#what do these things amount to in the end?

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the fifteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fifteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fifteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[zaczenemiji]

Hi there! It's me...again. Hope your doing okay.

I was thinking about a new request about Kenji Sato x Fem! Reader based on the song "Please, Please, Please" from Sabrina Carpenter. Reader is a singer just like her so and has a relationship with Ken but she thinks that some things aren't doing good, but she also has him wrapped around her finger. Like the part with "I beg you, don't embarrass me, mother******". It can be angst but also fluffy and spice (Only if you want to but no smut) It can end in a happy ending.

The rest is up to you because I know you'll do a great job. No need to rush so take your time.

Don’t Prove ‘Em Right

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,358

Author’s Note: I went with a bit of angst 🤧

MASTERLIST

“You could do better.”

This was one thing you’ve always heard since you started dating men as a singer. Throughout your career, you were either cheated on, abandoned, or used in a way that they just rode your fame.

Other times, fans would ship you with another singer or celebrity or whoever famous and you’d give it a try for them but the ending is the always same: you two were just pretending for public entertainment and there was never love at all.

Your perception of love blurred the longer you got in the singing industry. You sang about it, wrote songs about it, but you’ve never really experienced it for a significant amount of time or for a significant depth.

That was until you met Kenji.

Despite his fame, he seemed down-to-earth and genuinely interested in getting to know you. He took you to his baseball games and introduced you to his teammates. In return, you invited him to your recording sessions.

Kenji was always supportive, and always encouraging. He seemed genuinely proud of your achievements and was always there for you. Despite his busy schedule, he shows up at your gigs and concerts and cheers you on from the front row.

He had a way of making you feel special like you were the most important person in his world. It was easy to overlook the occasional outbursts, the moments of impulsiveness that seemed to come with his fiery temperament.

You told yourself that everyone had flaws, and Kenji's good qualities far outweighed his bad ones.

You believed in him and in the future you could build together. Despite the red lights and the stop signs, you held on to the belief that this time, this love was right.

But as time went on, the cracks in Kenji's facade began to show. His temper flared more frequently, and his impulsive decisions started to take a toll on your relationship.

You made excuses for him and justified his actions to your friends and family. You told them he’s different.

But they told you that with the way he’s behaving, you’ll just end up in the dumps again—that he’s going to cheat on you, hurt you, leave you, and the ending will be the same…

“You could do better.”

Heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is another. You couldn’t afford your name dominating the headlines again. And for what reason? Another breakup.

You loved him deeply, but the constant cycle of highs and lows was exhausting. You wanted to believe that he could change, that he could be the man you fell in love with.

But the more you tried to fix things, the more you realized that some things were beyond your control.

You sat in front of your vanity doing your makeup nicely. You glanced at the clock. Kenji would be here any minute to pick you up now. Tonight is your big night. It’s an afterparty to celebrate the release of your new single.

Your boyfriend had a reputation for causing a scene. It wasn't entirely his fault—he was passionate but it sometimes translated into impulsiveness. Tonight, of all nights, you needed him to be on his best behavior.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Kenji stood there, looking dashing in a tailored suit, a grin spreading across his face as he saw you.

"Wow, you look stunning," he said, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a smile. "You sure you wanna come?"

"Of course," he replied with a confidence that both reassured and worried you. “I’m always here for you.”

You arrived at the venue in no time. Celebrities, reporters, and fans filled the room, all eager to celebrate your success. You and Kenji mingled with the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and accepting congratulations.

But as the night went on, Kenji's behavior started to shift. The drinks were flowing, and while you had stuck to soda water, Kenji had not.

You watched with growing anxiety as he laughed a little too loudly, and gestured a little too wildly. The conversations around you started to feel like a backdrop to a ticking time bomb.

You pulled him aside. "Kenji, please," you whispered urgently. "Just... take it easy, okay?"

He frowned, a mix of confusion and irritation crossing his features. "What? I'm just having a good time."

"I know," you said, forcing another smile. “Just... for me, okay?"

He sighed but nodded and for a while, it seemed like he was keeping his promise. He stuck by your side, an arm around your waist, engaging in polite conversation with your friends and family.

However, you left him one moment and then the next, he was talking to one of the reporters. The latter walked away, a smirk on his face. Kenji turned to you, his face flushed with anger.

"Can you believe that guy?" he spat. "He had the nerve to ask about the last game. Said I sucked."

"Kenji," you said softly, trying to calm him down. You placed your hand on his chest. "It's not worth it."

"But—"

"Please, Kenji. Just... let it go."

He looked at you, the anger in his eyes slowly fading. He took a deep breath and nodded. "For you," he said quietly.

But the reprieve was short-lived. You caught sight of him at the bar, raising his voice at someone who had apparently made a snide comment.

The situation escalated quickly, and before you knew it, Kenji had thrown a punch, causing a commotion that drew everyone's attention.

Your heart sank as security rushed in to break up the fight. You could feel all eyes on you, whispers spreading through the crowd.

You felt a sense of dejà vu as this wasn't the first time Kenji let his emotions get the best of him, and you were able to hold it together as you’ve always done, but then you heard the one thing you hated.

“She could’ve done better.”

Without a word, you grabbed your things and stormed out of the venue, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over.

Not long after, Kenji arrived at your house, disheveled and remorseful. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry," he began, reaching out to you. "I didn't mean to ruin everything."

You stepped back, keeping a distance between you. "Kenji, this can't keep happening. You promised me you would behave tonight!” You said in between sobs. “This was supposed to be my night, and you turned it into a disaster.”

You sat on your couch, your legs feeling too tired to keep you up. "I can't keep making excuses for you,” you continued. “I can't keep sacrificing my career for your mistakes."

Kenji fell silent, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He’s scared. He knew what those words meant. At that moment, he felt like the sky was crashing on him.

"I don't want to lose you, (y/n)," he said quietly, tears falling down. "I love you, and I know I've been screwing up. But I'm willing to do everything to make things right. Therapy, anger management, whatever it takes."

You stared at him, your heart aching with a mix of love and doubt. "Kenji, this isn't just about tonight,” you said. “This has been happening for a while now.“

“Please, (y/n),” he begged, his voice trembling as he knelt in front of you, embracing your legs as he rested his head on your lap. “I want to be the man you deserve. Please, give me one more chance."

Over the next few weeks, Kenji followed through on his promise. He made genuine efforts to address his issues.

He went out of his way to apologize to your friends and family for his behavior at the party, taking full responsibility for his actions.

Slowly but surely, he’s coming back to being the man you fell in love with. He made sure you wouldn’t be the one doing better because he was becoming better himself.

One afternoon, you had lunch with your friends. They asked about how things are now going between you and Kenji. You gave them a smile, a genuine one since after the party.

“He became better.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@flowerloves @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle

[tflaw]

𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐚 ♱ wriothesley

+ afab!reader. yandere!wrio. yandere themes. noncon. undertones of cannibalism ( sighs ). smut ( but like in a figurative way? idk how to explain it ). cunnilingus. fellatio. gool ol' creampie. guilt tripping. over usage of the word flesh ( aha ). 4.7k wc.

xoxo, hunter. also, special thanks to @/creativecupcake for helping me out! i appreciate it sm <3

You poor thing

Sweet, mourning lamb

There’s nothing you can do

It’s already been done

“Step onto the platform, please.”

Your stomach churns; what little you consumed that day threatens to spill from your mouth. There’s a continuous eddy in your mind, the headache affecting the strength of your bones. 

Would you ever be prepared to face this kind of dilemma?

You have been given no chance to contemplate before the security in charge pushes the small of your back. You stagger towards the middle of the platform that will bring you down several feet underwater. As it starts to descend, you inhale whatever amount of fresh air you can, dreading that it’d probably take time before you could see the outside again. 

It’s just for a few months. All you have to do is endure your sentence, and you’ll be free. 

The air slowly turns scant the deeper you descend, as though you’re being submerged even in the absence of water. It doesn’t help that all you’ve seen so far is an endless stretch of metal, closing in on you, augmenting your anxiety. After what seems like forever, the elevator halts, hinting at your arrival, and there you struggle not to marvel at the magnificent view of the water outside. 

However, the security standing by your side tugs at your arm. Another wave of nausea fills your throat with acid as the receptionist registers your information and recites the crime you’ve committed. Sealing your fate as a prisoner is a quick mugshot before you’re brought to the administrative area. 

Your wild eyes scan the area, noticing other newcomers lining up horizontally before a huge metallic door. They are stricken with the same anxiety as you, evident in how their throats are bobbing, their eyes burning holes in the ground.

“Stand up straight. The Duke is here,” the security announces as the gigantic door creaks open. 

“He’s here; we’re going to die,” the man beside you whispers in hysterics. 

His apprehension is a contagious disease, crawling to stick onto your skin, corrupting what little courage remains in your spine. 

Your breath becomes strained and like everybody else, you’ve done your best to make your presence smaller. What is it about the Duke that triggers this kind of paranoia?

“Ah, here are the flock of lambs,” a strong voice dripping in confidence pronounces, causing the rest of the prisoners to shrink in size, as though all they’ve wanted is to disappear. “Should I say ‘welcome’? Or you’d rather we skip the pleasantries and go straight to business?”

Looking at him now, you understand why the mere mention of his name evokes such palpable horror. He’s a man of tall stature and rough demeanor. His hair, unkempt yet strangely glossy, adds to the unnatural charm he possesses. It’s dark like a raven’s feathers, interspersed with strands of gray that somehow enhance his roguish appearance. 

He starts his scrutiny at the other end of the line, saving you for last. As he scans the prisoners, his mouth remains in a tight line, with an occasional cock of the brow or twitch of the lips. 

“And for the last one…” His tone tilts between authority and mischief, leaving no room for defiance. 

Your heart hammers against your ribs, but fear holds your gaze down. Mentally cursing yourself for potentially igniting the Duke’s ire, you flinch when his warm fingers swiftly lift your chin. 

You suck in a sharp breath, expecting to be greeted by annoyance. What’s painted on his face is an expression you cannot quite name. His pale gray eyes are blown wide, penetrating you straight to the soul. Lips slightly agape, he displays an image of someone utterly surprised. It hasn’t taken long for colors to flood his face again, delivered by his conscious recognition of the prisoners’ gawking stares. 

The Duke clears his throat, summoning back his menacing aura. He motions for the nearest securities, instructing that they discuss the rules and send the prisoners to their respective bunkers. 

However, he finds your eyes again just as you’re preparing to follow the throng. 

“You. Follow me,” declares the Duke. 

It couldn’t have been anyone else, even though you turn around to see if he’s speaking to someone other than you. Realizing the weight of the command, your heart lurches in your throat. How much anxiety can you handle for a day? And what could possibly compel him to seek a private audience with you?

Behind the gargantuan doors, you find yourself yet again inside an unsettling chamber. The aged yet robust metal dominates the space, boasting the formidable reputation of the Fortress of Meropide. Once or twice you have envisioned yourself barred in this place, courtesy of your way of living, but nothing can size up the fear of being here in flesh and bone. 

“I’m over here,” the Duke echoes from above.

Cut away from your reverie, you ascend the stairs upwards to the third level. The metal sculptures of three-headed wolves catch your eye, their craftsmanship a marvel, set amidst numerous bookshelves filled with various genres. In the center of the room sits a spacious table piled with papers, while another stands to your right, equally laden with documents.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” he begins, reclining the back of his lower body against the table, strong arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d merely like to ask you a few questions.”

Through your parched throat, you respond, “Ask away, Your… Your Grace.”

To your surprise, the Duke’s shoulders shake as his mouth echoes a merry laughter. 

“C’mon! Loosen up. Don’t you remember who I am?” he asks in between full-throated chuckles. “Have I changed that drastically?” 

Don’t you remember who I am? 

Now that he’s mentioned it, there’s a wriggling part of your brain that finds him familiar. However, try as you might to fish for a particular memory involving him, you can only grasp at nothing. He remains just a figure you likely crossed paths with on a street somewhere.

“I… I can’t remember—”

He spreads his arms in glee, closing the distance between you without respect for personal space. Large hands capture your shoulders, then, shaking you with undeniable enthusiasm. 

“It’s me! Wriothesley! The boy from the orphanage. Remember?”

Memories flood your mind: blurred recollections of a boy with raven-like hair and pale gray eyes, scenes of a brawl in the yard where his fists repeatedly struck another orphan’s jaw. More images rush in: him behind bars, and you offering a piece of bread to his bloodied hands.

“Wrio? Is that really you?” you ask breathlessly. Your hands have found their way on his shoulders, too. 

“Yes, it’s me! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are you?” He looks like he’d seen a ghost, but there’s no trickle of terror in the planes of his face. Only wonderment and utter euphoria. Before you can respond, he raises a finger and dialed the nearest telephone, commanding whoever is at the end of the line to bring refreshments inside his office. 

He leads the both of you to the lone sofa before repeating his question. 

“Well I… I tried to get by after the adoption,” you tell him, pursing your lips at the memory. “It wasn’t so dreadful, being in that house, but I wouldn’t claim that it had been easy. How about you?” Your eyes wander at the expanse of the room. “You govern the Fortress now? What even happened to you?” 

Wriothesley’s lips stretch to a smile. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought that a rascal like me can do it, right?”

You playfully punch his shoulder. “You’ve always had that command in you, Wrio. Even when we were in the orphanage. You stood tall and lived by your principles. No wonder Papa and Mama liked you so much back then. Speaking of which, do you know where they are now?” 

After your adoption, you haven’t had the ability to contact the orphanage and ask about everyone’s well-being. Since you have been living by scraps, you’ve focused instead on surviving without any spare time to visit the orphanage. 

“Papa and Mama, huh?” An overcast went over his eyes. His words have a bite to them that you cannot decipher. When he looks back at you, there’s a cloud on his face as he mutters, “I killed them.”

The confession immediately turns your veins cold. He looks dead serious.

“What?” A nervous chuckle reverberates from you. “That’s a bad joke.”

His eyes are the most unsettling gray you have ever witnessed. 

“I know you haven’t had the best experience with your adoptive parents. None of the adopted children had. Papa and Mama took care of us, just so they could sell us. Do you know that some of the children even died after being adopted? I did the right thing killing those fuckers,” he confesses without a trace of remorse for the gravity of what he’s done.

This is too much to take in one sitting. Your head throbs again with a new intensity. Perhaps it’s the years that you’ve been gone that exacerbates his revelation. You vividly recall the day you parted ways with the orphanage owner, tears in their eyes as they reluctantly let you go to your new foster parents. It was a poignant farewell, etched as your last memory of them. Now you wonder, was it all a facade?

Before you can bombard him with a set of questions, the arrival of refreshments completely dismisses the whole tête-à-tête. The security who’s placed the glasses on the table bestows you a questioning look; one that you would’ve missed had you the heart meet Wriothesley’s gaze. Through his dubious disposition, you realize how bizarre the scene might have looked like for an outsider. 

Wriothesley overlooks the whole Fortress, and you are a prisoner meant to serve your time. Why are you drinking with the Duke?

Shame has found its way to settle in the pit of your stomach. You feel self-conscious about your appearance; a full day without bathing since your capture is not how you wished to present yourself to your old acquaintance. He’s climbed his way up as one of the authorities in Fontaine, while you remain at the bottom of the food chain. Things are not the same. 

“I should probably go to my bunker,” you voice after the security’s departure. “It doesn’t look good that you have a prisoner here.”

“Nonsense,” Wriothesley counters. “You’re not a stranger. And I don’t care whatever crime you’ve committed on the surface: you are my visitor here.”

You shake your head. Despite the multiple stealing you’ve done until now, you still harbor a sense of dignity. It’s just as they say: you do the crime, you do the time. 

“No, Wrio. I’m here as a prisoner. I’ll do whatever is required of me. It’s my punishment.” 

Wriothesley sighs in defeat; an action you haven’t expected to come easily from him. 

“Alright, then. You win.” He reaches for your hand and grasps. “You won’t deny me the occasional meals, though? You’re still my friend and it’s the least I could do for you.”

That marks the highlight of your first day inside the Fortress. 

Never in your wildest dreams could you have anticipated such a twist of fate, yet you can’t deny the comfort of seeing a familiar face in this bleak environment.

As the days of your imprisonment tick by, you’ve adapted to the routine within the prison walls. You’ve learned the importance of coupons and how to obtain them to survive. Unlike most inmates who are tasked with heavy labor, you find yourself often idle. This is not due to any sloth on your part, as you’re eager to earn your keep, but it would seem as though the rest of the administrators have no job to assign you. Which is peculiar in a sense that everybody has something on their hands. 

