one fateful day, your whole world gets flipped on its head.

aki shows up at your door teary-eyed, averting his eyes in the same way he did all those years back then. he stares at the tips of his shoes as he idly kicks a pebble, and with a shaky voice, he explains that he's leaving, that he's going to tokyo to become a devil hunter.

you should have expected this, right? all those times where he can't come over because he claims he's "studying", when he actually was busy training — you didn't fail to notice how the next day, he's grabbing your hand with palms rubbed raw, with knuckles bruised, stumbling as he walks, his body exhausted. you should have known by the look in his eyes every time you watch the news of the latest devil attack on tv, or by the shift in his voice whenever aki starts to talk about them. all devils deserve to be dead. I wish all of them would just go to hell.

you should have known this would happen, so why do you feel so empty? aki has always been this way. he's felt indebted to his family from the start, he's told you how he think it's all his fault, how he needs to atone for just letting it happen. for sitting there and watching his whole family die, right before his eyes. you knew he'd choose a life like this. this was bound to happen, maybe this was how things were supposed to happen. so the day after you wave goodbye to him as he boards his train, why does everything feel so wrong?

perhaps he meant more to you than you thought he did. perhaps the thought of aki leaving to go and suffer the same fate as his family tears you up inside more than you'd like to admit. maybe you even had a crush on him, although you know he'd never feel the same.

maybe you should have begged for him to stay.

things are somber, but only for a while. you grow up, you go to college, you get your fancy dream job. you never found a friend as close as aki, but you made several others along the way. you moved on. your job asked you if you wanted to relocate to tokyo for a higher paying position, and you agree.

tokyo is huge. even after a few months, once you've begun to settle in, you still feel like you haven't even seen the half of it. you miss your friends and your hometown, but your job is enjoyable, and it pays you handsomely, so you don't really have much room to be upset. you hit it off with one of your co-workers, and when he asks if you'd like to go on a date at some fancy restaurant you've never heard of, you happily agree. everything resumes to normality.

your work is close to your apartment, so this is the longest you've commuted since you moved here. the restaurant is about an hour away, in fact, but your co-worker promises that when you meet him there, you'll definitely believe it was worth it.

you got off the train and started making your way to the restaurant, but you were suddenly stopped in your tracks — apparently, a horde of devils broke out into the city, and although they've already been dealt with, police officers are working to escort people away from the scene. the street you need to go down is closed off with a long stretch of orange security tape.

dammit, you don't want to be late, the last thing you want is to leave your date waiting. so, you march up to where the road is cut off, looking to see if there's any way you can get around this mess, any place where the street is crossable. cleaning crew members and the police shuffle about, but you're not able to get any of their attention. however, among them, there's someone with a particular uniform — a devil hunter's uniform.

he's crouched down, seeming to be examining the flesh of one of the devils; you walk up a little closer, wave your arm and shout, hey, do you know the quickest way to get around this street?

you're ignored, at first. the devil hunter carefully rises to his feet, something small held deft between his thumb and his index, and when he slowly turns around —

there was something about your childhood friend's gaze that you could never forget. something about the sharp look always present in his eyes, or perhaps it was something about the color, a deep blue that always seems to suck you in, like the depths of the ocean. something you couldn't exactly put your finger on.

no. you remember it now. it was the way his gaze always seemed to soften when he looks at you. then, the way his shoulders slump, the way his jaw unclenches, the way his fingers tremble and he nearly drops what he was holding — yeah, just like this.

a tight knot of anxiety forms in the pit of your stomach. aki opens his mouth like there's something he wants to say, but he inevitability can't. you end up being the one to speak first.

"aki?"

[bi-bard]

You Don't Want to Lie Anymore - The Corinthian Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: You Don't Want to Lie Anymore

Pairing: The Corinthian X Reader

Based On: The Boy in the Black Dress

Word Count: 728 words

Warning(s): mentions of murder & abandonment

Summary: (Y/n) opens up to the Corinthian about the real reason that the two of them are really friends.

Author's Note: I was scared shitless to write for this song, but here we go.

YUNGBLUD WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST!

-------------------------------

I knew who the Corinthian was.

It didn't take long to figure it out.

But even when I first found out, I couldn't bring myself to care. Not because I agreed with his actions, but because I couldn't picture myself losing him. I didn't want to see my life without him if he decided to abandon me. I had been through that all too many times.

It was funny, really.

My fear wasn't him killing me to protect his secret. It was him leaving me. That was because only one outcome left me isolated all over again.

The Corinthian seemed to appreciate my acceptance.

He wouldn't ever go into detail, but he wasn't hesitant to tell me where he had been. Maybe he just liked being completely honest. Maybe he didn't put that much thought into it.

I sometimes forget that not everyone gets stuck in that spiral of questioning why someone stays.

I never thought he questioned why I accepted him. I always thought he shrugged it off.

Until one night when I was sitting at my desk, scribbling into a notebook, only half-focused on the words that were scrawled on the page. The Corinthian was sitting on my bed behind me, leaning back against his hands as he silently studied me.

I don't know what he thought he would see while I was hunched over with my pen in my hand.

"Why do you keep letting me in," he asked.

I only stopped writing for a moment, forcing my brain to truly take in the words no matter how much his sudden speaking caught me off guard. I didn't have a good answer. I just mumbled something about him being my friend and that it was my job to support him.

