#I might be too depressed to enjoy anything anymore

[fortunately-bi]

...... If I went on a hiatus for who knows how long again would y'all hate me....... 👉👈

[kittycatcarla]

.

[literaila]

a bit loud

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you and satoru take the kids to the fair

warnings: satoru is overstimulated (argue with the wall), and fluff

last part | next part

*

year two.

satoru doesn’t really like crowds. 

this is nothing new. when he was a kid, it was usually just him. a teacher or two, a nursemaid to make sure he didn't run away or break anything. 

he grew used to being the most important thing, the only important person in a twenty-mile vicinity. 

he got used to being alone. 

and now, satoru enjoys going out and buying things, but only on weekdays, early in the morning or late at night—when it’s empty enough to see just the barest of things and pay complete attention to what he’s doing. 

he likes going out with you—and the children, when they’re behaving—but only when his sole worry is about one of you wandering off. 

he doesn’t enjoy watching over all of you. thinking about all of the people around you, seeing them, and wondering if he needs to step in the way. 

he hates it when he runs into person after person, trying still to be polite—like you beg him to—not wanting to say that it’s all too much. that he could go insane with just the pure force of all of those people. their involuntary attacks. 

it's just loud with so many people. even with his brain actively repairing itself at any given moment, it’s an overwhelming feeling—to see

everything that’s going on around him. to know exactly how everyone's feeling at every second, and try to defend himself--and all of you--from them.

he recalls something someone said once about strength having drawbacks… 

but, today, he thinks, today he’ll deal with it. 

it's safe to say that satoru isn't used to this many people in one place--standing in line for everything or maneuvering his way through a crowd. 

but it's fine. 

especially when you’ve got that grin on your face—that half-serious, half-delirious look. the kind of look that would be enough to rip his heart out, if he'd let it. 

satoru doesn’t get to see that very often, anymore. 

and even before it was only in the middle of the night. when he would drag you around when you were both supposed to be sleeping, sneaking off campus and getting you into trouble. when the two of you would giggle breathlessly in the dark, completely alone, pretending to be just kids. 

when he might imagine a future that wasn't just jujutsu, but something more. 

that look on your face might be his favorite thing. 

“what should we do first?” you ask tsumiki—who is looking in awe at all of the bright colors and flashing lights—and megumi, who’s trying to pretend like he’s not clinging to your side. 

every couple of seconds the four of you move to the side, trying to avoid all of the other people.

satoru is particular about the way he leads all of you, trying not to wince every time someone shouts something. he ducks around one person and steps to the side for another. 

you don't seem to mind, so satoru pretends he doesn't. 

“ferris wheel!” tsumiki says, looking up above her. it's in front of all of you, much bigger than satoru expected from pictures. how a giant circle that spins round and round is fun, he's not sure. 

he frowns. “can’t we get something to eat? i think they have taiyaki.” 

“i wasn’t asking you,” you tell satoru, rolling your eyes like you’ve been doing since he made fun of you for jumping out of the car. 

it really was cute, though. 

he leans his chin on your shoulder easily, walking alongside you. tsumiki’s hand is in one of his, and megumi is basically attached to your leg, hands curled around your pants. “good thing i answered anyway.” 

cue another eye roll and you looking to megumi. “you okay with the ferris wheel?” 

“yeah,” he mutters, frowning when someone else brushes against him. 

but even satoru saw the way he lit up at the first sight of the fair, all of the rides and games. even though he might act like a single, depressed, middle-aged man—he’s just a boy. 

and satoru imagines this is supposed to be fun. if he was seven he would've run away already, trying to hide from whoever was supposed to watch him that day. he probably would've gotten lost and then stolen some candy from one of the many different stands. 

but he would've liked it, he's sure. even if it is loud. 

satoru grins, looking at the boy. “are you sure?” he teases. “not going to get scared?” 

megumi glares. “why would i be scared?” 

“satoru, don’t be mean.” 

“what?” he asks you, ignoring the way you and megumi share a look. “i’m just asking. you know how he gets around heights.” 

“im not five,” megumi tells him, scoffing. 

satoru tries not to snort. 

“leave him alone," you say, shaking your head at him, though satoru watches you refrain a smile. "i can sit with him if he doesn’t want to go. okay, megs?” 

tsumiki pouts at that idea, though satoru knows she won’t argue. and neither will you, even though satoru's pretty sure that you're dying to be on that spinning thing. 

megumi, obviously noticing this, bucks his chin. “no. i’ll go.” 