“How are you coping?” Wriothesley asks during lunch. It’s one of those days when he’d summon you to eat with him. 

You fork the food on your plate, too conscious to wolf them down. The cafeteria’s open layout exposes the generous hospitality being extended to you, making you acutely aware of the conspicuous display. Somehow, it gets to your skin, as though you have no more face to save. 

“Everybody’s nice,” you reveal. They really are; there’s no lie in the statement. Truth be told, the Fortress is like a community where you work and earn a living. However, by definition, it remains a huge cage for wrongdoers like you. “But I can’t wait to go out.”

The cafeteria holds its breath when Wrio’s utensils clatter against his plate. Eyes turn towards your table, speculation rife that an argument is brewing. You glance around nervously, aware of the attention drawn by his prolonged silence.

“A… are you alright?” you stammer. 

“Yeah,” he answers before lifting his head and displaying a smile that does not reach the eyes. “There was a weird taste in my mouth. What were you saying again?”

“Oh… forget it,” you answer, wanting to dismiss the whole conversation as quickly as possible. “It’s nothing important.”

“I thought so,” he whispers without erasing his uncanny smile. 

At first, you conjectured that the source of Wriothesley’s hospitality stemmed from his time at the orphanage, when he was punished for misconduct. Unaware of the rules as a newcomer, and traumatized by the sudden upheaval in his life, he was quick to lash at the other kids. There had been a time that he would’ve beaten another orphan to death had no one interfered. It was only by the grace of the owners that he wasn’t kicked out.

In contrast, you had strived to keep a low profile during your orphanage days, knowing that well-behaved children stood a better chance of adoption. Only once did you veer to the path of disobedience, and that had been the time when you stole bread for Wriothesley. 

That first and last encounter had been brief and quickly forgotten over time, only resurfacing now upon your unexpected reunion.

You wouldn’t have expected that such a simple act of charity would help you tremendously during your life’s biggest disaster.

From the bottom of your heart, you acknowledge that life in Meropide would have been harder without him. The depth of your gratitude for his companionship transcends words. And you swear by all the Archons, you appreciate all that he’s done for you. 

That’s why it doesn’t make you feel good— not at all — to betray such munificence with doubt and a feeling of disquiet. 

Have you gone paranoid? Can you trust your guts? Or are you simply unaccustomed to kindness?

But it’s not any of those things, is it? 

You wrestle with the idea that your paranoia might be justified. There’s validity in a way that your heart hasn’t been tranquil ever since the repudiation of your release. Such holdup hinges on your distant Aunt’s failure to communicate with the administrators of the prison. They refuse to issue your release without her signature. 

At first, you dismissed the dreadful news with masked disappointment. She lives miles away from the Fortress. A little patience is all you need. Yet, the absurdity gnaws at you—why should an orphaned adult still require the consent of a relative who never cared? 

For months you mingled with the rest of the prisoners without trouble. What harm could a few more days bring? And it would’ve been easy except for one thing. 

Together with the anticipation of freedom there springs Wriothesley’s unnatural behavior. Certainly, you have been accustomed to his magnanimous nature, but not to his seemingly obsessed disposition. 

For one, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. On the night before your release, you’ve woken up just to see him inside your bunker, sitting with arms hugging his knees at the edge of your bed, head tilted downward. The pounding of your heart drowned out all other sounds, making sleep elusive and confrontation daunting. Convinced he would offer an explanation in due time, you pretended that nothing happened the next day. 

How many times has he sat there, barging in your bunker unannounced while guarding your sleep? You shudder at the thought. But it’s time you put an end to your suspicions. It’s time that you go up there, in his office, and find the answers you seek. 

“I’m sorry, but as per the Duke’s order, no one is allowed inside until his return,” the security standing guard outside Wriothesley’s office announces. 

“I told you; I was ordered to clean his office,” you insist for what seems like the thousandth time. Of course, it’s a lie. However, you are not going to pass up the opportunity of sleuthing, especially with Wriothesley’s absence. 

“The answer is no. It’s a strict rule from the Duke himself,” he repeats. 

You swallow the bitter reality of what you’re about to do. You have never thought of weaponizing Wriothesley’s treatment of you, but he leaves you with no choice.

“So, if he comes back and finds his office in disarray, I only need to mention that a certain guard wouldn’t let me in, right?” At your words, the security blinks frantically. “Do you know how much Wrio favors me? Or do you need proof? But I’m telling you, right now: the proof wouldn’t be as pleasant for you.”

As you stand inside the room, your eyes sweep across its vast expanse, searching without a clear idea of what evidence you seek. Yet, an instinctive feeling drives you—the conviction that the reason behind the prolonged delay of your release lies hidden somewhere within these walls. Relying on your years of stealth and skill as a thief, your confidence grows in your ability to navigate this risky venture unscathed.

This is a bold move, facing potential consequences, and you know better than to underestimate Wriothesley.

To summon a leveled head, you breathe, in and out, while fishing for the lock pick tucked inside your back pocket. 

You waste no time climbing the stairs to his desk. All proceedings certainly go through him before anyone else. Perhaps you can find your release paper, already signed, among this endless heap of legal documents.

No, if he intends to keep it, he wouldn’t have it openly displayed. Though the reasons for Wriothesley’s denial of your freedom elude you, instinct alone guides your courage. Abandoning your sleuth, you move on to open the drawers instead. Beads of sweat dots your forehead, heart refusing to calm down as the lock pick you fashioned from a scrap metal jammed into the keyhole.

There’s nothing inside but another stack of paper containing the Fortress’ mundane transactions. The weight of uncertainty bears down upon you like a relentless specter, your eyes flickering towards the staircase with a mix of fear and urgency. Moored by the bookshelves, you grasp a volume, its hard cover yielding warmth against your palm. Pages are turned in rapid succession, driven by your inexorable desperation to find something.

It has to be here. It has to be. 

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?”

Quick! Where else would he keep it? Think, think, think! 

“Found what you’re looking for?”

Hearing his voice feels as though you’ve pummeled down from the steepest cliff; that your innards have been hammered to smithereens; that your heart has been taken right from your ribcage. Your veins turn to ice, knees threatening to buckle beneath you. 

“W… Wrio…” You frenziedly grapple for reasons; anything that’d validate your suspicious presence in his office. “I was… I was just tidying up the space.”

“For what?” His eyes roam around the room that looks rather polished before settling on the book you clutch in your hands. “I didn’t know you’re interested in gardening.”

Taking a gander at the book in your hands, you force a sheepish smile upon seeing its title. A Comprehensive Guide in Gardening Across Different Topographies in Fontaine.

“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to borrow this book.” You steel your facade, refusing to give him an inch. It’s futile, knowing you’re crumbling inside, wishing to vanish into thin air to evade his palpable vexation.

“You see…” Wriothesley begins, licking the inside of his cheek. “As far as I can remember, I told the guards not to let anyone in.”

You open your mouth to speak, but the grievous solemnity of his demeanor stops your words.  

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I was just—”

“What are you doing here?”

He already knows the answer; you just have to say it. Like a feeble insect trapped in a spider’s web, you see no chances of escaping. The only thing you could do is to shackle your suspicions and hope that Wriothesley somehow disproves them. 

“I was wondering about my release. It has been days and I…”

“Grow suspicious of me?” he finishes. “Thinking that I have something to do with it?” 

Each step he takes brings your back closer to the bookshelves. Until he has you trapped with his overwhelming presence. He’s so close you can smell a whiff of his perfume; even that exudes his unquestionable authority. 

“I just want to know the truth,” is your helpless whisper. You feel like a little lamb caught between the sharp claws of the wolf. 

With one hand, he takes the book from your hands, eyes never leaving your face, as he places it back to where it belongs. 

“Oh, you’d never like it,” he divulges. 

Mustering up the courage to flee from his entrapment, the thorns in your throat intensified after putting all your might to push him away only to suffer in vain. 

“Please, Wrio, let me go,” you huff, fighting back tears. 

Your plea goes through deaf ears. Not even a sliver of interest or acknowledgment can be seen in the depths of his eyes. 

“Your Aunt and her whole family left Fontaine before she had to sign your papers. I had my men standing guard on her house just in case she comes back, but it’d seem she’s sold the whole lot to never come back,” he discloses. 

“What?” All the remaining hope stings you like betrayal. But of course, you should’ve expected less from a relative you’ve never even met before. 

Wriothesley relaxes, but his body remains as overpowering before you. 

“I know what it feels like to not have someone, that’s why I didn’t know how to tell you,” he says, each word threaded carefully as if he refuses to shatter the delicate thing in front of him any further. 

To think that you’ve doubted him despite his keen interest in your well-being is more than enough to cause you unutterable shame. 

“I’m sorry, Wrio. I… I didn’t know,” you admit shamefully. 

Hand on his hip, he sighs, “I just can’t understand. After everything I’ve done for you, this is what I get in return?”

Panic grips you in its cruel embrace. You shake your head, reaching for him. 

“It’s not my intention to hurt nor dismiss your kindness, I swear. I just… I’ll make it up to you.”

Wriothesley perks up at the statement. It’s eerily noticeable how his grim bearing changes to that of a curious one. “You’ll do anything, then?” 

What accursed territory have you placed yourself in?

“Anything.”

“Then, kneel,” he commands after a heartbeat. 

There are two directions where your obedience can possibly turn to, and yet both choices cause your stomach to double over. In spite of your fear, you’ve acknowledged with terror that the point of return has already been barred. Your knees buckle. 

Fat tears dot the corner of your eyes, like crystal jewels of insurmountable value, as he unravels himself, and you take him in your mouth. He moves at first with delicacy, as though he fears of shattering such bliss. The warm flesh of your mouth, velvet-soft around him. You’re raw from shame; he’s rawed out from pleasure. 

Diabolical desire urges that he push himself deeper, further, make you gag with guilt and watch your mouth reach him to the hilt. Like dust of stars, tears now cling to your lashes, as your lips harvest the seed of his gluttony. 

In rapid succession he buries himself down your throat, reaching places no one else has trespassed in. Your nails carve crescent moons on his pale skin, roguish marks to prove the existence of a fight, no matter how pathetic. 

He hungers, and hungers, and hungers. Until his bones ached from his greed, and pleasure carves the pinnacle of release. Beneath the ache in his incessant breath, he wells inside your mouth. When all sensibility has left, he taints your tongue with rife and thick globules, begging to be swallowed. 

Tenderly he holds you, like his touches can heal your rotten sinews. At the end of his fingertips, your skin burns and he sinks you deeper into his pit. This place drowns in sweltering heat, from the shame, from the pain, from the guilt. The planes of your back settle on the oak table, etching the tale of his devouring. He peels you open with every lick; a fruit he wouldn’t mind the consequences of eating.

What is this, you think, the betrayal of the body? You despair how you shiver from his tongue; how you reek of humiliation when his fingers push into your dripping flesh. Fog over your head, the clouds somber, the cruel zenith warm on your stomach, exploding in shades of red. Since when did pleasure and poison start tasting the same?

“On your stomach,” he whispers, eyes dilated with barbarism.

The hunger continues. Another triumph, another defeat. Fingernails raking the wood, another tale of wrath unheard, of innocence gone. He lodges between your legs, pushing himself through the fluttering folds, tarnishing the flesh. Your throat burns but you will not scream. 

He fucks you with absolute abandon. He fucks you with an appetite of a man deprived. 

Lips between your teeth, crimson trails down your chin. He wants to turn your insides into pulp; to rattle both your bones and knit them together. With increasing greed, his movement turns rabid. Your eyes glossy, your tears silent, as you swallow the vile reality of fulfilling his need. 

“I’m so close,” he grunts, the sound of his voice coming from deep within. 

Your silence is a rebellion against your traitorous body. Shrouded with mortification, you flare around his length, and he revels at the feeling. He concedes to the tight sensation, spilling every fiber of his being inside the warmth of your flesh. There’s too much of him inside you, that he leaks like liquid ivory from the wet and abused hole, trailing languorously between your shaking legs. 

You run to the abyss, to the sweet caress of sleep, hoping that once you wake up, you’re whole again. 

Wriothesley observed your countenance as you slept upon the couch, noting with curiosity the weariness etched upon your features even in repose. He gently draws the silk sheet to cover you fully, then rises from his seat. Proceeding to the telephone, he summons a meal, foreseeing your imminent awakening and the hunger it will bring.

Now, he proceeds to one of the bookshelves, retrieving a particular book. A Comprehensive Guide in Gardening Across Different Topographies in Fontaine. To think that you’ve been this close to knowing the truth. 

He opens the book, flipping through its final pages until he locates the concealed folded paper. Despite the creases marring its surface, the parchment appears new. Unfolding it has given him a sense of relief, like an anchor to his sanity. 

It reveals the deed to your Aunt’s estate, which he acquired shortly before your release. Now, the elderly woman resides a great distance away, forever barred from returning.

They would be foolish to return, especially with their lives at stake.

Wriothesley’s lips curl in a bitter twist. Believe him when he says he never intended for you to endure the same fate as he did. Yet, endure it you must, just as he once did, for he is not so benevolent as to set you free.

[mantou-rin]

The moment the boys realise they are head over heels for you

Characters: Kenma, Sugawara, Yaku

A/N: The amount of things I am able to come up with while at work should be studied. As usual not proofread I am sorry but I hope you like the silly thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis.

KENMA

Kenma couldn't help but look up from his game to stare at you.

You were at the other end of the classroom talking with a few of your classmates. Your voice wasn't exactly loud, but your presence was more than enough to catch his attention. Kenma admired the way you spoke and the way your face lit up everytime someone said something interesting. You weren't exactly an extrovert, but you had a bubbly and bright personality, and often got along well with pretty much anyone. 

Kenma kind of envied you for that. Not that he was the kind to draw attention to himself, but being able to comfortably talk with people sometimes seemed nice. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of him looking at you, and you turned to give him a smile while waving towards him. He instantly panicked, and quickly turned his attention back to his game console, trying his best to calm his rapidly beating heart. 

He wasn't sure for the longest time about this feeling he had towards you. Was it fascination or just admiration, or was it something more than that. To him, you seemed so interesting, almost as if he wanted to study - no, get to know you better. His racing heart finally confirmed it as a crush, but how does he even begin to ask you out? 

“Kenma”

He nearly jumped when he heard that familiar voice of yours. Slowly he put down his console and directed his attention to you. You were standing next to his desk, the sunlight hitting your face gave you the prettiest glow he had ever seen. 

It was real, he wanted to get closer to you, he wanted to understand everything about you. 

“There's a new cat cafe that just opened, would you like to go there together? I hope you don't mind that it'll just be the two of us.”

Two of us? Did he hear that correctly? Of course he wouldn't mind, if anything he was more than happy that it was just the two of you.  

“Mhm.” Came his silent reply, to which you happily told him that you’ll message him the details when you get home. 

Turns out that your feelings for him were mutual as well. 

SUGAWARA

Suga was not having a good day right now. He felt he didn't do a great job at practice just now and now he couldn't get rid of the constant worry that his team would be disappointed in him. For the most part, he knew the Karasuno boys would never be upset with him, but what if today it was different. 

Before he left just now, Daichi had already told him to cheer up and not think about it, but he just couldn't help himself. He wished he wasn't the kind to mull over his mistakes over and over, but unfortunately, he wasn't that kind of person. 

He really wanted to call you right now. He often told you how you were his comfort after a long day, and he felt that he really needed you today. He was about to make the call when he realised that you told him that you were going out to run some errands that night. 

Right. It wasn't polite to disturb someone when they were busy.  Suga figured to simply drop you a text instead, the both of you could talk about it later tonight.

Sighing, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked up at the sky. It was so quiet and calm, contrary to whatever his mind was right now - noisy and chaotic. 

“Suga!” He heard someone call from behind him. 

Hang on. That voice was familiar, one that he has heard many times, there was no way it was - 

You.

Suga wasn't sure why he nearly cried when he saw you, heck he wasn't even sure why you suddenly showed up. 

“Sorry if I’m a little late, but I saw your message and figured that I should come right away. Also sorry I couldn't get something better, but I got you some ice cream from the convenience store on the way here.”

Suga panicked a little, he worried that his message to you came off as something that needed immediate attention, that wasn't what he intended for it to be, although now that he saw you the chaos that was in his mind just now seemed to have died down. 

“Eh, I thought you had to run errands? Sorry if I bothered you.” 

“I can always go another day, besides, you having a bad day is something more important than the groceries I have to buy.” 

Suga wasn't aware, but he was sure he let a tear slip out of his eye when he felt your hands reaching towards him to wipe them away. He never noticed because he was always the one doing the comforting, but right now with you next to him assuring him that everything was going to be alright, his mind became a reflection of the night sky - calm and quiet.