"Yeah, but I am what your kind would call a monster," he continued. "Yet, you open your door. You make me dinner, offer me coffee and tea, let me watch movies on your couch. You've even felt safe enough falling asleep next to me."

I set my pen down, turning to look at him. He was now leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"You do everything that by definition you shouldn't," he said. "Why?"

I chewed at the skin on the inside of my cheek as my eyes danced around the room. I knew how to put the answer into words. I just didn't want to say them. The Corinthian would think I was pathetic if he heard me. If he heard the truth.

"(Y/n)... my dear, I just want to know."

I took a deep breath, almost feeling like I was suffocating under the pressure. "I was scared that you would leave if I judged you."

He tilted his head at me.

"It sounds stupid," I mumbled as I ran a hand over my face.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to hear it."

I looked at him again. He was silent. Patient.

When was the last time I had seen pure patience etched on someone's face?

"I've grown used to people walking away," I confessed. "For one reason or another. I let them down or I'm not what they want. Always the same ending. I'm left alone. But you... You stayed. I saw you in my dreams when I was a child and here you sit. I'm an adult and you're asking about my failed friendships and my isolation. And you haven't left yet. Why would I risk you leaving by not accepting you?"

There was a long pause.

I took another deep breath. This was it. I had gone too far. This was where I lost him.

I turned back to my desk, ready to hide any tears that may fall.

I jumped a bit when a kiss was placed on my forward.

"I am not going anywhere else," he promised. "I refuse to abandon you, darling. I am going to stay right here. I promise."

I felt tears building in my eyes as I smiled at him.

My arms wrapped around his torso, my face ending up pressed against his stomach. One of his hands rested on the side of my head, rubbing circles with his thumb. His other hand touched my upper back.

I was happy to accept every part of him.

Because he did the same for me.

That was all that mattered to me.

-------------------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[batstorm93672]

"Nightwing!"

Robin ended up sliding on his knees to get to Nightwing who was on the ground. Nightwing got hurt badly, an explosion to which he took most of the damage to protect Robin.

"Nightwing wake up"

He didn't respond, Robin pressed his ear against his chest. His heart was beating, it was subtle, but it was there. "Nightwing don't leave me" Robin raised his head and pressed his hands against Nightwing's chest as he pressed down over and over as to help him breath. "Nightwing don't leave me, come on wake up"

Nightwing groaned, still having difficulty "You can not, no. You will not die on me. I believed that you were dead and I had died. We managed to find each other once more, after being my Batman, you are not allowed to leave me! I refuse to lose you once more! Get up, say something sappy and dumb" Robin clicked on his link "Batman, Nightwing is in bad condition I request a retrieval"

"I'll be there"

Robin groaned and heaved Nightwing to hold him over his shoulder and dragging him away.

"Nightwing stay with me... please don't leave me. Not again... you can't leave me again"

"Robin..?"

"You are awake, good stay awake"

"Robin I'm sorry, I'm tired"

Nightwing slipped from his grasp and Robin dove to hold him up and helped him sit up against the brick wall. "Nightwing listen to me, if you leave I will find you and beat life back into you. So don't think of anything funny" "Robin... I'm tired. Please just... let me sleep" Robin slapped Nightwing in the face and Nightwing opened his eyes a bit more than before. "Ow" "Good! You stay awake and you don't close your eyes. If you do so I'll punch you"

Nightwing groaned "Alright I'm awake" "Good you best stay awake" "Did you... say a whole speech about how much you love me?" "No, if you don't shut it then I'll kick you" "So violent" "I am. I already called Batman, he'll be here soon"

"You're really something Robin, I'm happy I was your Batman"

"I said stop talking, focus on staying alive"

"No... let me talk, I wanted to say how pride I am of you. You've grown so much"

"Nightwing you have to stop talking"

"I'm happy we are brothers, you mean so much to me. More than you give yourself credit for"

"S-Stop... please"

"I love you"

Robin looked at Nightwing, his eyes were closed and Robin shouted "No! Wake up you can't leave me! Don't leave! I need you Richard, I need you to stay. I don't wanna be without my family again, I'm scared to be alone so don't go! Without you then our family will not be the same, I won't be the same! So God damn it if you don't wake up right now I'll kill you myself"

Wake up...

Wake up..!

Wake up!

"Wake up! You can't go Richard! Wake up right now or else... o-or else I'll... I'll--" His threats became sobs as he held Nightwing close. "Don't go... please don't go"

Like magic, the rumbling of the Batmobile made its way close.

"Robin, come on we have to get him in and back to the cave"

"Don't touch him..."

"Robin it's Batman"

"Father..? Please save him, I don't wanna lose my brother" Robin looked at Batman, the kid had tears down his face. "We will, we have to get home. Okay?" "Okay"

.

.

"Hey Dick"

"What happened..? Is Robin okay?"

"Here let me help"

Bruce helped Dick sit up straight as Dick rubbed his eyes "Where is Damian?" "He's in his room. He's been quiet since we got into the Batmobile. I'll tell him your awake"

A few minutes later Damian jumped down the stairs and tackled Dick.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you asshole how dare you! I'll kill you!"

"I love you too Damian"

Damian cried and held Dick's shirt tighter as tears ran down "I'm gonna kill you, I swear I'll kill you for real"

"I love you too Damian"

[messybrained]

I very rarely make posts because 1) I'm terrified of people and 2) I'm just a wee bit private, I don't have too much to say. I think I just needed to speak this out into the void, be a bit vulnerable and imagine connecting with other weirdos like me.