“I'll go run your errands with you tomorrow, and will you allow me to bring you out for dinner afterwards?” 

YAKU

Yaku was glad you decided to join the volleyball team as a manager. Even though the two of you were childhood friends (and neighbours), any extra minute he got to spend with you meant a lot to him. 

You were attentive and smart, always promptly taking care of the team’s needs and giving out advice as needed. Your presence alone sometimes helped boost the team’s morale. 

Water was running low? You had already prepared new bottles for the boys long ago before they even noticed they were running out. 

There was a spot on the court that seemed a little slippery? The next thing Yaku knew you were ready to swoop in with the mop to clean it up. 

The team needed extra balls for practice? There was nothing to worry about because you would have a new basket of volleyballs ready by the side.  

You were talking to Yaku halfway after practice when you excused yourself to find the coach for something. Yaku couldn't help but glance over at the extra bag he had seen you carrying around recently. You happened to leave it open, and Yaku caught sight of a pair of knee guards - specifically the ones he was using. Yaku didn't want to peek, but he was too curious as to why you had that in your bag. He pried the bag open slightly and saw a towel as well as a pouch filled with first aid supplies. 

Perhaps you were playing volleyball too? 

When you came back, Yaku asked if you started playing volleyball too, referencing the items he saw in your bag. 

“Ah, no it's just emergency stuff in case you get injured. I've seen you getting many new bruises because of practice so I wanted to be ready just in case.” You replied softly, slightly embarrassed by the fact that you had been found out. 

Yaku felt his heart do about a thousand backflips. He was always under the impression that you cared for each team member equally, but now knowing that you put in a little more effort to look out for him made him somewhat flustered. 

“Ah, thank you.” Was the only thing he could splutter out.

There was a brief silence before he mustered up his courage to speak again.

“Would you like to go get dinner together after practice tomorrow?”

[m0uchie]

⟡ he doesn’t mind taking care of you even if you’re on your period

・pairing. wanderer x f!reader

・content. NSFW; period sex (sry); only oral tho (both f! and m!receiving); i gave up at the end

・a/n. don’t interact if it makes you uncomfortable. Btw, I was actually wrong and I’ll have another test in five days 😞and then I’ll finally be on vacation.

It had only been a while since your relationship with Wanderer began, and honestly it was very difficult to get to that level, you didn't want to ruin everything with your problems.

At this moment, you were wrapped in a soft blanket on your bed, cell phone in hand as you sent him a message, letting him know that you were canceling plans and apologizing for not being able to go out today.

"What happened?"

The answer came faster than you expected, and with a hint of concern that warmed your heart despite the pain you were feeling from your cramps.

“I’m sick.”

A part of you feels bad for lying about something so small, but you didn’t want him to think that you chose to stay at home instead of going out with him, or that you were lying just not to see him.

You turn off the device and place it on the nightstand next to the bed. Your eyes close and you fall sleep without even realizing it. You were feeling really tired lately.

“Baaaaang!” The doorbell rings, a sound resonating in the confines of your apartment and making you jump up quickly in surprise.

You get up, a little dazed and confused about who could it be until you open the door and come across a certain indigo haired boy holding pharmacy bags in his hands and staring at you with a poker face as if waiting for you to say something first, you’re not sure what though.

He walks straight past you and empties the bag on the table. “I didn’t know what you had and you weren’t answering the phone.” He simply justified the amount of medication he had brought, leaving you stunned for a second.

“You didn’t need to… I just needed some sleep.” You sigh, a bit embarrassed. He looks you up and down, silently taking the initiative to grab you by the arm and take you to your room to lay you down on the bed.

"Symptoms?"

“It’s nothing, really, I told you-“

“I didn’t spend my money for nothing.” You bite your bottom lip, staying quiet as Wanderer watches your expression closely, waiting for your explanation so he can know how to follow.

“Don’t get mad” You look at him hesitantly, a pleading tone in your voice, only talking when he gives you a minimal nod for you to continue. “Just- cramps… my period started yesterday.” He raises his eyebrow and you gulp down, heart aching with uncertainty until he speaks again. “And why would I be angry?”

You remain silent when faced with the question. You don't know exactly how to respond. He was always a little grumpy, but was he really the type to judge you and get angry for such a futile reason?

“Anyway, I brought some things, there must be something worth it.” He places the options on your bed for you to see, and you take out something for your current headache, gulping it down with the water you got from the bottle next to your bed (you leave it there so you can wake up at night and be able to hydrate yourself without having to get up).

He's more affectionate than usual, and sometimes you notice him taking his phone out of his pocket to do some research before preparing things to please you. A thermal bag wrapped in a cloth that he gently placed on your abdomen, delicious foods that he tried to make to please you, a second bottle of water so that you were always hydrated (even though you insisted that you didn't need it), and finally he ended up giving in when you asked him to lie down with you so you could watch a movie.

“Is there anything else you want?” He asks in the most velvety voice he can do, welcoming you in his arms and stroking your belly in circles underneath your blouse. His hand had a cozy warmth that gave you butterflies and made it difficult to sleep with the restlessness, but you were grateful because at least now it didn't hurt as much as before, and you could tell that the pain was almost being replaced by something else... since he was being so sweet to you.

“Hm, maybe…” You turn your head back to see his face, which tilts slightly to the side in doubt. “And what would it be?”

“I want to pay you back for taking such good care of me today.” Your hands waste no time in lowering his pants to his ankles, making his eyes widen in surprise.

He puts his hand on your face to stop you as soon as you get close. “I'm doing this because I want to.”

“Me too.” You respond and he sighs, his breath already shaky just imagining what you would do next. He hoped to have taken you to dinner with him at his house, a few kisses here and there, and maybe have you naked in his bed for the whole night, because honestly that was what he was thinking about most lately.

He wanted to undress you with his teeth and feel you around him as he sank into you, but with your text in the morning and the worry he felt from then on, he didn't have time to have these naughty thoughts again for the rest of the day, and now he was paying the price.

You smiled from corner to corner as you saw the tent forming beneath his underwear, lowering the fabric and letting his hard cock pop out of its restraints, cum oozing from the tip as you touched the head with your fingertip.

“Ughh…fuck.” You watch Wanderer's face contort with pleasure at the slide of your finger down his cock, and the way he tries to hold back even though he's throbbing with desire right now.

He places his hand over yours and forces your fingers to finally close around his member, guiding your movements, speed, and pressure. You however want to go much further than just letting him fuck your fist, stopping your palm at the base and kissing the sensitive skin as a way of teasing him.

“Mmn- put it in your mouth, come on…” he caresses the side of your face, a gesture that makes you lean into his touch. His hand goes to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your soft strands to subtly give you a boost, encouraging you to go further. You open your mouth to receive him and lick your lips to lubricate them before sucking him inside.

“You’re so good to me.” He whispers, feeling the warmth of your mouth wrapping around him, enough to drive him insane with pleasure. “So pretty”.

You move your head as much as you can, your hand massaging the rest that couldn't get into your mouth, and with the other you gently massaged his balls, a low moan escaping his mouth as you sucked so eagerly on his cock.

“Aah- please, keep sucking like that.” Feeling that he was already wet and slippery enough, he slowly thrust forward, pushing his cock even deeper into your waiting mouth. “Mmm… that feels incredible.”

You look up and see him smiling. His chest rising and falling rapidly and a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. He looked drunk, and your mouth was too good for him to handle, you milked his throbbing length for everything it was worth and he was on the edge.

You immediately noticed how his hands became soft as pudding and fell next to his body, grabbing the sheet as it was the closest thing, his knuckles turning white as you sucked him harder. He was entranced, eyes half-lidded with lust. He found himself getting harder in your mouth, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Ohh fuck it, I’m so close!” He fights back a moan, only the loud sound of his rapid breathing can be heard in the same rhythm as he rolled his hips, hitting your soft palate with the tip of his dick and making a mess all over your face and his own body.

You can’t help but gag, but as he’s almost cumming, you strive to take all of him, deep throating him until you feel him twitch in your mouth.

“Mmmn… gonna cum.” He mumbles, voice weak and high-pitched as a gooey liquid coats the inside of your mouth in white. You swallow what you can and take it out of your mouth to breathe, going back and licking the rest when you see the mess on his pelvis and the tantalizing sight that is watching him spent like this.

He whines quietly from time to time when he feels your tongue giving quick kitten licks to clean him up, patiently letting you finish, until it's so much to make him feel overstimulated.

He had already regained his energy when he flicked you on the forehead to make you stop (which worked, as your hands went to immediately soothe the red spot), then he gently turned you around while you were distracted with your complaints, laying you down against the pillows and reappearing with his face in between your open legs, a predatory look on his face.

"My turn now." He says confidently. Your eyes widen, closing your legs quickly.

"No! Absolutely not!"

“Ughh, why not?” He frowns.

“Because I’m bleeding. It should be obvious.” You arch an eyebrow, covering your lower half with the blanket so he wouldn't look for it anymore, but it clearly doesn't work as he proceeds to bring up the subject.

“I don't care about these things, I just need a taste. I promise I won’t make a mess.” His hands slowly pull the blanket down as he trails kisses on one of your thighs. You didn't expect to ever see him like this, but maybe it wasn't such a bad thing...

“Be quick.” As soon as you alert him, he smiles contentedly, running to get a towel and place it below your hips and removing your underwear with his eyes fixed on your intimacy. He longed for it.

It's a little embarrassing, but at the same time you felt absurd pain due to the cramps during your period, it was certain that more or less after the second day something changed. You became more needy, a want to relieve yourself, but you never gave in to your desires because you thought it was too absurd, and besides, it'd be a headache to clean up later.

You gasp in surprise when you feel his fingers brush against your folds, the tip of Wanderer's tongue touching your clit.

Now that you were feeling pleasure for the first time in this moment, you could see how much more intense the sensation was becoming, and how sensitive it had made you.

He starts licking softly and sucking the bud very carefully, your walls contract impatiently and he lowers his mouth to plunge his tongue into your waiting hole.

“Mmm… it’s so sweet.” He closes his eyes and comments, as if he were enjoying a dessert.

“S-stop that! I know it’s not.”

“No, you taste fucking amazing.” He grunted before getting back to work, opening his mouth wide and taking in what he could get as he pressed his tongue inside you and explored your pussy. Your juices smeared his face and ran down his chin, but he cleaned them off with his tongue when he stopped to breathe, and replaced his mouth with his fingers.

Now, you had your thighs around his head, writhing in pleasure as he massaged your clit with two fingers and sucked what came out of your tight opening.

“We need to do this more often.” He accelerates his pace, determined to push you over the edge. And when your squeeze on his head gets stronger, his hands move up to hold your thighs steady so he could continue to lavish attention on your pussy.

“Mmmm- yes yes! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop.” You cry, desperate to ease the knot forming in your belly.

“Yeah? Cum for me, baby… cum in my mouth.” He murmurs against your pussy, sucking hard on the tiny bundle of nerves as you complain about how sensitive you are.

You let yourself go and feel your pussy pulsate against his tongue, he laps up every drop of your sweet release, savoring the taste of your orgasm on his taste buds. His growing erection throbbing painfully in his pants from seeing this side of you, but he ignored it, focusing instead on pleasing his girlfriend until the end.

After you finish, you can just take one last deep breath before closing your heavy eyelids, falling into a deep sleep. He slowly pulls away, lips glistening red from all your juices and his own saliva.

“I could do this every day.” He murmurs appreciatively, running a hand through his messy hair and admiring the work he's done between your legs.

With some wet wipes he cleans you up and lifts your panties back into place. “I hope that was enough for you to rest well.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism Guys: I'm disappointed in you

G/N. (Jakey, Sammy, Goo, Gun, Vin, Ryuhei, DG, Johan, Vasco)

You're not pissed off. You're much worse, disappointed.

Hands on your hips, finger dangerously close to wagging and lecturing them.

His intimidating presence does nothing to deter how you feel-

Jake's face drops and his eyes fall to the ground.

Whether he thinks he did anything wrong is one thing, but disappointing you is more than enough for him to feel bad.

He bows, bending at the waist a full 90 degrees and then some, and asks for your forgiveness. Face sincere and of utmost seriousness no matter how petty the crime.

Samuel scoffs and leaves. He doesn't need this.

But he tosses and turns that night, daddy and mommy issues playing up. The need for approval and validation from someone he respects gnaws at him, and he doesn't sleep a wink.

The next day he returns to you, bags under his eyes, pretending to be unaffected by your previous disagreement yet trying to get back into your good graces with expensive gifts.

"Disappointed?" Goo echoes, blinking owlishly, as if he couldn't fathom that he could be disappointing to anyone.

He whines and pouts, and is close to throwing a tantrum. Obviously your words having an effect on him.

In the end he does mutter an apology though you doubt the sincerity, especially if the look in his eyes are anything to go by.

Gun ignores you though you see the defiant twitch in his jaw from your words.

He doesn't care, why should he.

Except you catch him staring at you the rest of the day or week or until whenever your ire ebbs away. There's a strange awkwardness to his being, like he doesn't know how he should act around you.

The apology doesn't come if he thinks it's undeserved and unneeded, but he also doesn't want to see that look in your eyes again.

Vin scoffs, pretends he doesn't care. Calls you a nag, a wet blanket, all sorts of frustrating names.

Yet the guilt eats away at him. Your eyes, the playful expression you usually wear is now just replaced with disappointment.

He tries to involve Mary to worm his way back into your good books, she tells him to piss off and eventually he comes to you, tail between his legs and a poorly formed apology (likely as a rap).

Ryuhei's eyes are suspiciously wet. You think he's sniffling, the tip of his nose turned pink and he's trying to keep a brave face but god, he feels like a complete failure.

He drops to his knees and immediately offers to commit seppuku. When you roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he says he will do anything to make this right. That he would rather die than ever disappoint you again.

DG, usually ruled by logic but too often bratty and arrogant, considers whether this is a hill worth dying on. It's not.

Considers whether it warrants an apology, and it does. But does he deliver? Not always. Lets you simmer until he presents you with a grand gesture and a winning K-Pop smile he reserves for award shows.

His charm works on you less than he'd like, but more than you'd prefer.

Johan looks as if he's been slapped, before turning on his heels and leaving.

It takes him a surprisingly short amount of time to come back, feeling contrite. He doesn't say sorry but the unspoken apology runs round and round his mind.

Instead he drifts to your side constantly like a shadow, trying to catch your eye, seek out some of your warmth and hoping for your forgiveness.

Regardless of what it is you're disappointed with, Vasco Tabasco thinks you are the best. A literal angel descended to Earth that has graced his life.

So if you're disappointed then whatever he is doing must be wrong and is worth apologising for.

He does just that. Offers to make up for it however you see fit. Completely heartfelt even if he doesn't know entirely why.

[emblazons]

forewarning: this is the longest "this is mike's arc and I'm tired of denying it" breakdown i've done in a min (it's def about gay mike bar none so. skip if you want)

I keep reading posts about "where Mike is with his feelings for Will" all across the dash now, and...while I get the idea of wanting a Mike as devastated by not hearing from Will as Will was because Mike's aware he has romantic feelings, *Arya Stark Voice* that's not him?

In the show, Mike Wheeler wears his heart on his sleeve. He is prone to emotionality and doesn't really track his feelings within himself the way Will does—is "less interior," for a lack of a better phrase, which both plays dramatically into how things are playing out with both El and Will and makes it (dare I say it) out of character to believe he's as "hurt by his own hope" as Will is when it comes to mutual feelings.

Let me see if I can explain.

First: I think it's important to keep in mind that, at least with Mike, you get someone who will subconsciously act on "inner truths" before he even realizes they're true about him—and someone who will behave according to whatever external reality deems "correct" until he realizes 1) its bullshit or 2) its not true for him personally. We see this season over season:

First with how he willfully breaks rank with authority (his parents, the police, even the community) first to find Will and then again breaks rank with even his friends to protect Eleven in season 1

Then in S2 when he throws "proper" behavior to the wind (which is even slightly acknowledged in Will's 'don't tell the others' / 'crazy together) to be there for + lowkey confess the depth of his feelings to Will (everyone say thank you shed scene)

Again (though slightly different) in S3, with how there's this bubbling thing being gay he doesn't realize has started to manifest itself—cue that comment the duffer's made forever ago about S3 being about "the monster of puberty," aka when people start to understand their own attractions—until the very end of the season with how he realizes he's not attracted to El

And finally in S4, when he consciouslly knows for a fact he's not into El and tries to hide it—quite poorly, because, as I said, he can only abide a "lie" when he doesn't realize it is one—but hasn't yet realized that the thing bubbling up inside him THIS season (that keeps slipping out without him realizing it) is his attraction to/romantic feelings for Will.

In Season 4 especially, its easy to track how this "I can lie...until I know it is one" affects Mike's romantic prospects; we see plainly that his lying about his feelings to El during the monologue was a failure because the power of Mike's whole character is rooted in the importance of him being true to himself and his heart. Season over season, we've seen that Mike has to be honest with people once he knows what he feels in order for his leadership to be effective—and by S4, he knows he doesn't love El romantically (+ has known for a HOT minute, aka since his little S3 post-kiss revelation)—which is why he tries to skirt around the issue with that "I care for you so much" rather than lie to El's face about his lack of romantic feelings.

Basically: once Mike consciously knows something is not right in either the world or inside himself, he has to act on it...or suffer the consequences of his lack of honesty. But then....what does that have to do with him not being the one "not trying to be in love" with Will?

Despite the fandom urge to deny it even in the wake of The Duffers and Finn Wolfhard themselves telling them it's true: Mike being oblivious to his own feelings, or at least consciously unaware, of his own romantic feelings for Will is a solid amount of what's driving his character's growth right now. Mike "friends don't lie" Wheeler has spent the entirety of this show trying to be as honest as possible with the people around him, and we've clearly seen as of S4 what happens when he isn't honest—the world (quite literally) falls apart.

When it comes to his romantic arc especially, it's important to remember this is true, because it means, through logical deduction, that Mike isn't hiding the fact that he has feelings for Will throughout season 4—he's hiding the fact that he's not in love with his girlfriend the way he's supposed to be, which both plays into the whole forced conforming through-line of the season and explains the crux of his narrative even as we are primarily shown that experience through Will's eyes—unreliable as they are. The thing leaking out of Mike without his knowledge is the fact that he likes boys—but the thing he's consciously hiding and lying about is the fact that he doesn't like girls the way he knows he's supposed to.

Now: does that mean he doesn't have a million subconscious responses to things regarding Will—one's rooted both in his attraction to men and his friendly/romantic/evolving feelings for him? Absolutely not. Half of what drives Mike's S4 narrative was built into his wordless/subconscious actions throughout S3, from the way we see him look disgusted with girls when they're mentioned, the way he take's El's hands off him when she tries to kiss him, and even the way he looks conflicted by her kiss at the very end of the season. Just because Mike is consciously unaware that something is happening to him doesn't mean the thing isn't happening—it just means that Mike himself is oblivious to it.

Even so: Mike being oblivious to the fact that he's attracted to men/in love with Will means he isn't consciously trying to keep himself away from Will—which is clear, if you pay attention to every moment before he gets guilted into remembering he has a GF by Argyle.

Basically, the crux of Mike's own experience with his problems is—

"I don't love El the way I'm supposed to, and it's going to cause problems if I can't do that for everyone I care for,"

not

"I am trying to hide my feelings for boys/Will and have to pretend they aren't there to be normal."

—which is a subtle but critical distinction in understanding both where he is by the end of S4 and where he's headed moving into S5.

Now: I get that it's more fun to imagine a Mike fighting his feelings for Will consciously throughout S4, but....that's Will's story and experience of his feelings, not Mike's. Mike is fighting with his lack of attraction to women more than his attraction to men/Will—which is also why you see it slip out so much despite the time/era/what he knows of what happens to gay men in Hawkins.

If Mike knew he loved Will/boys consciously, he'd be much more afraid of himself and Will than he is even as of the last shot of S4—but he's not, which is shockingly telling if you consider how he already knows what he doesn't feel for Eleven. Once he does know what he feels—his "a-ha" moment about liking Will, the same as his consciously realizing he didn't love El "like that" as of end of S3—it will be impossible for him not to address it in himself...and finally be honest/undo the damage of The Lie he told El (he loved her) during the monologue.

That's the (canonical) trajectory of Mike "The Heart" Wheeler—and why him being oblivious to his feelings for Will, not just "secretly longing without wanting to indulge hope he might have the boy he loves" the way Will is experiencing moving into S5. 🤷🏽‍♀️

[songmingisthighs]

Let Go

group : ateez

pairing : ex boyfriend!idoll!yunho × reader

genre : angst

wc : 4.3 k

tw : break up, angst, accident , dark theme (do not read if you're susceptible to dark thoughts)

a/n : i got this idea from reading @nonclassyparty's series, the 'subtle variations of heartbreak' particularly the yunho one and I'm not in a mentally good place so ofc i thought about this lmao

buy me coffee ?

Yunho was never one to loom in the past. His motto had always been 'just keep swimming' so he made sure that whatever happened in his life, he would go with it and just face it like a man. That was why people thought Yunho was so perfect, he had no regrets. But they would be wrong. Out of all the things in the world, there was one thing he regretted the most and being back at the place where it all began stirred something in Yunho. Maybe it was a mix of nostalgia and guilt, but whatever it is, the pain was a bit addicting as it allowed him to indulge in the memory of you.

It was around the time he graduated from high school. Everyone was excited to go forward, most of his friends had passed the college entrance exam while some had decided to continue their family business. That was what people expected from his town which was why when Yunho announced that he was going to focus on being an idol and move to the heart of the country, people were thrilled.

One of those people was you.

You had been Yunho's rock ever since you both started dating in the 9th grade, sticking together through thick and thin, you with your studies and Yunho with his training. It was hard but you both made it work and you both became the school's power couple, the couple who will end up together no matter what. In fact, you had been the one encouraging Yunho to pursue training no matter the distance while you helped as best as you could. So you both really had gone through everything including fights because you both were tired, had doubts over the future, and bad exam results from your hakwon and his monthly evaluation. You both wet through all that and still stuck together.

So it made sense that even after you got accepted to a prestigious university in KAIST, you still made plans to be in Yunho's life. Little did you know, he wasn't planning the same.

It was one afternoon and you were scrolling through your course catalogue with your mom while discussing how to move your things to the dorm in two weeks time when there was a knock on the front door, surprising you and your mom. But it wasn't a surprise to see Yunho on the other side with a small smile on his face. You noticed that he had been rather gloomy this past couple of weeks and you thought that it was because he was sad that he was going to be separated from you. Well, in a sense he was.

"Hi Mrs. (y/l/n), can I borrow (y/n) for a while?" Yunho politely asked for permission which had become some sort of redundant request since your mom would actually be the one to encourage you two to spend more time together. Even though you lived on the same street, your mom knew that as youngsters in love, no amount of time is enough time, especially with what's just up ahead. So it didn't really surprise you when your mom practically pushed you out the door and told you to not worry about coming home late, she had even given you and Yunho some money to spend.

So you both found yourselves walking side-by-side with ice cream in your hands. You both got an ice cream cone of your favourite flavours. But not even the sweetness of the treat managed to melt the sourness off of Yunho's face. You had even tried to hold Yunho's hand as you both walked slowly from the convenience store but he was too deep in his thought to even notice. Heck, he was too deep in his thought to utter a single word.

Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, Yunho abruptly halted his steps and turned to look at you.

"We need to break up," he stated.

For a moment you thought you heard wrong so you tried chuckling it off, "Um, what?" you asked awkwardly, feeling your heartbeat rising. Yunho sighed and stood firm, "We need to break up," he repeated, the same intonation and cadence making him seem so robotic and detached. But even then you recognize the seriousness which caused your eyebrows to furrow, "Wait, what the hell? Why? Where is this coming from?" Without wavering, Yunho looked directly into your eyes determinedly, "We are about to journey our own paths. Let's not hold each other back," and you couldn't help but get more confused, "Hold each other back? What- Where- How-," it was obvious that the logic alludes you because you had planned the perfect strategy to still maintain your relationship with Yunho while he was preparing for his debut and you for your education.

Then an idea hit you.

"Did the company ask you to break up with me?" Now it was Yunho who furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Did you tell them before we could make a plan on how to tell them?" you added.

You both were well aware that once Yunho's debut date got nearer you two would have to press pause on the relationship in a way. You both knew that it was unrealistic for an idol to be dating not because he was trying to put his fans first but more because you didn't want his dedication to stray. You knew how a relationship can cause someone to lose sight of their goal and Yunho would be sharing his goal with apparently seven other people, one whom you've grown to like as he was just like the gentle giant of a boyfriend you had. So you both were planning on telling the company together, trusting them to protect Yunho and should it come down to it, you as well.

"No, they don't even know I'm dating anyone. But you made a good point, I don't feel comfortable going through a commitment with my agency with this big of a secret weighing me down."

The words Yunho used hurt you because first, he insinuated that he WANTED the breakup not because you two should and then he was basically saying that you were in the way.

So you scoffed and crossed your arms on your chest, standing up to him, "So I'm a burden now?" Even during your previous fights with Yunho, he'd know when he'd struck a nerve and he would either take it back or explain what he actually meant. But the sigh he let out before answering you gave you the chills and not the good ones. "If you're going to act this way then yes, I think you're a burden now." You didn't know how Yunho was able to say such things to you so easily because you know for a fact that had it been you in his position, no matter the situation, you wouldn't have been able to say something with such gravity towards someone you know you live with what you can only discern as nonchalance.

If Yunho felt bad at the way you reacted to his harsh words, shoulders slumped and eyes glassy, he was doing a particularly great job at hiding it. Even as you sniffled and wiped some stray tears away, the look on Yunho's face didn't change. It wasn't like you were expecting for him to change his mind or take back his words just because you were looking so pathetic, but you didn't expect him to seem so detached either.

"Look, this was bound to happen anyways, (y/n), you know it. We had agreed that we would pause our relationship when-" "PAUSE, Yunho, not BREAK UP!" you cut him off, this time unable to hold your emotion at bay. "Well, why wait? Why do we have to wait to take a pause when I FINALLY debuted? Even then, why should we hang onto each other, hovering in uncertainties for God knows how long? I don't want to live like that, (y/n), not when I'm leaving tonight!"

As if things weren't already so abrupt and surprising for you, you were thrown with the newest revelation. The plan was for you two to leave home on the same day, preventing the other to remain in loneliness in the place you both shared so many memories with. But truly, this was a betrayal on top of more betrayal.

Considering the situation Yunho had put you in, it was hard to not believe that Yunho didn't care at all about you. In the past 10 minutes, he had hurt you more than anyone else ever did in your life and you just want to get away.

So you did.

You took a step back and sighed in defeat, looking at him for what you thought would be the last time ever, "Well then, I wish you the luck you deserve, Yunho. Truly, I hope your decision stays with you longer than you allowed me to." With that, you turned around and walked back home alone, crying the whole way, leaving Yunho in his spot to let the reality of what happened sink in. He never expected you to react well, he was breaking up with you or goodness sake, but he never expected the situation to taste so bitter in his mouth. All he could do was hope that it was truly for the best. Regret be damned.

"So how are the boys, Yunho?" his mom asked, smiling at her eldest as he slurped down his noodles. Yunho took a moment to chew his food properly before answering, "They're great. We've been so busy with work, we don't even have time to argue properly," he joked, making his parents laugh, "How's Gunho? How's the house?" The question made his mom roll her eyes, "You wouldn't have to ask if you come home! We've moved to the new neighbourhood for two years already and you barely spent two weeks in total!" because home is not home when (y/n) is not around, "Sorry mom, my schedule is very unpredictable so I can't really do anything about it." Thankfully, his dad chimed in, nodding along, "He's right honey, you know Yoo Seunghwan's son, the one working at that corporation thing, he's worked so hard that he couldn't even stay back during that school reunion! You remember that, right Yunho?" of course Yunho remembered. It was the first high school reunion and Yunho had to reject the invitation, saying that he was expected to go abroad around that time when in fact, he didn't want to face you. Not since the last time he saw you. And it wasn't even that time he broke up with you in front of the convenience store.

In all honesty, Yunho had been thinking about you nonstop these past couple of months. It had been years since Yunho saw, talked, or even heard about you. He became irrational, actively avoiding people just so he wouldn't know how much you thrived without him while he remembered the night of his debut when he cried himself to sleep and had to be consoled by San, Mingi, and Wooyoung who thought he was emotional over the achievement when in fact he was crying because he had worked so hard for the debut and that he wouldn't have been ab;e to go that far had it not been for your support but now that the moment arrived, he couldn't share it with you. It was then that he realized how badly he fucked up by breaking things off with you so coldly. You meant so much to him but he let stress get the best of him so much so that he took it out on you. He could still remember the way you looked at him and no, it wasn't that time he broke up with you in front of the convenience store.

"Do you guys know what happened to (y/n)?"

Yunho froze when he realized he had accidentally blurted out the question. He had wondered internally, of course but he didn't mean to ask it out loud. He was about to take it back when he saw the way his parents looked at each other weirdly.

"What?" He asked, curious, "Do you guys know something?" he pressed, now curious. While his dad avoided his gaze, his mom was looking at him with pity in her eyes.

"Oh my God, she got married didn't she?" Yunho choked, feeling his heart clench so painfully, thinking that he had lost you to another man. Not that it should have meant anything to Yunho considering he was the one who tossed you aside so easily.

His mom frantically tried to calm him down, disliking the distressed look on her son's face. "No, no, no, no, no, honey, no! It's nothing like that, believe me! It's just..." she trailed off, slapping his dad on the arm to make him look at her. One stern look and he sighed, relenting and nodding, "I guess he should know. It's about time," he said. Yunho stared at his parents with furrowed eyebrows, "Know about what?" he asked, but his mom only smiled sadly, "We'll take you there after this." The way they were acting and speaking made Yunho worry and he started internally blaming himself for not trying to get an update about you sooner. It would have probably been a better idea for him to still keep in touch but again, the pain of remembering that it was his fault that the whole thing even happened in the first place was more than he could bear. He was being so pathetic.

The rest of the lunch was concluded rather quickly after that and soon enough Yunho found himself in the backseat of his parents' car.

Another wave of nostalgia washed over him as he watched over the road, remembering the last time he had passed the same street which was the same day he broke up with you. The very last time he had seen you with his own two eyes, shrouded in the darkness of the night but still very much visible to his eyes.

Yunho decided not to dilly-dally, shoved everything he needed to bring into the trunk of his parent's car, and slammed the door shut. At the same time, he turned around to get back inside the house to call for his parents, he saw you slamming the door of your house and speed-walking to the other side of the road as if trying to get away in a rush. Had it been any other time, Yunho would've rushed to your side and done whatever he had to do to make you smile again. But his convictions solidified his decision and hardened his heart so instead of rushing to you, he simply turned and went on with his plan.

Yunho thought that it would be hard to decide to pretend to not care about you. Well, he was correct on that because his mind was plagued by the distraught look on your face. sure he only saw it for less than 5 seconds, but the impact was greater than he could imagine. It didn't help that the car drove in the exact same path you took and Yunho kept wondering what you might be thinking about. Pathetic.

The constant questions of you in his head halted the moment he saw a familiar figure in a familiar spot. His eyes had been so used to your figure that it just immediately recognized you sitting in the spot you both had claimed. Yunho immediately got reminded of the time you both ducked there to shield yourselves from the scorching summer sun, the time the two of you were joking around too much that you accidentally pushed each other into the deep pond, causing you both to be fished out and scolded by the authorities, and although it was a bad idea, the time you two found shelter during a harsh rain with thunders that terrified you but you told him that you felt safer because he was with you. The memories didn't help Yunho. In fact, it made him feel nauseated, almost vomiting in the car from the mixed feelings. He didn't want to admit it then but the guilt was gnawing at his insides so ruthlessly, he thought it was simply him finally experiencing a break-up and that the feeling was normal.

Almost comically, as the car's headlights illuminated your figure, you turned around and your eyes stared straight into Yunho's. Not that you knew because you were practically blinded. On the other hand, Yunho could see the redness on your face and the tears streaming down your cheeks so clearly that the pain that was already plaguing his heart increased tenfold.

"Yunho, dear, isn't that (y/n)?" His mom asked.

Time moved slowly for him and in that duration, he was able to carve the brokenhearted look on your face in his mind. But even then, Yunho only averted his gaze and softly muttered a reply to his mom, "Yeah, that's her." Sensing that he didn't want to talk about it, his parents kept quiet and drove on, allowing Yunho to his own thoughts.

"What are we doing here?" Yunho asked as he got out of the car, nervously looking around the park where he last saw you. The parking space they took was not far from your spot. Heck, he could see the tree from where he was standing.

"You remember the last time you saw (y/n)?" His mom linked her arm around Yunho's and she slowly started to lead him forward, obviously going towards the spot while his dad walked alongside him on his other side.