I have undiagnosed, and unmedicated adult ADHD. Honestly, it's one of my favourite things about myself - I'm eager, I'm funny, I find everyday things really exciting. I'm quick to strike up a conversation with people, I love hearing about what they do because I can find interest in just about everything. I love the experience of living with such a messy brain (lol, there's a point to the username).

But somedays, like today, I'm experiencing the suckier side. The side that rears it's head when you've somehow wormed your way in to a very high-pressure, very repetitive and boring, very *neurotypical* job. I'm not sure how I got here, but man, a pay above minimum wage was mint enough for me to try. So by some stroke of fate and perhaps lapse of my employers judgement, I'm in a job that pays bloody well but my God it hurts my brain so badly. I could cope, I think, if it weren't for the social agony this has caused.

My boss is quick to criticise my work, and because I'm in such a high performing team, work that I am busting my ass to make adequate isn't good enough. She's told me "you're doing a good job, we just need to make you great!". I get the job done, but it might be a day later. There might be a small mistake every once in a while. I might have to ask questions about something you've told me before. It's led to me being put on an HR mandated performance improvement plan. I think I would be doing better if I wasn't under constant surveillance, as part of this means that my boss has asked to be bcc'd into all my emails to keep track of my work.

I did warn people about the issues I have when I was hired 10 months ago, so they were aware. I've tried to be as open in my communications as possible to everyone and say "hey, real sorry for this, here's what I'll do next time to make it better".

And yet, people have started ostracising me in those little ways they do when they're wanting to push you out. They've become really annoyed with me and started doing small things, like telling you last minute that the meeting has changed rooms. Speaking to me differently as if I wasn't able to comprehend basic instructions. But it's grown to leaving the office at the end of the day, turning the lights off, and not saying goodbye while I'm still there, now a little confused and a bit lonely sitting in a dark room. They make jokes out loud in an open plan office and subtly ignoring my contributions. It's not outright to anyone else looking in, but given that I don't do those things to people, even if I dislike them, I find it hard not to take offence.

It feels like primary school all over again. High school was a little different, I was able to be more me. But this is soul sucking. I woke up this morning about to cry because I didn't want to go in, and had a vivid memory of 7 year old messybrain breaking down in tears, screaming and kicking and refusing to go to school. The echoes of that so neatly fit into the wavelengths of what I was feeling this morning.

This is only my second fulltime job, I'm very new on the scene. But my first was not at all like this. I maybe would have stayed longer if the pay were as good as this one. I had a community and it made all the difference. Once a job was done, it was done until a year's time when it came around again.

I guess I'm just feeling sad and rejected. This is not the place for me and I need to find a kinder tide. There is hope. There really is, if I've found community once I can do it again. I refuse to let this dim my spark.

But for now, I'm a little melancholy, a little broke due to debt, and a little tired and in need of a soft place to curl into. And a few moments scrolling on this cursed website to remind me that there are other wonderful weirdos out there like me.

I hope everyone who reads this knows that you are already worthy of love and belonging just as you are. You don't have to hustle for it. And it's okay if we want to curl into a soft place for a bit and feel sad and down. I'm right there with you. There are other people like us out there. There's space for us in this beautiful world. You matter and I'm glad you're here.

[serenailith]

forgiveness is such a simple word (but it's so hard to do when you've been hurt)

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: b5, too late Rating: g Word Count: 4465 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling, eleanor & hob gadling, death of the endless & hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags: alternate universe - no powers, alternate universe - human, heartbreak, begging for forgiveness Summary:

Hob will do anything to win Morpheus back. Unfortunately, Morpheus isn't as receptive to those attempts as Hob might have hoped.

Link: on ao3

second half of this (ao3 | tumblr) masterlist

Hob stares at Doctor Morris (which sounds so similar to Morpheus that it causes a physical ache in Hob’s chest, or maybe it’s the same ache that has yet to disappear since Morpheus left). His boss stares back. There’s no amusement on his face, and Hob knows without a doubt that this is his final chance. Doctor Morris means it: If Hob doesn’t get his head on straight, he’ll be out of a job. A job he actually enjoys.

Promising that things will change, he forces a smile and waits for his boss to walk away. Hob sighs and drops to sit on the stool. How can things change when Morpheus is still gone? It’s been two weeks, and there has been no sign of him. Hob hasn’t heard from Morpheus, and it’s killing him inside.

What’s worse is the jumper that Morpheus left behind. It used to be Hob’s. It had been his favourite golden-yellow wool thing, but Morpheus had borrowed it the first night he stayed over in Hob’s flat and that was it. Hob refused to take it back–“Looks better on you, love,” he’d said. “Though, if I’m honest, it would look much better on the floor.”

It still smells like Morpheus, and Hob dies a little bit more as he clutches it to his nose, breathing in the scent of clean linen and cloves.

Morpheus’s candles still reside in their places on the shelves around the flat. Hob burns one for approximately five minutes: The smell of a rainstorm is too much. He leaves the candles where they are and avoids looking at them. Sometimes, though, he thinks he can smell them in the air.

He can still hear Morpheus’s laughter, quiet and measured with everyone else but so carefree with Hob. He snorts at the end of each laugh when he’s laughing with Hob. Hob remembers the first time he’d heard the little snort. Morpheus had flushed so deep a red that Hob worried for his heart. After all, that much blood rushing to one area couldn’t have been healthy.