The night I ignored her crying at our spot. "Yeah, I broke up with her in front of the convenience store," he lied. His mom shook her head, "No, sweetie. We were driving you to move into your dorm when we passed by her, right in this park, over there by the tree," she pointed, not realizing that Yunho knew damn well what she was talking about. "Oh..." Yunho couldn't help but duck his head in shame, the closer the spot got, the harder it was for him to keep his emotions in check and it was almost impossible when his dad placed a hand on his shoulder. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I only suggested it because I think you deserve to know," his dad said.

Anxiety bubbled in Yunho's chest, he didn't like the way his parents were talking as if something had happened to you.

"You guys are freaking me out, what-"

His voice died in his throat the moment they arrived at the spot. What was usually a clear spot with grass under the big tree now had a small spot seemingly dedicated to something, trinkets littered the spot; small ones like beaded bracelets and bigger ones like some very familiar plushies, But on top of them all, the picture of you stood out the most to Yunho.

"What's this?" Yunho asked, voice wavering slightly as his eyes continuously scanned the area. Deep down he already knew what happened, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it.

His mom was already tearing up the moment they got there, reliving her memories when she had heard about you. Seeing this, his father stepped up.

"I'm sorry to say this, son. (y/n)... She's gone. She died," he stated with a voice so emotional and so soft, that Yunho almost thought that he was hallucinating.

"Wh- when- How? How long ago was this?" he asked, glassy eyes finally lifted from the trinkets to look at his dad, seeking answers and hope. Though reluctant, his dad decided that he couldn't let another minute go by without letting Yunho know as he had been kept away from the information long enough.

"That day we drove you to your dorm. (y/n) had an accident."

There it was, the loud crack of his world-shattering.

You had been crying yourself since you came back from the convenience store. Heart broken, hopes shattered, it didn't help that your mom had attempted to console you. Her kind words and caring treatment only made you feel worse which was why you felt the need to escape reality, you wanted to wallow to yourself for just a while before you were told that everything was going to be okay because it wasn't. It was absolutely not okay for you and you needed to not be okay first before you could be okay again.

Despite fearing running into Yunho, you pushed past the fear and ran straight out, going to the first place you could think of where you could be safe with your feelings. You had cried so much that you couldn't even cry properly anymore, only silent tears as pain engulfed you whole. It was hard to breathe and it felt like it was hard to go on living. It wasn't just the fact that you were broken up with, it was the fact that it was Yunho who had broken up with you in such a ruthless way. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't help but feel like it was as if he had used you. For what, you didn't know, you no longer knew what to think because first, you thought that you and Yunho were solid but apparently that was utter bullshit, then you thought that you and Yunho had a plan but apparently, he had one of his own that he preferred, and lastly, you thought that you and Yunho could go through anything but apparently, the fact that each of you had different paths planned was enough to break everything.

As if life wasn't making such a joke out of you enough, you saw Yunho's car coming your way. The headlights blinded you and you weren't sure what was going on inside. But for some odd reason, the blinding lights were enough to numb you completely from all the senses there is. For a moment, you couldn't see anything and all you could hear was the ringing in your ear but it felt comforting.

Without you realizing it, you head moved too close to the edge of the grass and slipped into the pond. The cold rendered you inanimate and the water engulfed you completely. At first splash, reality hit that you had fallen into the pond but soon the cold water provided some pressure that felt like a hug to you. The darkness and the way the water blocked sounds other than the comforting sloshes of water pulled you into a realm of otherworldly tranquillity and in that moment you made a decision that would alter your life forever.

You decided to let go.

This time, at the same spot you mourned over your heart, Yunho found himself mourning over his love. His love that was lost. His love that HE let loose.

"They found her body in the morning, her parents thought she had gone to one of her friend's houses considering the state she was in when she left, they didn't think to worry until the police found her right here," his dad explained, he too was crying at the memory of finding out what had happened to you.

Yunho's knees buckled and he staggered to find support on the tree that held a lot of the memories you both shared. "W-why didn't I know this? She was g-gone for so long, how- how did I not know?" Yunho was stuttering, his mind working doubles trying to make sense of things. His mom crouched down next to him and grabbed his hand, "You were starting your journey, sweetie, we didn't want you to stray because of this. Also," his mom paused to look up at his dad who could only nod at her slowly, "(y/n)'s parents asked us to not tell you that early. They told us that (y/n) had did her best supporting you throughout everything, wanting nothing more than you to succeed in your own path so they don't want to jeopardize her dedication. They want to make sure her efforts paid off."

It wasn't as if Yunho had hoped to hear something that would make him feel better because he knew nothing in the world would. He had been so horrible to you that last day and he had been so horrible after that by actively not trying to get to know how you were. His pride should not have mattered to him so much so he settled with just not knowing how you were. That was not something he was supposed to do. More and more, he regretted the way he treated you that final day and how he had been so unfair to you. No amount of tears and no matter how loud he cried would make up for what he had done and he believed that your demise was his fault. Had he stopped the car that night to acknowledge you even for just a moment, maybe the situation would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

Lost you.

That was ironic since he was the one who pushed you away. He broke you in your final moments.

And now, Yunho was left unable to properly apologize to you for what he had done. Unable to tell you how much he hated himself for what he did. Unable to tell you how you deserved way better than him. Unable to tell you how he wanted to work, no matter how hard you would make it, just so you would accept his apology.

But now all he could accept was the bitter reality that there was nothing he could do to make things right.

All he could accept was that he had let go first.

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[poppy-metal]

poppyyyyy i’m gonna cry not the thing i sent you being turned into an au and i have no more ideas for it 😭😭 this is hell. all i have to offer is this ( https://pin.it/4XElozLiD ) is nepo brats wedding dress in my head and it was one of those ones that’s shot by vogue and like sponsored by harry winston and they have a breakfast at tiffany’s themed rehearsal dinner like just a massive networking event essentially that she only agreed to bc she REALLY wanted artashi to see and react and bust down her door to beg for her back. also love the idea of a shitty marriage, i imagine it’s like when blair got married in gossip girl and she thought everything was perfect (on the outside at least) and then when they had their first dance he essentially was like “play your fucking part and this will be so much easier for you” and she was like oooooh shit what did i do 😐 called tashi in tears and she charters her a plane and lets her stay at their penthouse for a few days…..i wanna sit on their couch in a big gown with tears streaming down my face and have them take care of me even tho they’re pissed :( doesn’t mean they wanna see me hurt this badly :( need to try to apologize through sobs and have art say we’ll talk about this in the morning as tashi brushes hair off my forehead and pauses like she’s gonna kiss it :(

OR you could have her freeze up after he pops her little perfect marriage delusion and have her go along with it for months, maybe there’s a fan account that follows your every move that tashi checks daily on a burner. she notices the dwindling amount of times you’re seen with friends, essentially the only time you’re seen now is with that man by your side. over the months your personality snuffs out entirely, looking to him before you speak, smiling along to whatever he says. people make jokes about how your PR team finally broke you. one day art is standing in the corner of their living room, face twisted up, doesn’t look up when tashi makes an inquisitive sound. walks over to her and turns his phone around to show her a photo of you walking hand in hand with your husband into a restaurant, faint bruises up your arm, hair covering your eye intentionally. she stares at the phone with no reaction. finishes getting ready to go, says she forgot something as they get in their car and runs upstairs and barely makes it to the bathroom before she throws up. you’ve changed assistants by now but she finds their information within the hour, loosely threatens them with telling her where you’ll be for the rest of the day, rolls her eyes hard when she hears a “they” instead of “you”. doesn’t change anything she has planned. she makes a call to her legal team after hanging up with your assistant because there’s no way your husband will let you out of this without a fight, one that she’s prepared to hold your hand through the entire way. she shoots her husband a text and lets him know to get the guest bedroom ready.

AUR.

i think..... both can happen. you run to tashi as soon as the wedding is over - still in your dress, though its ripped in places - show up on her doorstep because you know the code to the gate - shivering in the cold and when the door opens tashi is looks so soft. like she'd just gotten ready for bed. hair a little damp and curling at the ends. a pale peach robe tied around her waist. she's beautiful.

she doesn't look happy to see you. "what are you doing here?" said so coldly. like you're not welcome. and why would you be? its so different to face her anger through miles and miles of distance. all you've wanted for months was for her to just - notice you. give you attention. you'd even say sorry, take the blame, take every word back, if she'd asked. but she's looking at you like you're an annoying reporter. a nuisance shown up at her door.

you break down in tears. full body sobs that have you kneeling at her door, at her feet, head in your hands as you shake with all your bottled up emotions. "i messed up." you choke - "i - i - i - its all wrong - tashi - "

you can't speak through your tears, heaving through wet flem in your throat. she'd have every right to toss you out. you wondered how pitiful you looked right now, crumpled like this. still in your wedding dress. your new husband probably buried in some other woman for the night. he wouldn't miss you. you didn't want to go to your new home with him.

you feel warmth at your elbows. tashi's hands, cupping you. "come on." her tone isn't warm, but its lost its chill. she tugs you up. "come in - you'll get fucking pneumonia out here."

she brings you in - one hand at the small of your back to guide you. you sniffle. look around. her home still looks the same. familiar. you're brought to their big expansive kitchen - where art had been scrolling through his phone in sweats and a simple cotton shirt - finishing off a bowl of fruit - when you come into view his fork pauses in the bowl. his expression is completely unreadable. but its not very welcoming.

he looks at tashi, dismissing you. you try not to flinch.

"what's this about?"

tashi leaves you at the kitchen island to open the fridge. she fishes out a bottle of water and brings it over to you. "drink this." she tells you. to art she simply shrugs. "dont know." and she looks at you. "what's this about?"

you struggle to open the bottle. your hands trembling. after a few failed attempts art rolls his eyes, yanks the water from you and opens it with one twist of his wrist around the cap. quick and easy. he slides it back over to you and looks at you blankly.

under both their stares you feel the weight of all the months between you. all the shit you talked about them on social media. the things you'd said.... your bottom lip wobbles. eyes filling with tears. "im sorry." you say, softly. you cant think of what else to say. "im - im sorry for coming - i- ill go."

tashi reaches out. you're startled by how strong her grip is on your arm. her nails almost dig into your flesh. you welcome the sting. a show of emotion. even if its anger. her claws coming out.

"no." she snaps. "you dont get to show up here after the shitshow you've made of this year - in your fucking wedding dress - sniveling like some sort of damsel at our home and then just leave." she points to a stool. "sit. explain why you came."

her tone leaves no room for argument. you find your ass in the stool before you even realize you'd made the conscious decision to move there. like a doll on her strings. it'd always been easy to take her orders.

you try to explain but you're pitiful at it. you keep crying when you bring up your husband - the way he'd treated you. how trapped you feel. how you came here because - despite everything, this was your safe space - you'd never seen it any differently. and you knew, no matter what, tashi would answer the door when she saw it was you on the other side.

they're quiet after that. art works his jaw like hes rolling thoughts around in his head, but his distrust is obvious. you know if he'd been the one to see you at the door, he'd have never answered. that knowledge hurts deeply - to know he's completely detached himself from you. that you'd lost him. his care and his love.

you wondered if you'd be thrown out regardless but tashi rubs at her temple. suddenly looking very worn out and tired. "this is a fucking mess." she says and your stomach twists. you were always complicating things for them. being a burden. she drops her hand. looks down at you like you're a puzzle with a few pieces missing.

you guys are the missing piece, you think.

"you can stay the night." she finally settles on, shares a look with art who looks like he wants to say something about that but she silences him. "we'll talk more about this in the morning. you need..... you need to get out of that god awful dress. and too sleep."

art watches tashi guide you to their guest room with a frown. he doesn't like this. tashi is such a strong front on the outside, but she was alot more vulnerable than people realized. and you'd really hurt her. you'd hurt both of them, but arts feelings..... they didn't matter here. at least, not to him. he could shove down the heartbreak and the anger and the betrayal and everything else he felt about you to make room for the world of hurt tashi was going through. he had to be strong for her. and you being here - showing back up - pouring salt in an open wound - god. you were such a selfish fucking brat. always had been. he used to find it endearing. now he just wanted to throttle you.

in the guest room - tashi helps you out of the dress. her knuckles skim down your spine when she unzips you. kneeling down to help you out of your heels. you hiss when she turns your foot - assessing the blisters. "jesus." she huffs. stands and gets you some of her things to wear. a soft tank top and some shorts. arts boxers, actually. you flush when you put them on, under tashi's watchful gaze. she points to the bed when you're done, a silent command.

you sink down onto the comforter. bite your lip when she comes back into the room with a jar of ointment for your feet. "here -" she sits next to you, and a waft of her scent hits your nose. sophisticated and clean. she props your foot on her lap as she gently rubs the cream into the abused skin. you swallow, as you watch her. this gentleness. you'd missed it.

all your life you'd been 'taken care of' but only in the most clinical of ways. you had all the money you could want, maids to pamper you if you wanted, but it was nothing compared to being...... treated like a human. being cared for by someone who actually cares about you intimately.

"stop doing that." tashi says. she doesn't look up from her work.

"doing what?"

"looking at me like that." she tells you. she finishes and cups the lid back on the jar, and she looks at you. brown eyes.... sad. "we're not - " she breathes. shakes her head. "you can't look at me like that."

you scoot closer to her on the bed. she doesn't move away. "its the way I've always looked at you." you tell her.

she glances at you. glances down where your - her - shirt has slipped off your shoulder and its bare. so close to her mouth. she'd pressed alot of kisses there. left alot of marks.

"things have changed." she tells you. "you know that - you're responsible for it."

you place a hand on her thigh, just under her robe. lean in. "i know and im sorry." you slip to the floor then, on your knees before her. "i didn't mean any of it." you tell her, looking up at her. "i miss you, tashi. i miss art. i miss - us. i - i want you back."

tashi looks down at you. her hand comes out and she catches a strand of your hair between her fingers. rubs it. "you're married."

"I'll leave him."

her eyebrows jump. "you've been a very bad girl to me and my husband."

the way she says it.... bad girl. familiar warmth pools between your legs.

"i know." you whisper. "and im sorry." you lean more forward, and her legs slide open - her robe inching up her thighs. she watches you. heat in her eyes. she still wants you. yes. "let me make it up to you - to you both - i will - you know i can."

she studies you for some time. then she parts her legs wider. "show me, then. show me how sorry you are."

you dont have to be told twice - ducking your head down - diving between her soft thighs - you moan when you discover she's not wearing any panties. your mouth finding her pussy already wet and slick.

more wet than usual - but when you pull back - her hand comes down - tangles in your hair to keep you pressed against her bare cunt. you look up and meet her eyes as you allow your tongue to investigate - "that's it." she purrs. "you know what to do with that tongue -"

you gasp when you part her folds - a warm flood of salty fluid pouring into your mouth. a zap goes through your body at the realization.

arts cum.

she sees you realize it and bites her bottom lip. rocks herself into your face. "he's been so pent up lately." she tells you, hooks one of her long legs over your shoulder. "and its your fault - so -"

her nails dig into your scalp - "clean it up."

you do. whimpering into her pussy as you tongue the remaints of her husbands cum, scooping it into your mouth and swallowing greedily. you missed his taste so much. you wish he was here, pushing you into her pussy. slipping a hand down your shorts to pet through your wet slit. he'd make you eat every last drop before he sank a finger inside.

when everything is gone, tashi adjusts her grip. using you now. rubbing her clit against your nose and working her hips against your mouth exactly how she likes it. "fuck." she pants. she looks down at you and both her hands cup your cheeks. her thumbs rub into the skin. "pretty girl -" she breathes, and you whine, "this is what - fuck - what your mouth should be doing - instead of running off online -"

her grip turns vicious - her movements more forceful. properly fucking your face with her pussy. you just lay your tongue out and take it.

"you're such a goddamm brat." she hisses and her clit pulses as she starts to cum. "but - god, i missed you. yes -"

you lap up everything she gives you. eagerly. her hands carding through your hair as she comes down. she sits up, detaching your lips from between her legs and you look at eachother, lost in a moment together.

her fingers trace your wet mouth. and you part your lips for her instantly. looking up at her like shes a goddess - because she is. she strokes across your tongue with her fingers. your eyes flutter as you start to suck around the digits. mouth blessedly full. you bob your head up and down them, taking her past the knuckle.

your teeth catch on her wedding band and her breath hitches when you swirl your tongue around it. her mouth parted in wonder - like she cant believe you're really here again.

this is where you should be. always. at either her or arts feet. taking some part of them inside you. its what you're meant for. not money and wealth and jewelry but this. this, this, this.

tashi pulls her fingers back suddenly. her ring clicks against the back of your teeth.

her face shudders. closes off.