After a while of no judgement from Hob, Morpheus had grown more confident and stopped caring about how his laugh sounded. Hob has thought it beautiful from the start.

Everything about Morpheus is beautiful. His bright grey-blue eyes that say so much, the wild mass of hair atop his head, the stretch of pale skin as he lies nude, sprawled beside Hob in their bed. There has always been a depth to his soul that captivates Hob, his words planned to maximise effect, to elicit emotions Hob never thought he possessed. He can craft worlds and stories as fine as silk, as detailed as the richest tapestries.

Hob misses the nights Morpheus would whisper plans for his newest novel in the dark, as if speaking the words in the daytime would ruin the magic. Perhaps it would. Hob would never fall asleep until long after Morpheus did; he was too preoccupied with the imagery dredged up in Morpheus’s voice roughened with his fatigue. Many nights, Hob dreamt of the worlds Morpheus spoke of.

His novels remain on the bookshelves. Each one stares back at Hob, judges him for letting their author go. Hob scowls at them, yanking Morpheus’s debut from the shelf. What do they know, anyway? But they know as much as Morpheus. He’d poured so many tears and a lifetime of love and devotion into each word. Hob had spent hours listening to his boyfriend rant about plot-points that wouldn’t resolve themselves, gush about the characters he brought to life, lament about the latest critical review while blushing at every positive one. Hob has each of them saved in a document on his laptop.

Morpheus never understood, but he didn’t need to. It was enough for Hob. His pride for his boyfriend was enough.

Why couldn’t he be?

How could he have let it get to this point?

Morpheus grins up at him, his hands tangled in Hob’s hair. He tugs Hob down until their lips collide, and he opens easily until Hob is drunk on the taste. He groans and settles more securely over Morpheus. The kiss drags on, barely interrupted as Hob shifts to align his cock with Morpheus’s. To stroke them as one until they come together—or as close to “together” as he can get. It doesn’t matter; it’s a gorgeous sight to see Morpheus falling apart beneath him, to taste the desperation on his tongue.

Hob startles awake, squeezing his eyes closed against the hot tears burning paths along his cheeks. That had been the first time they ever did anything intimate. He hadn’t been ready for more, and Morpheus had been so damn understanding. He hadn’t pushed. He’d only waited until Hob took them further. He’d promised Hob that it was worth the wait: “It was as amazing as you are,” he’d said before pinning Hob beneath him with another searing kiss.

Eleanor arrives on his doorstep only thirty minutes after the phone call. In one hand, she holds a bottle of wine. In the other is a box of tissues. Hob nearly breaks down at the sight of her there. They may have broken up long ago, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. Or perhaps the time has allowed them to move from lovers to friends again. She bustles about the kitchen as if she lives in the flat. As if she knows where everything is. Maybe she does.

Hob has been accused more than once of being a creature of habit in some regards.

“Oh, Hobs,” she groans when he tells her the truth nearly forty-five minutes later–three-quarters of an hour spent drinking wine in silence. He tells her that the man he loves left almost three weeks ago and hasn’t contacted Hob at all. Not even to tell him to fuck off and die (as if Morpheus would ever say such a thing). “You utter idiot.”

Hob snorts and curls further in on himself. “Thanks, El. Knew I could count on you to make me feel better.”

“You rang me to tell the truth, not to sugarcoat and lie. And the truth is you’ve done a poor job of being there for Morpheus lately, haven’t you.” She sighs and reaches for his hand; he lets her lace their fingers together. “Hob, you always went out of your way to make me happy, often to the detriment of your responsibilities. You did the same with him until recently. What’s changed?”

Hob stares at his feet, at the sheep print on his socks. Morpheus bought them for him. Morpheus bought a lot of novelty socks for Hob, and though he didn’t like many of them, Hob never got rid of a single pair. Not even the ones with his face printed on them, mouth agape as he drooled in his sleep.

Eleanor’s question is a good one. What has changed in the last few months? She’s right: He has always, without hesitation, put his relationship before a lot of things. Work, friends, even his family sometimes. He can’t think of anything, any reason that he would have cast Morpheus aside as he has.

He admits as much to his ex-girlfriend, and she blows out a breath and squeezes his hand. Hob swallows down the last mouthful of wine in his glass then sets it down to grab the bottle. The very empty bottle. He exhales sharply and flops against the back of the couch. Eleanor glances at the clock on the wall, cursing under her breath when she sees the time.

“I’m so sorry, Hob, but I have class. I can stay if you really want me to, though.”

“No, no. Go on. Don’t let me hold you up.”

She rises to her feet with a grace that reminds him too harshly of Morpheus. Her ocean-deep eyes find his, her gaze so knowing and–not pitying, she’d never, and she cups his cheek with a warm, gentle hand.

“Things won’t always be so bleak, Hobsie.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Hob croaks out, and her thumb brushes away a tear.

“Oh, love, you always were a resilient one. You’ll make it through, no matter how it hurts.”

She leaves him with a kiss to his forehead, and Hob watches the door close behind her. Her perfume lingers in the air, so familiar and not what he wants to smell. He gropes blindly for the blanket Morpheus always keeps on the back of the couch and wraps it around himself. There is no chill in the room; it’s all from within.

“I don’t want to make it through,” he whispers, a broken crackle of sound in the silence, “not without him.”