"that -" she licks her lips. "that shouldn't have happened." she stands, and you fall back on your ass. look up at her dumbfounded.

"tashi -"

"a mistake." she retightens the sash around her waist. rubs a hand down her face. looks down at you. winces. "don't cry."

but how can you not?

"but we just.... you said -"

"do you really think head is enough of an apology?" she tells you, and that tone is back. the cold one. she crosses her arms. "god, you've dragged my name through the mud. the damage you've done to arts career - we had to take a break, did you know that? he missed matches that could have changed his life. all of that, on hold, because you decided to throw a tantrum because what -" she laughs. "- you couldn't handle a break up? grow up."

she shakes her head. lips pressed tightly together. she cant look at you. if she sees your watery eyes she'll fold again. take you into her arms and forgert the past year entirely. fall back into bed with you and make you cum over and over until you were nothing but the shaking mess she missed seeing. god, she'd just cheated on art. fantastic.

"I'll help you get a divorce if thats what you want." she tells you, already walking away. "but after that? we're done. for good, this time."

the click of the door sounds like a bullet in your ears. you stay kneeled on the floor for a long, long time.

and the next morning - when tashi goes to wake you up. she finds the room empty but a note left on the bed. she almost doesn't want to read it. art is in the kitchen - making breakfast for four. because as mad as he pretends to be for her sake, he still thinks about you. cares about you. misses you as much as she does. it'll break him to learn about what she'd let happen - but only because he didn't get a chance to feel you one last time himself.

tashi was really the selfish one.

she picked up the note. read it.

i want you to know meeting you in that coffee shop was the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm a spoiled rotten brat, i know. but you taught me to be more. you let me into your life. gave me another person to love in art, and you both took care of me and treated me better than i deserved. im truly sorry for how things ended. and im sorry for how i acted after. i was hurt. i thought you didn't care about me. that maybe you never did. and i lashed out. im sorry. im taking back all my statements in an interview next week. i hope it can restore some of the damage I've done to you and art. you're two of the most wonderful people I've ever met. and im lucky to have fallen in love with both of you. im not divorcing my husband. i think maybe i can try to make it work. you dont need to worry about me, either of you, you've done enough of that. I'll be fine. love - your tinkerbell.

the note flutters to the ground limply. art calls that breakfast is ready.

tashi isn't hungry.

[captain-hawks]

you want to blame it on the sheer amount of people packed into mattsun’s small, tenth floor apartment—the way it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

at least that’s what you mutter to makki as you excuse yourself and head toward the balcony’s reprieve, your drink forgotten on the coffee table as you step out into the frigid winter air.

but fuck if the familiar, warm scent of iwaizumi’s cologne doesn’t invade your nostrils a moment later anyway, something you’re beyond embarrassed to recognize with your eyes closed.

you don’t turn around as the sliding door clicks shut, eyes trained on some unremarkable landmark in the distance that you can’t quite make out in the darkness. and as he comes to stand beside you, forearms leaning on the metal handrail inches away from your own, you’re not sure if the slight shiver that wracks its way down your spine is from the flakes of snow that have begun to settle on your bare arms or his maddening proximity.

you can’t fucking stand it—this unceremonious collapse of your lungs in his presence, the blistering heat that prickles down your neck and closes tightly around your throat.

something soft and warm settles around your shoulders, and your throat goes dry as the zipper of his jacket brushes against your neck.

“where’s your girlfriend?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t sound as pathetic as you feel.

it’s funny how these things work—you spent years trying to get over your silly high school crush, only for all of it to come crashing back down in your lap gathered at the bar with friends celebrating his return to japan after uni.

it’s funny—the way you could hardly remember the name of the guy you were casually seeing in that moment as you watched iwaizumi walk in with a pretty girl clutching his elbow.

iwa laughs quietly, and it’s a little rough, a bit self-deprecating. “where’s your boyfriend?”

it’s funny—the odd curve of his tone on the last word.

“don’t have one,” you reply, casting him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable.

“she told me she wanted to move to japan with me,” he says carefully, exhaling a cloud of warm air as his gaze sweeps to the skyline.

your heart sinks.

“and?”

“and i told her i wanted to break up.”

you whip around to face him, convinced you heard him wrong. “you what?”

he reaches across the space between your bodies, hands grasping the bottom edges of the jacket and zipping it up to your chin (and it’s so goddamn reminiscent of the way he used to chide you for not dressing properly on the walk to school that you sway a little on your feet).

you can’t help the way you nudge his foot in return just like you always used to—it’s muscle memory, more than anything else.

and yet you’re not anticipating the way he still follows up in kind, hooking a foot around the back of your ankle, muttering about your shit choice of shoes in the dead of winter. while it’s hardly a tap, it’s enough to make you take a step forward in surprise as the lines between the past and present begin to blur, stumbling slightly.

two hands at your waist steady you, and despite the layers between his palms and your hips, your nerve endings ignite.

“coming home made me realize that even moving to the other side of the world wouldn’t stop me from wondering,” he says softly, snowflakes accumulating in his mussed brown hair.

“wondering what, iwaizumi?”

he doesn’t answer you for a moment, just stares at you with an intensity that makes you briefly question the physics of spontaneous combustion.

“what it’d be like to hear you call me by my name for once,” he murmurs. “what it’d be like to do this, if you’d let me.” carefully, he traces the curve of your bottom lip, his touch feather-light.

your legs wobble, just a little, and iwaizumi’s left hip and thigh press up against you. it’s a weather phenomenon, the way everything goes quiet during snow fall—but it’d all be drowned out either way right now against the erratic thrumming behind your ribcage.

“i missed you, hajime,” you whisper, the syllables heavy on your tongue—they’d at odds with this dizzy lightness in your chest.

his eyes fall shut for a beat, lips curving upward in a faint smile, his fingers twitching subtly at your waist.

you begin to lean forward, and there’s a quiet sigh of relief that falls from his lips before he cups your face in both of his hands, his mouth crashing into yours.

[sansaorgana]

Could I maybe request a bit of a sequel fic to thrown to the wolves where we kind of see the outside galaxy's perspective on the couple and their son. Like a lady from caladan remembering playing with reader and reconciling it with who she is now or a low ranking guard on Giedi Prime and the few times he's caught glimpses of them reflecting on how great it is that his chances of being randomly killed by the baron have dropped significantly since the Baroness has arrived or a handmaid to Irulan whose heard whispers that even the emperor fears them. IDK I think it could be interesting to see them and see how rumor and truth shape their wider image in the galaxy.

Thank you once again though for the masterpiece that is Thrown To The Wolves!

THROWN TO THE WOLVES MASTERLIST

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hi, darling! 💝 Sorry that it took me so long but I was dealing with the end of semester at Uni. 🙄 Thank you for the request because it was interesting to write from other people's perspective. Perhaps the story is not very long but I have one more story about Feyd and our beloved (Na-)Baroness in my inbox to write, so it's not the end... yet! 😁

WORD COUNT — 1,370

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

After her arrival, Princess Irulan was told by her servants that her father expected to see her. She nodded her head and freshened herself before taking a walk down the corridor to meet with her father. To her surprise, The Reverend Mother was not there and it was unusual since she often reminded of The Emperor's shadow.

“Welcome back home, child,” her father greeted her and pointed at the chair next to his. Irulan sat there and looked at him, waiting for his questions. “How was the ceremony on Giedi Prime?”

“Splendid,” Irulan answered genuinely. “They have outdone themselves, I have to admit. And The Baroness gave birth to the new na-baron on the same night. The excitement was unbelievable.”

“On the same night?” The Emperor smirked. “That woman plotted it very carefully.”

“Not everything is a result of plotting and scheming, dear father,” Irulan sighed. “Women cannot predict the exact time of birth.”

She was a bit irritated with her father for assuming such a thing – not because she was under The Baroness’ charm or influence but because it was so… typical for a man of him. They had no idea about childbirth but they loved to pretend they knew everything.

“Do not underestimate them, The Harkonnens,” The Emperor tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at his daughter as if he was able to hear her thoughts. “Their technology and medicine advanced us in ways we don't even know about. They know very well that their experiments would not be approved by the other Great Houses so they keep most of them a secret. And do not underestimate The Baroness either. What do people say about her?”

“That she can temper Feyd-Rautha, the new Baron,” Irulan answered. “They hope for that certainly.”

“Tame him? Have you seen her on Arrakis?” The Emperor sneered at that. “Women tend to be more ruthless leaders than men for they truly do believe that their cruelty is justified for the way the society is treating them,” he reminded his daughter. After all, she would inherit after him as well.

If they were lucky. And deep down he knew they would not be. He was old and weak now but not stupid. He knew what The Harkonnens wanted – his throne. Feyd-Rautha himself perhaps would not be a threat that big but the new Baroness was a dangerous new pawn in that game. She had her ruthless husband under control and he was nothing but a loyal dog – he would bite and attack when she asked. And The Emperor knew that she would ask. She was only waiting for the right moment.

“The Harkonnens have gained a new amount of power and influence. A dangerous one,” he thought out loud. “They're so powerful now that I can't take away their privileges because they'd attack and only prove their forces are stronger than the Imperial ones.”

“It's better to keep them as friends,” Irulan nodded as she played nervously with her fingers.

“Let's hope and pray that the new Baroness wants to make friends,” her father smiled sadly.

He was old already, he couldn't care less. But he was worried about his daughter’s future.

“The word soon will spread about their power. We have to make sure all the rumours about them wanting the Imperial Throne will be silenced,” he added.

The rumour was spreading indeed. But a maid from Caladan who had used to be the new Baroness' personal servant back in the day… She didn't believe the cruel rumours.

As her former Princess was leaving to Giedi Prime, she had promised her to keep visiting her mother's grave. And she was standing above it now as she admired the new stone next to it. The grave of Duke Leto and Lady Jessica was standing right next to his late wife's. Baroness Harkonnen had paid for the transport of their bodies and for the funeral and the stone. She had given all the instructions on what should be written on it. 

Duke Leto Atreides. Lady Jessica – mother of Prince Paul Atreides and the unnamed daughter.

And the maid knew – she had heard the stories – that it was Baroness Harkonnen herself who had murdered Lady Jessica and her child. But the maid also knew that her former Princess could not be as fearsome and cruel as the rumours were saying. She still cared about her father and even made her peace with Lady Jessica in a way, since she allowed her to rest next to her mother. Another rumour said that she had also allowed Prince Paul's Fremen lover to take care of his body and give him a funeral according to their customs.

But the maid was sad as she watched. So many things had changed and she wished they all were still here – Duke Leto, Jady Jessica, young Paul and young (Y/N). 

A cold shiver went down her body at the realisation that only Baroness Harkonnen had survived out of them all. Perhaps the rumours were true after all – she had to be cruel and fearsome if she had been the only survival of her House and family and if she had helped to murder them herself. And the stone she had bought did not mean anything, really. It was just a stone.

Usually, on other planets, becoming the personal guard of the noble family was a privilege. On Giedi Prime it meant a death sentence. 

The young Baron couldn't care less about human life and he was always first to take it. The lives of slaves, servants and guards meant nothing to him and in the past he had been even killing them just out of boredom.

The young guard assigned to keep an eye on the nursery was tense every time the Baron was nearby. But so far so good, he thought, when he realised that the young na-baron Maxim-Feyd Harkonnen was already six months old and he was still alive. To last half a year nearby the Baron was an achievement for sure.

As he was standing in front of the doors leading to the nursery most of his days, he had an opportunity of witnessing the scary Baron Harkonnen performing activities that would certainly spoil his ruthless image. He was visiting the nursery every day alongside his wife – in fact, The Baroness was visiting a few times a day. But at least once a day The Baron was by her side, looking the guard up and down with contempt but doing nothing more than that.

Apparently, it was his wife's influence – so the people said. She believed that her own servants should not fear them too much because it was influencing their loyalty in a bad way. Whatever she believed in – for all the servants, slaves and guards it was a big relief.

But only the guards working around the nursery and two maids named Astra and Cara could see The Baron Harkonnen being… soft. Soft around his son when he was carrying him around and telling him war stories. He was definitely a very proud father even though he was often scared of hurting his child accidentally. And he tended to forget that children – especially so small – couldn't understand him. He often addressed little Maxim as if he was an adult and then he was getting frustrated that his son didn't understand him.

The Baroness found it funny each time. But even though she was a woman and most likely a reason why the chances of getting randomly killed decreased, it would be foolish to think she was not to be feared.

Not only her one command would make The Baron attack but also all it would take to enrage him was to look at The Baroness the wrong way. She wouldn't have to ask then, The Baron was a guard dog. A rabid animal, barely tamed by a madwoman – you never knew when she'd loosen the leash.

And that was the Galaxy's greatest fear now – and it was not the question of if but a question of when the leash would be loosened and the war for the Imperial Throne starts. And people wondered who was truly more dangerous – the rabid dog or the mad owner?

MASTERLIST

[wheels-of-despair]

Corroded Coffin v. Slip 'n Slide Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman find an old Slip 'n Slide at a yard sale, and Corroded Coffin is super excited to try it out. Contains: Summer fun, Eddie getting to live out a childhood fantasy, Evil Woman being surrounded by morons. Words: 1k

"Always wanted to play on one of these."

You put down the ceramic figurine you're inspecting for chips and look at the box Eddie's holding. Another yard sale in the next town over, so big it was advertised in the paper; the only thing that'll get Eddie out of bed before noon on a Saturday.

"You've never been on a Slip 'n Slide?" you ask.

"Nope. Rich kid thing. When it got hot, Wayne would sit on the porch with the hose, whoever was around would run through it."

"That sounds more fun than this thing, actually."

"You've been on one?"

"Once. Hated it."

Eddie hums in acknowledgment and stares at the box that's been sitting in someone's attic for twenty years with a sort of longing.

"How much?" you ask.

"It was just a thought," Eddie shrugs, putting the box back on the table. A little orange sticker reads 50¢. You reach over and snatch it before someone else can.

"We're getting it," you say with finality.

You tuck the box under your arm and keep browsing. Eddie ducks his head and grins, following you along the rows of packed tables.

You end up spending close to $10, acquiring a decent amount of records and 8-track tapes for your shared collection, but the crown jewel is Eddie's Slip n' Slide. He's so excited about it, you even set it up while Corroded Coffin practices that afternoon, so they can strip their shirts and cool off afterwards.

You'd angled it down the hill, to give the boys a little extra zoom. You brought the hose out and put it in position. You set up a lawn chair in the shade near the bottom and brought out a magazine, an icy drink, and your camera. For when the boys ended up skidding across the grass. Because every single one of them would ride it down the hill, one after the other, and think they were going to be the one to stop before the slide did. Morons.

The heat is reaching the unbearable point by the time they wrap up practice. You put your magazine down when the music stops. They file out of the garage, already stripped down to their boxers.

The boys stand at the top of the hill and cross their arms, staring at the twenty-five foot long yellow strip in the grass.

"Turn the hose on first, dummies," you call, readying your camera. Gareth scampers to the spigot and turns it on, then runs back to the slide and sprays the hose around until he's sure it's wet enough. They play rock-paper-scissors to determine who goes first. Grant wins. The boys clear the runway, and he takes a runner's stance. He takes off and makes a glorious swan dive…

and skids to a painful stop on his stomach, about three feet in.

"Fuuuuuck!" he groans, rolling over to reveal a red chest and stomach.

A collective "ohhh" comes from the trio.

"It didn't do this last time," Grant whines.

"When was last time?" Jeff asks.

"I don't know, it was some kid's birthday party," Grant grunts as he picks himself up off the yellow plastic.

"You're heavier now," Jeff observes. "It's for kids. We're bigger than kids. We just need more slip so we can slide."

"Like soap?" Gareth asks.

"Baby oil?" Grant suggests.

"Wait!" Eddie yells, running toward the van.

Jeff and Gareth lean in to inspect the red on Grant's chest. It looks painful.

Eddie returns to the group, slathering something across his chest. He squirts some in the other boys' hands, and they all coat their chests, arms, and legs. Oh, boy. They're gonna end up in the neighbor's yard.

Grant takes his position again, and takes off running. This time, his swan dive turns into a graceful slide. He laughs as he zooms down the yellow plastic. When he hits the grass, he goes sideways and rolls down the hill. You, of course, get what you're sure is an amazing photo of it.

"Fuck yeah!" he yells, standing up and raising his arms triumphantly.

Jeff goes next, sliding down the hill with a whoop and landing in a heap in the grass. They high-five and wait for Gareth, who slides down with a "yeeeeeah!" before going sideways and rolling with such force, he knocks down Grant and Jeff. You cackle and snap away, wishing you'd brought a backup roll of film with you.