The quiet is deafening.

It’s been one month, two weeks, four days, seventeen hours, five minutes, and thirty-nine seconds… Forty… Forty-one… Hob wrenches his gaze away from his watch and knocks again.

Footsteps approach on the other side, the click of heeled boots. She must have just arrived home. Hob would feel guilty for disrupting her time, but this is more important than she is.

“Oh.”

“Hey, Tel.”

Morpheus’s sister sighs, hand coming up to rest on the door frame. “What are you doing here, Hob?”

“Is he here?”

“No.” Teleute raises a brow then sighs again. Her expression softens. “He left a few days ago.”

A few days. Hob is late by a few fucking days, and now Morpheus is somewhere out of reach once more. He clears his throat but can’t breathe properly. Teleute cocks her head and shifts her weight between her feet. Her gaze is too knowing, too heavy on Hob’s shoulders, and he wants to scream. He wants to curse at her for not sending Morpheus back home to where he belongs. He wants to rail against the universe for everything that’s gone wrong lately.

It’s his fault, but damn it, it’s unfair.

“Where did he go?”

“Hob, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Please. Please, Teleute. I need to know.”

Teleute scowls and clenches her fingers around the doorframe. Hob fully expects her to shut the door in his face, so he’s surprised when she speaks: “You hurt him, Hob. Like, really hurt him. I’ve never seen him so upset, and I was there for his first heartbreak.”

“Tel–”

“No. You listen. Morpheus has never loved anyone as much as he loves you, and you decided to be selfish and forget that. You took advantage of the fact that he was always gonna be there for you. Whether you meant to or not is irrelevant. It happened, and now I’m the one helping him pick up the pieces of his heart.”

“I–”

“Hob.” Her shoulders slump, and she closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, the deep brown glistens with unshed tears. “He was devastated when he showed up here. He never wanted to leave you, but you pushed him away.”

“I want to fix this, Teleute. You have to believe me.”

“I do,” she murmurs after a moment. “I do believe you. And I know that once upon a time, you made him happier than ever. I… I want to believe you can again.”

Hob doesn’t dare breathe as she stares at him. He doesn’t dare believe she’s saying what he thinks she is saying. After all, she’s angry for the way he treated her brother. He is angry at himself for the way he treated her brother. Teleute holds up a finger and walks away. Hob waits and waits and waits until she comes back. Between her fingers is a piece of paper.

“He’ll hate me for this. Make it worth it, Gadling.”

“I will. God, I fucking will,” he swears as he turns toward the street.

“Oh, Hob?” she calls, and he glances back at her. “If you fuck this up again, I will be first in line to beat you senseless.”

“I’d let you. Thank you, Tel.”

The paper holds an address. Hob punches it in on his GPS and frowns when the data loads. The dot pings in the middle of a sea of green–trees. There’s nothing around that Hob can see. Where the Hell is Morpheus at? Instead of wasting time questioning it, he puts the car into gear and peels away.

The entire two-hour drive is spent rehearsing, practicing promises and apologies over and over until it’s smooth. Perfect. Enough to win Morpheus over once more. It’s everything Hob thinks will work. It has to work. Hob can’t lose another love, especially not Morpheus who has brought joy to his life in ways no else ever has..

Thunder rolls, lightning forks across the sky in the distance. Hob runs his hand through his hair and prays to reach his destination before the rain lets loose–he loathes driving in inclement weather. His car can hardly handle it, and his nerves definitely can’t.

His GPS dings, tells him he’s approaching the turn-off, so he slows and flicks on his indicator. The smooth road disappears from under his tires with his turn. The driveway is little more than dirt, and the car bounces over small hills and divots in the ground. He grits his teeth at a particularly deep pothole, muttering an apology to his car as if it can hear and appreciate his words.

Finally, Hob comes to a stop behind a small silver sedan. Teleute’s, he knows, having borrowed it once when his own was in the shop after an accident. Morpheus had vowed after that to never get behind the wheel again; it took seven months before Hob convinced him that it was an accident and therefore nothing to feel ashamed over. Hob certainly wasn’t angry that Morpheus had been sideswiped on his way home from the shops. All he cared about was that his boyfriend was uninjured.

Even with Morpheus’s assurances that he was without damage to his being, Hob had doted on him for weeks after. Spoiled him rotten.

Shaking violently, Hob draws in a steadying breath and pushes open his door. Dry grass crunches beneath his feet as he strides toward the cabin before him, and he wonders without real curiosity how Morpheus even found this place. His knuckles ache with the force of his knock, and Hob grimaces at the sound. He hadn’t meant to knock so hard.

The door opens, and Hob gets a split-second look at Morpheus’s pleased smile before it disappears. Before Morpheus slams the door shut once more.

Hob swallows against the lump growing in his throat. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, of course; that would have been absurd. This is actually exactly like Morpheus. Sweet though he can be, he’s also got a temper that doesn’t allow much room for listening. Not at first. It always takes him far too long to open his ears.

But this is important, so Hob will wait as long as it takes. Even if it takes years, he will wait for Morpheus’s patience, his understanding, his forgiveness.

So he knocks again, calling out loudly enough for his voice to carry through the wood, “I’m not going anywhere, Morpheus. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. I—I can’t leave here without you.”

Silence but for the slow-rolling thunder overhead. Hob knocks again and, when there is still no response, blinks quickly to rid his eyes of the burning. Resting his forehead against the door, he squeezes his eyes closed and fights to quell the sob struggling to break free.