They help each other up, laughing the whole time, and turn their focus back to Eddie. He looks a little nervous.

"C'mon, man!" Gareth yells.

"You got this, babe!" you encourage him.

He grins and takes off, jumping a little weird and landing a little off-center, but Eddie Munson gets to ride the entirety of the twenty-five foot slide. He pops up in the grass with a loud yell, and your heart bursts with pride. Eddie Munson finally got to ride a Slip n' Slide.

"That was awesome!" he grins, glistening in the sun.

"Let's go again!" Jeff yells.

"Should we reapply the magical slippy slidey stuff?" Grant asks.

"What was that, anyway?" Gareth rubs his hand over his shiny chest, testing to see if it's still slippery.

"Uh…" Eddie looks at you with mischief on his face.

Oh no.

"Yeah, man, that was perfect!" Grant chimes in. "We need a tub of it!"

Oh no.

"What was it?" Jeff asks, looking between you and Eddie suspiciously.

"Lube," Eddie answers.

"What?" all three boys ask.

"Luuube," Eddie repeats, his face twisting into the evilest of grins.

"OH MY GOD!" the three of them shriek at the same time, running up the hill to the hose. They fight over it, trying to wash the remnants off themselves. You take a few more photos from your lawn chair, and Eddie plops down next to you.

"Must you horrify the children, dear?" you ask sweetly.

"Duh," he answers.

You snap a photo of the wicked grin still on his face.

[fryingpan1234567]

superheroes and social media

do you KNOW how often I see a cute trend on ig or tiktok or anything and I’m just like “man that would be cute for (insert hero ship)”

but that’s an issue because like… putting your face on the internet is DANGEROUS🙅‍♂️

I had. an idea. to solve all the issues!

as fun as it is to imagine the RobinOfficial account having 4 million followers, I think it’s more fun for everyone to have accounts that only follow and allow following in the caped community

so basically Instagram for just superheroes

the ones whose identities are known can post their faces, and the ones who are still under the radar have a close friends list that consists of the people who do know them

a very few amount of people who aren’t heroes are allowed on this Super IG

including Lois Lane, whose entire presence is standard mom posts but with like. Superkids and other Kryptonians. you get it

uhh Bernard Dowd too but he only follows Tim and Steph

Alfred, who only posts the Manor and London with captions like poetry

Selina Kyle because she already had a regular account but B was like “oh that’s dangerous now that we’re affiliated”

she was like “well how am I supposed to fuel my ego with no instagram for people to thirst after me”

B sighed and was like “well,,,,,”

Harley Quinn fluctuates between being banned and interacting with EVERYONE’S content with offensive amounts of emojis

anyways tell me WHY Conner Kent has the most iconic page on the internet

it’s full of these aesthetic photo dumps and crackhead videos of YJ doing dumb shit

also Tim. he’s got chaotic gen z billionaire vibes and most of his stuff is on his close friends list because B doesn’t need to see the REALLY dumb shit he gets up to

yeah they’re both hot and yeah they’re both elite pages. but Kon’s is Sabrina Carpenter energy and Tim’s is P!ATD energy so they’re different flavors of slay

on the opposite end of the spectrum we’ve got B, who has four posts, all exactly 365 days apart

it’s the yearly Father’s Day family portrait

Dick Grayson does that millennial vlog thing but Not

“a day in the life of a 24 year old cop (who also happens to be a vigilante)”

also a compilation of clips of him jumping off buildings, some taken by him and some by other people

can you IMAGINE this dumbass with a gopro

Red Bull wants to sponsor him what can I say

he lets his favorite villains follow him

WHEN I TELL YOU BILLY BATSON HAS THE MOST FAMOUS PAGE OF ANYONE IN THE COMMUNITY

because he was a public figure ANYWAYS. this is the idiot who used to walk around charging people’s phones with his powers and taking selfies for cash. people know him

so Captain Marvel has this crazy account with him doing memes and slo mo compilations of him punching guys from his body cam

his most hit post is a video where he found a cop harassing a bunch of kids on the street (who he happened to KNOW) and without saying anything at first just kindaaaaa walked over and fried the cruiser’s entire inner workings

“yo, copper! I think somethin’s up with your system, man!”

while the cop was trying to figure out how to start his fucking car again, Billy herded the kids down the sidewalk and they all took off running, giggling like maniacs

Damian Wayne doesn’t post a lot, but when he does, it’s to match with Jon

I mean like taking pictures of each other from across the same table and the captions are each half of a whole song lyric, stuff like that

his personal favorite is actually their softlaunch— they found an entire wall of mirrors at the planetarium on a date, Jon had his right hand on Dami’s waist and the other in his pocket, and Dami was standing in front of him, holding the phone with his right and tilting Jon’s face down with his left to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. neither of their faces are in it and it was Damian’s wallpaper for a WHILE

my babies ANYWAYS

Diana Prince posts exclusively about her favorite ice cream shops

Bart is the kid whose note is always like “in the hospital👍” / “sick again” / “hate broken ribs I can’t eat seven burgers in this condition” / “got possessed by a death god again :/ third time this week” and it’s like jesus man can you catch a break

can you imagine finding fucking Superman has a verified instagram account but it’s private so you can’t even follow freaking SUPERMAN

Duke Thomas is thoroughly over his siblings’ shit and there’s a ton of videos of them being dumbasses with captions like “someone save me it’s two in the morning”

anyways A COMPILATION OF TRENDS

“nobody move, there’s blood on the floor” for LITERALLY any ship it’s so funny

“what? you’re not coming to my tea party? Bethany, I made BISCUITS” with increasingly low res crack pics of Red Hood falling off of things, generously edited and posted by Tim Drake

dance trends with Steph and Cass

“guess which outfit is whose” with Tim and Steph but they’re both in their Robin uniforms

Tim making a cringey thirst trap edit of Jason who in response posted a clip of Tim tripping his own gear and setting off an alarm

“wearing the same outfit so no one can tell us apart” and it’s all the Batkids in their Robin uniforms (most of which barely fit) ((Bruce and Alfred cried))

the Superkids did the same thing a few days later and dragged Clark into it

not-quite-thirst-traps where they just kinda stand there over music but everyone in normal comments would’ve gone crazy

calisthenics trends. Thanks

it’s like a THING between all the Titans where they’ll sneak up behind each other, yell “THIS IS SPARTA,” and kick each other off roofs

someone sneaking up behind Jason while he’s belting Seasons of Love

MOTORCYCLE CONTENT

somewhere out in the world there’s a shaky, blurry video of Robin, Superboy, Spoiler, Blue Beetle, and Beast Boy dancing to and half-singing-half-yelling Tell Your Girlfriend

if you think of any more social media trends or videos or pics you see that remind you of a hero tag me because I’m obsessed with the idea of these idiots on socials

[featguler]

kylian relationship headcanon?

can i come over ? ────── just another episode of tenderness.

♡ ────── pairing : kylian mbappé x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. ♡ ────── wordcount : 667 ♡ ────── notes : posting this one as a good luck token for the france vs netherlands game!! ily kylian. i try to not just write the happy parts of the relationship but also the hurdles you two might face? i might do more of these since i've got some ideas still :^) (quick disclaimer: since these are headcanons of real people, i'd like to emphasize that if you do not agree with any of the things i write, please kindly click off the post). title is from cool dry place by katy kirby ♡ masterlist.

Kylian Mbappé. Every single person on the Earth knows his name. But you especially—how could you not? When he doesn’t have his eyes on a football game, or his legs on a football field, he has them on you.

Hand on your knee at every single group dinner, behind your neck at every hangout with friends; his skin is always in contact with yours at every single second.

Touchy does not even begin to describe him.

If it were up to him, he would drag you to the changing room and have you sit between his legs—but no, it is not up to him.

Well, mostly because he doesn’t want to be the one that brings the elephant into the room, but also it is so bad that other people are beginning to think of you as a nuisance.

“Mbappé can’t keep his hands off his partner,” a tabloid once wrote, and it only took a few quote retweets from some Parc des Princes employees, heavily agreeing, for it to go viral.

“Sorry,” you once said to a manager, then to a janitor, then to a teammate, Kylian trailing quietly behind you, arms around your waist.

And he gets sooo whiny if you push him away—what’s worse than losing a match? His dramatic ass would say that it’s having you steer away from his touches!

“Kylian,” you whine on the couch, pushing his face away as he tries to kiss you for the hundredth time that hour. “Please, I’m trying to watch a film here.”

“Mhm,” He pouts, arms around your back, hoping that you’d look at him. He looks at you, his chin on your chest before sighing. “You hate me right? Be honest.”

“Please,” you say again, eyes never leaving the television, “you can kiss me all you want the moment the movie ends.”

He tends to avoid. You’ve known him for so long, and you are at the point where you would almost forgive him for the amount of issues that have simmered too long in both of your discontent.

But you don’t do that. No. You see forever with this man, right? So you sit him down and talk.

You’ve got to admit that Kylian has gotten so, so much better in recent years.

He used to flee at every problem—it’s not that he has trouble expressing his emotions, it’s that he has trouble being vulnerable.

“You’re doing this again,” you roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. Kylian won’t look you in the eyes. “I’m sick of this.”

“Come on,” Kylian tries reaching a hand over the table to you—well, if he’s going to ignore you, you sure as hell are going to ignore him too. “Look at me, we don’t have to talk about this right now.”

“Right,” you huff out, letting out a sarcastic laugh, “so when are we going to talk about this.”

Kylian stays quiet.

Kylian likes luxurious things; and he likes you. The same thing, really, in his eyes. A priceless watch and your priceless kiss—this is the kind of luxury a man like him can only dream of.

He goes all the way for his show of love, of course! He customises everything he owns with your initials.

Once, he somehow left his passport in the airport, and what got people into talking was not his passport, but your initials embroidered on its leather cover.

The strap of his duffel bag is changed into a shade of your favourite colour, your initials and his sewn together under it—it does not stop there! A gold plated lapel pin with your name on it becomes a staple on every single suit he wears; socks with your initials when cuffed; matching bracelets he only takes off before practice and matches.

He makes sure the camera flashing on his face gets it: he’d pose in a certain angle, throw his scarf over his shoulders in a certain way.

Even when you’re not there, he still loves showing you off!

[fudd35]

DISTANCE

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

word count: 4.3k

Part 2

warning: angst

a/n: don't mind the timeline of this story, I made it look like the season starts at January just to fit the narrative of it all. And I know the trade doesn't work like this but it's fiction so cut me some slack.

DISCLAIMER -This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Paige ends the call before throwing her phone far away from her. It tumbles off the bed, smacking onto the hardwood floor. She lies flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.

She doesn't do anything for several minutes, the only things registering in her brain the sounds of a busy metropolitan city hard at work. She focuses on loosening the muscles in her body, starting with her feet and working her way up to her thighs. Then it's her back, and then her arms and shoulders, and before she knows it, the tension releases from her entire body. But then a single word bubbles to the surface of her mind, unable to keep itself from being noticed, wasting the time she took to relax.

Azzi, she thinks.

She buries her face into her pillow and screams. She screams until she runs out of air, and when that happens, she begins to sob.

She brings her hands up and wipes the tears. Something hard rubs against her face. She moves her right hand to examine it. Her eyes meet her engagement ring, shining even in the dim light of her bedroom lamp. She wants to pull it off, but she doesn't. She can't. It still means too much to her.

It's too hard to believe, they agreed to have their relationship on a fucking break over the phone. Not to mention that there was, and still is, about three thousand miles between them.

She misses their apartment in Chicago, misses their Friday nights at the local bar playing darts with their friends. Misses sleeping in with Azzi on lazy Sunday mornings, the early sun creeping through their bedroom window.

Paige misses Azzi.

She counts the amount of time she's been away from her on her fingers. One, two, three, four... she pales. It's been four months. Four months since she's seen her fiancé.

Tears quietly run down her cheeks again, but this time she doesn't try wiping them away. The rest of her night is spent wrapped up in her blankets, not getting warm enough even though it's the middle of August. Soon enough, she succumbs to her physical and emotional exhaustion from the day and quickly falls asleep.

The first thing that she wakes up to in the morning is her ringtone. She sits up, confused. The sound seems to be buzzing from the floor.

Dammit, why did I have to throw my phone onto the floor? she thinks. She answers the phone without seeing who it is.

"Hello?

"What the fuck happened?"

She stills. "Colleen? What time is it?"

"Tell me what the hell went down last night in that phone call or I swear to God I'm flying to San Francisco myse-"

"Colleen," she says slowly. She looks at the alarm clock on her bedside table. "Why are you calling me at five in the morning?"

"Oh shit, sorry, forgot about the time difference," her friend curses. "But you still haven't told me what happened."

It is way too early to be discussing this, and she doesn't really have the energy to talk before her two cups of coffee. She sighs loudly into the phone.

 "I don't really wanna talk about it right now. Why don't you ask her?"

"She hasn't said a word about it since you guys ended your call. She was in a trance on the kitchen floor until I got her out of it. Then she went straight to her room."

Paige's heart pangs. Azzi's hurt because of the choices she made. It's your fault. This is all your fault. "I... she doesn't want me here, but I do. Distance is hard. So... we’re taking a break," she explains lamely, her voice cracking on the last word.

"What?" Colleen yells. She can feel the anger emanating through the phone. "I'm going to hang up and bother her about this, but you better be by your phone when I call you back!"

She waits the whole day at her apartment for the call, but it never comes. She already told the team that she doesn't feel well, which is technically true. She's not feeling well emotionally. When Colleen finally talks to her, it's not through call but through text. Her phone pings while she's watching a game.

'She told me. I'm so sorry. Hope you guys get through this.'

She texts her back. 'Thanks. I hope so too.'

She has never hoped so much for something.

**

She learns to cope. It's harder than anything she's ever done before, but she does it. She pushes through at practice, tries not to think about her love life, puts her team at the forefront of her mind. And it works--seventy-five percent of the time.

The remaining twenty-five percent is spent coming home on the verge of tears, having been held back during the day only to burst out when she's alone. She feels pathetic. She hasn't felt this sad since her acl injury, and even that wasn't as bad as this. It doesn't even compare.

The first month is what she deems the worst month of her life. She feels a void in her life that can't be filled with anything or anyone but her fiancé, and frustration and heartbreak are present so often that it becomes a part of her daily life, which, isn't so great either, as it really consisted of her driving to the team’s headquarters, working, and coming home.

Nika calls regularly, of course, and picks up on her emotions through her voice. "I'm really worried about you. You don't sound like yourself."

She swallows. She expected that she wouldn't be able to hide her feelings from her best friend for very long. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," She argues, sympathy underlying her tone. "Just know I'm always here if you want to talk." She pauses. "If anything, Azzi's wrecked. She spends all her time at practice or her office nowadays according to Caroline. Colleen's been trying to cheer her up, but it isn't working."

She puts a hand on her forehead, rubs her temples. This break was supposed to be what was best for them, but all it was doing was make the both of them feel worse.

Her friend and colleague, Cam, notices too, and she comes by her small one-bedroom apartment every week to help her tidy and drink through her stash of tequila and beer. Alcohol helps her forget, so she drinks a lot of it.

One day, Cam is leafing through her documents when she asks her a question. "How long is this break going to be, exactly? Hasn't it been, like, two months? The season’s almost here"

She looks up tiredly from her laptop. "It'll be two months this Friday," She quips. She doesn't want to admit she's been counting the days since the break started, but she has. "And I don't know how long this break is going to be. I've never had one before."

"Have you talked to her?"

She sighs. She hates talking about this. "No, I haven't." She leaves out the fact that the silence between them is excruciating, to the point where she wants to scream for her all the way from here to Chicago and hope that she hears. She probably would.

Christmas is just around the corner, and she's always liked the holidays, but this year she can't stand it. It all reminds her of Azzi. She wonders how she's doing, how she's going to be spending Christmas this year.

She's probably putting up all the lights, all the decorations, she thinks a bit nostalgically.

One night last December, Paige had come home to find mistletoe literally everywhere, and Paige had chased her under every single one, her lips puckered into a kiss trying to get to her. It had been like a little game.

When she finally catches her, Paige's arms wrapped tight around Azzi's waist, they're under the doorway to their bedroom. Azzi had screamed and giggled when Paige started peppering kisses all over her face, kissing everywhere but her lips.

"Paige!" Azzi had squealed, trying to get out of her hold but not succeeding.

"Shhh," She had shushed her, before effectively shutting her up with a long, soft kiss.

Paige's phone suddenly pings, shaking her out of her memory.

She leans over her phone to check. It's a message from Caroline. 'Don't check twitter.'

She frowns. 'Why not?'

Her reply comes instantly. 'Just don't.'

'You do realize this is just reverse psychology, right? It only makes me want to check it.'

She's already typing to get onto the website when Caroline responds. 'Don't say I didn't warn you. And for clarification, I wasn't there because I have a prior appointment.' Another message comes right after that. 'Love you. Talk to me after, if you want.'

She loves that about Caroline; she can be sarcastic and tough sometimes, but she shows her love and affection to her friends. Paige knows that she is probably talking about Azzi, but she doesn't know why. She had badgered Azzi for ages to get a twitter, but she never got one, claiming Instagram suits her more.

She forgets, however, that Colleen has a twitter, and is a very frequent user. She takes pictures of everything and everyone, tweeting the silliest things, like when she posted a pic of Azzi and Paige sleeping together on the couch when she visited from Boston last summer she tweeted, 'these lazy fucks need to wake up so that we can have breakfast!!!'

Paige scrolls down her timeline, seeing nothing of relevance. She's about to give up when she found it. It being the picture that Caroline didn't want her to check. It being a tweet with picture by Colleen, last night, saying 'got my lil friend to go out with the gang'

A picture of Azzi, with her arm around a random girl's shoulders, with Colleen, Angel and some people that she doesn't know standing next to them. The background is dark, but she can make out colored lights and bodies dancing. There's alcohol in every person's hand, and judging by the glazed look in Azzi's eyes and her knowledge of Azzi's love for the drink, that bottle in her grasp is not her first.

Paige slams her laptop shut and pushes it to the edge of her bed. She never wants to look at a picture like that again. So, Azzi's going out and clubbing with their friends and some people she doesn't know now.

Apparently, she forgotten all about their separation, and she's not as miserable as she is anymore. Paige breathes deeply for what feels like an hour, the quiet bedroom amplifying every breath she takes.

She leans over and picks up her laptop, setting it in her lap. When she opens it, she closes out of twitter quickly and opens up Google in new tab. She searches flights to Chicago from San Francisco. 

**

One thing is for sure: this is the absolute worst flight she has ever been on.

She failed to get herself Business Class. The man sitting next to her smells like a sewer. The flight attendant spills water all over her sweater. And, to top it all off, when she gets up to go to the bathroom, the plane experiences turbulence and she falls flat on her face.

She takes it all as a sign that she shouldn't be going back home. She had booked a plane ticket the day she started looking for one, a little over a week ago. It’s been a bitch to try and get a plane ticket to anywhere during the holidays, but she had gotten one anyway.

Her plane lands at night. She doesn't expect anyone to be waiting for her in the terminal, but when she rolls her luggage into the waiting area, she sees Colleen and Caroline holding up a sign that reads, 'Paige Bueckers-Fudd'.

"Paige!" Colleen yells, getting several people to turn to her curiously, but she ignores all of them in favor of her blonde friend.

She laughs before running forward into her and Caroline's arms, dropping her luggage in the process. "How did you guys know what time my flight was?"

She sends Caroline a sly look. "Do you want me to tell her, or?"

She smiles at her before turning to her. "Cameron told us."

She rolls her eyes. "Of course she did."

She looks at her friends for a moment, who haven't changed a bit, even after almost a year. They're both still treating her like they would a year ago when they last saw each other in Boston, trading easy remarks like she never left their friend. Except she has, and she has to deal with the consequences of that.

"So, what do you plan on doing for your two weeks here?"

"There's something I have to do before I go back, but other than that I'm all yours."

Caroline eyes her skeptically for a second, but quickly lets whatever on her mind go. "Sounds good." Colleen nods with her in agreement. "So, where to? I'm driving."

She raises an eyebrow. "My hotel, where else?"

They look at her with concern, hesitating, but she speaks. "Don't you want to see Azzi, maybe? That apartment is still yours."

"Not now" she replies, keeping her answers vague but truthful. "Look, can we just get to my hotel? That flight was horrible, and all I want is to sleep."

Her friends nod before helping her with her luggage and leading her to the exit.

She sleeps in pretty much the whole day the day after her flight, dreading the moment she will have to get out of her hotel room and face the real reason why she came here in the first place. Not that seeing her friends wasn't one of the reasons why she came.

Her friends had welcomed her in with open arms, telling her how happy it was to see her, asking her about her new team and environment, and she tried answering them thoughtfully. Then they tried asking her about how she was doing in regards to her and Azzi's separation, and she dodges the question by telling them she felt tired and needed to sleep. Her friends had quickly understood, and bid her goodnight.

At five o'clock in the evening, she takes Caroline’s car and drives the familiar route. She takes the long way; she needs to think about what she's going to say.

Thirty minutes later, she parks the car in front of Azzi's一their一apartment. It still looks the same: the drapes in the window the same ones that she picked out, the flowers in the balcony the ones that Azzi grew herself.

She still has the key to the apartment, but she decides not to use it, knocking on the door instead. Paige hopes she's home, but at the same time, she doesn't. She doesn't want to face this, doesn't want it to end, but it has to. The sound of footsteps could be heard approaching the door, so she quickly fixes her face to something that she hopes looks determined and headstrong.

The door opens, and she immediately frowns in confusion. She's definitely not met with her, unless Azzi decided during their two-month separation that she wanted to live with another woman.

"Um, hi, who are you?" the woman asks. Paige connects the dots very quickly as she looks at the woman, wearing shorts and a tank top. 'She's the woman in the photo', she remembers.

"Who is that?" someone in the apartment yells, and she recognizes it as Azzi's voice. She stiffens.

"I just asked her!" the woman shouts back behind her. She turns back to her inquisitively.

Paige squares her shoulder and rubs her lips together. "I'm Azzi's fiancé," she informs the woman, watching her eyes widen, "who is just going to go now. You don't have to tell her I stopped by."

Not waiting for a response, she dashes out of there, ignoring the woman's calls for her to come back, ignoring every instinct in her to just run back and take Azzi back and yell at that god-forsaken woman who is taking her fiancé from her. And this is what she expected, what she knew was coming, but it was too much to see it all in person. It was too real.

She's nearly at the elevator when someone yells behind her. "Stop!"

No no no no no.

She refuses to look behind her. When she steps into the empty elevator, she quickly presses the button to take her to the ground level before repeatedly pressing the button to close the doors, like somehow it'll make it go faster.

"Paige! Stop!"

She looks up. The doors are closing. She can just make out a sliver of her face in the gap between the doors. Her heart lodges in her throat as she watches the gap get smaller and smaller, but then a hand shoots out and she gasps in shock. Angrily, Paige tries to push Azzi out of the elevator, her hands going to her shoulder, but it's useless. Azzi grabs ahold of her hands and easily moves her backward into the wall of the elevator. The doors close behind. She's trapped.

She doesn't even get the chance to fully look at her and realize that she's really right in front of her before she's releasing her hands to press an elevator button that Paige can't see. The elevator suddenly halts. 'She's pressed the emergency stop button', she guesses. Now she really is trapped. Fuck.

After pressing the button, she's still turned around, and judging by her tense shoulders, Azzi's angry.

She's angry? Try being the one who just saw their fiancé with another woman in their apartment?! "Look, I just came here because I want to give back th一"   

Azzi suddenly spins on her heel and turns to her. Paige can only see rage for her in her brown eyes. "Don't you fucking dare say what I think you're going to say," she bellowed, and she's so close now. "Don't you tell me that you came all the way from San Francisco after six months apart just to call off our engagement!"

Now this is something Paige's quite familiar with. Fighting with Azzi is second nature to her, and maybe that's why they could never work out. The anger that she's been holding back since she saw a woman in their apartment, since before when they separated, explodes.

"Well, what the fuck did you expect me to do? Move on with my life? Stay engaged to someone that is clearly getting over the fact that we separated?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She says her next words through gritted teeth. "I'm talking about the fact that I just knocked on the door of our apartment to find a woman who I've never met before on the other side of it!"

Her whole face lights up with realization. "You've got it all wrong, she is jus一"

"Just someone you're fucking? I get it, six months is a long time to go without sex."

Of course, the whole 'it's not what you think' excuse comes out of Azzi's mouth. Paige doesn't know whether she wants to slap her in the face or cry. The anger isn't enough to overtake all of her other emotions, and there's nowhere to run. Even if there was, she's got the feeling that she wouldn't allow her to get very far.

"Damn it, Paige," she mutters, rubbing her face with her palms. "Will you shut up so I can talk?"

She turns to sarcasm. "I don't know if I can. Clearly, we have a lot of catching up to do, my dear fiancé."

She glares at her. "That we do. But to finish my sentence, she is my一our一next-door neighbor. Jennie is a friend."

Paige feels a little guilty now, but that doesn't stop her from continuing their argument. "So you gained a new friend and suddenly you've forgotten all about me. I see that."

Azzi scoffs. "These past six months without you here with me, I have been doing anything but forgetting about you, trust me."

There's venom in her voice, but what she says causes her to step back. "What?"

She sighs. "Look, let's go back to the apartment and talk there. Jennie is probably back in hers."

Paige nods impassively as Azzi presses the emergency button back and then the Level 8 button. The elevator whirls back to life, whizzing down to the ground floor like she had previously wanted, before going back up to the third floor.

When they get back to their apartment, there's no sign of Jennie, much to Paige's relief. She notices with a keen eye that everything in the apartment is right where she left it一books on the coffee table, her art on the walls, jackets hanging on the coat rod. She tries to imagine herself living in this place without Azzi, and immediately recoils from the thought.

Paige can only imagine how Azzi must've felt living here without her.

And being back here, in the place where they have lived in, the place that represents what their love is一she wants it all back.

They sit at the couch before Azzi begins to speak.

"Paige," Azzi says, taking her hand. The fire in her eyes is extinguished, replaced with hope. "Two months without speaking with you is too long. I can't一I can't survive much longer on this break. I tried keeping my distance, for you, for what you wanted, but it was too much. I was actually searching for flights to San Francisco when you knocked."

Paige takes a deep breath. "The only reason I came here was to give back the ring," she admits, squeezing her hand. "After I saw that picture of you on twitter with that girl, and"一Paige glares at her as Azzi smirks at her words一"I got jealous, okay? I have a right, I'm your fucking fiancé." She crosses her arms, huffing. "I thought you were getting over me, and I freaked out. The ring was kind of an excuse to see you again."

Paige stares at her, and Azzi doesn't waste any time in lunging for her face.

Paige would've thought that after six months they would have to get used to kissing one another before getting into the groove of things, but she was completely wrong. Kissing Azzi was ingrained in her brain, and before she knows it, they're making out like teenagers against their couch.

At one point, Azzi pulls Paige into her so she can sit on her lap, that made Paige's legs wrap around her waist, without breaking the kiss once.

It's Paige who pulls away first. "Everything looks exactly the same." Then she's taking a look around the room. "So does our place"

"I couldn't change anything about the way the place looked after you left" Azzi says, kissing her nose.

She begins to tear up. She's hurt her so much. "I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm so so sorry. I won't ever leave you again."

Azzi nods, tightening her arms around Paige's waist. "I'm sorry too. For making you feel like you were choosing your career over me. I know how important this is for your future."

Paige takes her face between her hands. "You are my future" she asserts before kissing every inch of Azzi's face, seeping unspoken apologies into her cheeks and her nose and her forehead.

Azzi closes her eyes, relishing in the feel of Paige's mouth against her skin.

She rolls them so Paige lay down on the couch, her legs still connected around her waist. "What about your contract in San Francisco? What are we going to do?"

She presses her forehead against hers, sighing. "Guess I'm terminating the contract. I didn't like it anyway; it rains all the time."

Azzi shakes her head. "No, no," she disagrees. "I'm not letting you give that up for me."

"How about a compromise, then?"

"Okay. What can we do when we live in there?"

"You'd move to San Francisco?"

"I'd do it for you. Those months spent without you made me realize that being anywhere with you is better than any other situation."

She considers it, but it's quite impossible at this point. "That wouldn't be a compromise either," she says. "I'm sure your team will not let you go that easily and even then, I don’t think GSV wants another guard next season. Their salary cap has been tight since my contract."

"This is my last year in terms of my contract with chicago and I’ll be a free agent after this season. If not the Valkyrie, I’m thinking of LA sparks they’ve been reaching out to me lately and their offer is really good. If I go there after this season, we’ll be much closer it will only be a five-hour drive to your headquarters in Oakland."

"That sounds like a plan. And I can follow you after, I'll only finish half of my contract" She can tell that she is going to disagree with this plan, so she adds, "Don't forget, I spent those months apart from you too."

She instantly sobers, shutting her mouth. Of course, she understands.

"Okay," she says, accepting their plan for the foreseeable future.

"Paige?"

"Hm?"

Azzi hesitates at first but she continued. "How about our wedding?"

She hasn't thought about this after the break until Azzi asks. "How about after you settle in LA? Before I continue my second season in San Francisco, we'll start to plan it seriously. And by the time I’m back at work, I'm already being someone's wife and another ring will be on my finger. We’ll just have to get through this season."

Azzi smiles at her "I love it. I can’t wait to beat your ass." She leans down to kiss her "I love you, P."

"Let’s see whose ass is getting beaten. I love you more, Az."

They kiss as Azzi laces her fingers through both of Paige's hands, their rings clicking onto each other. The distance between them is nonexistent, and they'd like to keep it that way for the rest of their life.

[nayatarot777]

What Should You Love About Yourself?

Thank you to everyone who has been booking personal readings and tipping! I’ve been able to buy some new oracle decks thanks to you guys. Thank you to everyone who has joined my Patreon too! Much appreciated! 💕💓

• Pile One •

What you should love about yourself is how, despite all of the pain and heartbreak that you’ve experienced thus far, you still put your head down and work at creating the life that you want. You could��ve been like many others and allowed your traumas to put you into a rut and ultimately an end to your efforts in regard to taking control of your life - and you may have experienced moments like that - but you’re extremely resilient. You don’t give up on your own life. You haven’t allowed anything that you’ve gone through to keep you down or break your spirit. You refused to allow yourself to be downtrodden by life’s (or other people’s) bullshit. Many people would consider detaching from emotional pain as a “bad” thing. I disagree. And that seems to be what you’ve done. You seem to not care about the people who’ve hurt you in the past and that’s where your power comes from. Your ability to walk away from people who hurt you is an ability that (I would say) a majority of the population struggles with for a huge portion of their lives. Women especially 👀. You don’t have this self-harming tendency that a lot of people mask as selflessness or love, though. You have great methods of self protection. There’s also a craft or a job that you’ve absolutely perfected that you’ve found a lot of success and recognition with - and if you haven’t yet, then you will! With the amount of time and energy that I’m seeing you invest into this, there’s no way that you don’t. You should love yourself for your ability to really take control over your life and what you create out of it. Your ability to see life from a higher perspective too. The way that you’re not afraid to be seen and show tf out 😂. Because a lot of people don’t reach this level of confidence to put themselves out there like that.

• Pile Two •

You should love your ability to create complete luxury, comfort, and harmony within your own space BY YOURSELF. This may not seem like a big deal to hermits or introverts, but trust me, a lot of people don’t even like themselves enough to like their own energy. That ability in itself is something that you should be giving yourself praise for. Your physical is also something that’s jumping out here. Love the fuck out of your body and your physical appearance, Pile Two. I don’t know if you do a lot of exercise, or if you just eat really well, or if you pamper yourself. You could just be born extremely physically beautiful. But I am seeing that you’re someone who treats your physical body really well. This could be something as simple as validating your body and recognising your beauty for yourself. You should love that you value yourself enough to do that. Your mind is also something that’s being brought to attention. You’re extremely introspective and diligent at taking a look at what’s in your mind. You’ve created a beautiful space for yourself too. Whether this is an external space or a mental space. You’re an extremely abundant person because you know how to attract abundance to yourself. And abundance is a plethora of things; it could mean money, it could mean an abundant mindset (an abundance of knowledge and understanding), it could be an abundant frequency/energy as a person. Whatever this abundance is, I’m seeing that you’re very giving of this abundance. You don’t hoard it, you’re willing to share it with others who are in need of it. I’m seeing that you’re a great manifestor. Mainly because you find things to celebrate in life in general - from the big things to the small things. You definitely work with the cosmos though. Through your inner compass. Are you the types of people who others can’t influence? If so, then this is what keeps you on the correct path. You’re very attached to your opinions and your beliefs and you’re in control of your mind through this way. Once you’re in control of your mind, nobody and nothing can be in control of you. And it takes a particularly powerful person to reach this level.