“Morpheus, please. I just… I don’t want to lose you for good. I love you, even though I’ve been shit at showing it lately. I need you. You are the better half to me, the one person I have always counted on to be by my side. You—you make me laugh, and you make the bad days less awful. You make them amazing, just by being in my life. Being there when I get home. Please. Don’t—don’t make me live without you.”

It’s hardly the polished speech he’d practiced, but it’s far more heartfelt, he thinks. He raises a hand, hesitates, then curls his fingers in against his palm. Knocking does no good. Morpheus is far too stubborn to give in. Hob knows it. He had just hoped it would be different. That Morpheus would realise he needs Hob just as much as Hob needs him.

That he would open the door and forgive Hob, come home with him. Hob is so goddamn tired of sleeping alone, of being alone.

“Morpheus. I’m begging. I’ll get on my knees for you, if that’s what it takes.”

In response to his pleas, the sky breaks open. There is no warning, there are no slow drops; the dark grey clouds release all their moisture in one go. Hob’s hair plasters itself to his skin within seconds. His clothes are no better. He shivers in the sudden chill but doesn’t move.

He made a vow to himself to not leave without Morpheus.

His voice grows hoarse with use by the time the door opens a crack. He hadn’t heard the locks over the thunder and crash of rain on the leaves of the surrounding trees. He pushes a lock of soaked hair from his face and meets Morpheus’s gaze.

Guilt lives on the other man’s face, and he glances behind Hob before stepping back. Hob hurries inside before Morpheus can change his mind. This is good, he thinks. This is one step toward reconciliation.

“You can sleep on the couch,” Morpheus says quietly, “and leave in the morning.”

Leave? “So there’s no chance you’ll hear me out, then?” Hob croaks, and Morpheus frowns but avoids looking at Hob.

“I already have, if you recall the last two hours. But nothing you have said changes how you made me feel for too long.”

“I know. God, I know this. I just… I’m asking—begging—for another chance. I’ll prove I’ve changed. That I’m the man you fell in love with.”

Morpheus’s blue eyes finally focus on Hob. Dark lashes frame them so beautifully. He chews on his lower lip for a long moment, then: “That is not a risk I can take. I deserve better than what you have given me.”

He turns away before Hob can speak. Hob stands there, rainwater dripping to the wood floor, as Morpheus moves about the cabin. He comes back with two towels and a thick blanket. He stays silent while handing them to Hob then disappears into what Hob assumes is the bedroom.

The door closes with a pointed click.

Hob bites the inside of his cheek to stop the curse. Stripping quickly, he scrubs himself dry before draping his wet clothes over the back of the dining chairs. His skin prickles in the cool air of the cabin, despite the fire in the fireplace. He rushes toward the blanket he’d tossed onto the couch, wraps himself in it, and drops to sit on the cushions.

The bedroom door stays shut. Tears burn in his eyes, slip down his cheeks without permission. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. More will only take their place, anyway. He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt as if Morpheus is so close yet so far. There’s an ocean between them, and Hob isn’t sure if he’ll sink or swim.

He slowly, eventually, falls asleep.

“—no right.”

Hob’s eyes fly open at Morpheus’s voice. It’s a tone he hasn’t heard in a long time, not since Dee nearly broke them up six months into their relationship. Sitting up, Hob scrubs a hand over his eyes and shamelessly listens in.

“No, Tel, I do not care for your reasons!… Because I left for my own reasons. You should have respected that… Yes, I know that. And I love you, too, but he is not the best for me. Not anymore.”

Hob claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob that suddenly bursts free. He reaches for the throw pillow and buries his face in it.m as Morpheus continues.

“He is leaving today… I’m certain. And Tel? You would do well to never meddle in my affairs again.”

By the time Morpheus emerges from the bedroom, Hob has dressed in his still-damp clothing. He swallows past the lump in his throat, tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Morpheus stands before him in a pair of sweats and his favourite jumper.

“I guess I really am too late to change your mind, so I’ll leave you alone. I… I’m so fucking sorry for all I’ve done to hurt you, Dream.”

“You lost the right to call me that,” Morpheus snaps. It takes all of Hob’s willpower to not rear back at the venom in his great love’s voice. Then Morpheus’s shoulders slump, his face twisting up. “Do not call me that. Please.”

Hob snorts, shakes his head. “You’ll always be my dream, even though I’ve not shown that to you in quite a while. I wish you the best.”

Hob turns away before Morpheus can see the tears and heads out to his car. Thirty minutes and a lot of cursing later, he gets the vehicle unstuck from the mud. He can see Morpheus’s face in the front window as he leaves the cabin behind.

Three days. Three days after Hob admits defeat. That’s all it takes before Doctor Morris fires him. Security shows Hob from the building, though he wasn’t planning on making a scene. He may love the job, but it’s lost its joy. So many things have lost their appeal. God, he needs Morpheus again.

His phone fills with missed calls and unanswered texts from Crispin, Eleanor, even Teleute. He ignores them all; none of them bother to search for him at the rundown pub he sequesters himself in night after night. He avoids the White Horse—they know to look for him there. It was his and Morpheus’s favourite place to drink and people-watch. Hob no longer people-watches. It hurts too much to see happy couples and remember all the backstories Morpheus would create about perfect strangers.

Unfortunately, no job means no income. He’s spent the last three weeks drinking away the money he’d had squirreled away; he would have had more if it weren’t for the box hiding at his parents’ house.

He loathes himself for having to ask his mum for help covering his rent. I’m officially the lowest I’ve ever been. How pathetic he’s become.

He stumbles to the door, vision blurring and world swirling. His chest still aches, feels tight in a way that hasn’t gone away since Morpheus left. He can barely put one foot in front of the other; he thinks it might not be just the drink. His entire body has hurt this entire time.

“Hob.”

Hob barely registers the way Morpheus’s eyes widen when Hob opens the door, as if he’s horrified by what he sees. He repeats Hob’s name in an undertone. Hob squints though he means to glare.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Thought nothing I say can make you love me again,” and God, his voice slurs. Yeah, he’s pathetic.

“I will always love you, Hob. That is the problem.”

Hob flinches at Morpheus’s word choice, quickly moving aside when Morpheus brushes past. He comes to a stop in the middle of the living room and waits until Hob has closed the door to speak.

“I cannot stop loving you, no matter how I try. I… I thought I could push down everything I feel for you except the hurt and anger. I needed to hold onto those, or I would have allowed myself to fall back into the rut we became stuck in. However, trying not to think about you meant all I thought about was you.”

Hob curls in on himself, crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, who says I want to hear what you have to say?”

“Listen, please. I am begging you.”

“Fuck no! I begged you to listen to me, to hear me out, yet I wasn’t worth the time. And don’t give me that shit about how badly I hurt you to the point you couldn’t give me the time of day despite the claims that you love me.”

“Shut up!” he shouts, and Hob’s teeth clack together as his mouth slams closed. “Let me speak, fuck.”

It’s the curse that does it. Hob stumbles to the couch, dropping inelegantly to sit on the couch. Morpheus remains standing, and Hob has the wild thought that Morpheus has always been bigger than him, bigger than life. A being of endless everything. Morpheus finally sits beside him.

“Though I said I did not want to hear you out when you showed up at the cabin, I did. I listened to every word, and it hurt to hear. I listened, and I ached for you. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into your arms and forgive you. To go back to how things were before.” Morpheus sighs. “I couldn’t, though. I said it before: I deserve better than how things grew to be, Hob, and I can’t let anyone, not even you, treat me less than that.”

“I apologised for that,” Hob protests. “I swore to you that I’ve changed. Why forgive me now?” he asks softly, voice cracking.

“Because I was reminded by Teleute that you made me happier than I had ever been before. She told me she was always jealous of how fiercely you love me, how you did everything to make me happy. I realised I… I do not want to live without you, either, Hob.” He turns toward Hob, cool hand coming up to cup Hob’s cheek. It slides to wrap around the back of his neck, and Hob shivers. “I love you, Hob Gadling, and I am so sorry it took so long to remember that.”

Hob’s breath hitches, a slight sob, as Morpheus kisses him gently, hesitantly. It hurts—it kills Hob—to be kissed like this after so long with nothing. Hob cherishes the ache, the pain. It means everything to him. He pulls away far enough to rest his forehead against Morpheus’s.

“Love…”

“Can you forgive me?” Morpheus whispers.”

Hob laughs hoarsely and nods. “Nothing to forgive, my dear Dream. Forgive me?”

“I do.”

Hob loves the sound of that, the words that have slipped from his love’s lips. He wants to hear it in every setting, but especially before family and friends. He doesn’t say that, though—it’s not the right time, but it will be. Eventually.

He kisses Morpheus once again. And again. And again, for good measure.

[missroserose]

2&10 for unpublished fic asks, fic(s) of your choosing

I apologize in advance—I know Stranger Things/Harringrove isn't really your fandom, but right now, When the Waters Start to Cross is taking up almost all the air in my writer brain, so that's what I'm answering for...I suspect you understand the feeling 😂

2. How did you get the idea to write this?

I answered that question here!

10. If unpublished, can you show a sneak peek of what you've written?

Ooo, excerpt time!

For context: this is just after the weekend of the Snow Ball (end of S2). Steve and Billy have spent a couple of nights together, Billy's confronted his father and been violently kicked out of the house, Steve has rescued him from something nasty in the woods, and Billy's refused to stay with Steve, instead lashing out at him and leaving him alone. They haven't seen each other since Sunday morning; Steve's gone to school largely in hopes of finding Billy there.

---

“…said she rounded a corner and found them there. Just like that! In public and everything.” The voice is sticky-sweet as the bubblegum the speaker is audibly chewing. “God, it’s like he has no shame.” Steve, about to close his locker and head to class, pauses at the sound of Laurie Henderson’s voice. The associations are hardly unpleasant—she’d taken him down like a pro at a party a year or so ago, her long hair sleek beneath her fingers as she proved her tongue nimbler even than Nicole’s—but they haven’t spoken in a while.

“She told me that at first she thought Megan’s dad had just got himself a hooker,” Amie Dietrich puts in, and Steve’s brain once again throws up images—seven minutes in heaven, awkward wet kisses and fumbling in a darkened closet, new-grown breasts soft beneath his hands—

“He was on his knees, y’know, and all she could see was the hair.“ Laurie again, then a pause, as she presumably gestures, and the girls all giggle at the image. “But then she noticed his ass in those jeans, and she knew.”

Steve knows, too, in that moment—knows without a doubt who they’re talking about. He shouldn’t listen, it’s not his business—and yet the draw is irresistible, and he finds himself busying his hands, tidying a shelf, dropping a sheaf of torn-out notebook pages covered in red ink, letting them flutter to the floor like so many dead leaves.

“Knew what? That it was him? Or that he was hooking? Because I’m not sure she’d be smart enough to put it all together,” Amie snarks. Steve’s gut does a flip-flop—of course, it makes sense. He can practically hear Billy’s voice, I’ll figure something out—

“He does have great hair, though.” Laurie’s voice, thoughtful. “Almost as good as Steve Harrington’s. I’d thought about going out with him just to see if he’d tell me what shampoo he uses.”

“I went out with him a couple of times,” Beckie pipes up. Beckie Collins, who’d been so insatiable she’d tired him out, who’d looked up at him with a tear-streaked face as she’d begged him to pull her long black hair as he fucked her—he ducks, as much to hide his expression from passersby as to pick up the pages—

“You’ll go out with any guy who’s got two legs and a car,” Amie points out, a casual swipe underpinning the friendly jibe.

“Mmm, one of the legs is optional, if it’s a nice enough car,” Beckie responds, thoughtful. “But that’s my point. I was right there, I was down for it. First time he completely blew me off, said he didn’t do shit on the first date—“

“God, what guy doesn’t even try for first base?” Laurie’s voice, presaging another flurry of giggles as Steve scoops up the papers. “…and then the next time, like, he touches me? But then we’re making out, and I swear he was the least enthusiastic kisser I’ve ever met. So I climb up into his lap—not easy in a Camaro—and start grinding my hips a little, you know, trying to get the party started. And I swear, not a twitch.” Another short pause; Steve can picture the way she’s mock-shuddering. “So I’m like, hey, do you need a hand there? And he gets all flustered and tries to make out like it’s my problem, all ‘guess it doesn’t like needy bitches’.” Her voice does a mocking imitation of Billy’s growl. “I should’ve known right then and there he was a—“

The warning bell rings, drowning out the end of Beckie’s story, vibrating against the slight flutter in Steve’s gut. He shoves the papers into the back of his locker and slams the door—only to come almost face-to-face with Laurie and her side ponytail as she rounds the corner, Amie’s feathered hair and and Beckie’s curls in tow behind her.

“Morning, ladies.” He pastes on a grin, hopes it doesn’t look as sickly as he feels, as the green vinelike thing slowly unwinding in his gut feels. Watches as their carefully-made-up faces grow similarly artificial smiles, hothouse flowers carefully cultivated. “Any big plans for Christmas break?”

They look at him a moment, then at each other; then they giggle, that strange ambiguous sound girls make that could be in appreciation or in condescension. “You always did have a lot of nerve, Harrington,” Amie comments, but Laurie flicks a hand, and they go quiet as she gives Steve a once-over. He keeps his smile in place, posture firmly casual, and awaits her judgement.

“King Steve,” she finally says, voice almost a purr. “Been a long time since you said boo to us. Thought you were all about that brainy Nancy these days.”

The name sends a pang through Steve, which he covers up with a toothy grin and an open-armed gesture. “Psh, Nancy’s old news. And I’m no longer King, remember?” Steve gives an eyeroll, exaggerating the movement, conveying how little it all means to him before he drops his arms. “Just plain old Steve Harrington.” He gives a quick once-over to the group to see how he’s being received; Amie, aloof, won’t meet his eyes, but Beckie returns his smile.

Laurie is still eyeing him, chewing her gum (grape Bubbilicious, mingling with her perfume—Yves St. Laurent, maybe?) thoughtfully. “Well, Plain Old Steve Harrington, we missed you at Kristie’s party last week.”

“Yeah,” Beckie puts in, suppressing a snicker, “Hawkins parties aren’t the same without taking bets on who’ll be seeing King Steve that night.” She flicks her gaze boldly to his crotch before moving it back up to his face, and the other two laugh, not entirely unappreciative.

“Now, now,” Steve says, posing slightly under their attention, “I have it on good authority that Hawkins has a new king. I’m sure he’d be happy to provide you an evening’s entertainment.”

Amie only titters. “Maybe if he were interested,” she says, meaningfully, and the three of them laugh as they sail past into the rapidly-emptying hallways. Or two of them do—Laurie trails behind, still eyeing him speculatively.

“What can I do for you?” He keeps his voice smooth, but he’d be lying if he claimed that the attention wasn’t a nice change from his recent pariah status.

“Just wondering which Steve Harrington is the real one. The one who acts like he owns Hawkins High, or the one who haunts the hallways from the sidelines?”

Steve sidles a little closer—not looming over her, but getting intimate, enough that he can put a hand against the locker and lean in. “I guess that depends. Do you prefer the Steve who gets with girls at parties? Or the one who babysits a bunch of nerdy kids?”

Her smile grows a little wider. “I wonder which one we’ll be seeing this week?”

He lets his grin grow pointed. “I guess we’re both going to find out.”

Her smile drops, but she looks smug, her calculations having come to a satisfactory conclusion. “Should be interesting.” An expert rollaway, and she’s walking down the hallway, leaving a trail of artificial grape and Opium in the air behind her. “See you soon, Plain Old Steve Harrington.”

Steve stands there, looking after her, for just a moment—until the tardy bell rings, and he sees that the halls have emptied around him.