“ooo, bravery,” satoru sidesteps your push, “that’s a good lesson for you.” 

“don't tease him."

“are you scared?” megumi asks. 

satoru laughs. “please.” 

you grin, setting your free hand on his shoulder--an attack on his skin disguised as a comforting gesture--looking at him with a mock pout. “aw, satoru. it’s okay. if you want to stay behind, i’m sure megumi wouldn’t mind waiting with you…” 

megumi smirks. “yeah. i’ll wait.” 

tsumiki looks up at him with wide eyes. “it’s okay to be afraid, gojo. we don’t have to go.” 

he knocks your arm away and lets go of tsumiki’s hand—though making sure to search around him at all times for her presence, like he’s learned to do (he's lost them far too many times in the house to do anything different). he crosses his arms. “you guys are so uncivilized.” 

you all laugh, but that's the end of the discussion. 

ferris wheel it is. 

while you're waiting in line you tell satoru that it's prettier at night, when you get to the top and can look down at all of the lights. satoru nods along, feeling grateful that it's not night and he doesn't have to experience that. but he grins at you all the while, pretending to be interested in whatever memories you tell him about. 

he'd listen to you talk about the components of dirt, probably (while complaining the entire time, of course).

and megumi is forced to sit next to satoru when you all get on the ride, you laughing at something he says next to tsumiki, the two of you watching as the ride begins to go up. 

satoru pretends not to notice the way megumi moves closer to him as they get higher and higher. the way he leans into his side, closer than he'd usually get.

and he pretends not to notice all of the people. 

it’ll be fine, he’s sure. it's not that bad, anyway. it’s only one day.

* 

you’re pouting when he steps up to the bar, handing the attendant a ticket that he purchased for way too much money. 

satoru stands behind you and watches you fail miserably at the ring toss four times before he steps in. honestly, it was a bit sad. 

“it’s okay,” satoru tells you, wanting to squeeze your precious face. “i’ll get you the teddy bear.” 

you cross your arms. “it’s not for me, it’s for the kids.” 

“well, i’ll win them it.” 

you frown even deeper, looking away from him. 

tsumiki and megumi are leaning over the railing behind you, both of them watching eagerly. though, tsumiki gives satoru a “good luck!” and megumi only stares. 

whatever. when he wins the boy his own bear—probably the one with the hearts all over it, just to mess with him—he’ll get a smile. 

or megumi will side with you like always and throw away his bear in the nearest trash can. satoru doesn't really care, as long as he gets to laugh in your face after he wins. 

satoru throws his first ring—which obviously goes directly on the bottle—and you mutter something like “show off," behind him. 

he smirks at you and throws another. 

after five rings, satoru naturally not missing one, you’re almost slack-jawed.

and then he does it again (because he can’t get one bear for both children) and you’re furious. 

“how did you do that?” you demand, as the attendant hands satoru both the bears—a pink, glittery one that satoru will probably steal for tsumiki. “these games are supposed to be��rigged.” 

“then why are we playing them?” satoru asks, still grinning as he hands both of the kids the bears he’s just won them. his eyes don't leave yours for a moment. 

tsumiki squeals, happily, naming her bear clementine and patting its head. megumi only stares at his. 

“because—“ you say, pausing. your face is scrunched up. “well, i thought i could win.” 

“what did we learn today, children?” satoru asks, rhetorically. 

“that you’re a show-off,” you say, without hesitation. 

“and you’re a sore loser.” 

you scoff. “okay, satoru. we’ll see who’s talking the next time you lose at go fish.” 

“you guys were cheating.” 

“were not,” megumi says, frowning at both of you. tsumiki is too wrapped up in her new prize to pay any attention. 

“were too.” 

“please go find a new family,” you deadpan to satoru, looking around. “oh, look, there’s a couple of birds by that game. perfect for you.” 

“if i’m living with any woodland creature,” he tells you, “it’s the squirrels. they are a proper society.” 

“‘woodland creature?’” you mock, shaking your head. “did you hit your head on your ego by accident?”  

satoru only grins at that, and the way you look back at the ring toss, still frowning. 

your attitude today is very interesting to him. 

you might as well be one of the kids, floating around the fair, wanting to try everything. he’s watched you refrain yourself from bouncing on your heels several times already. 

it’s… nice, satoru thinks. you’re always so pretty, but especially with your dazed grin on. especially standing in the sun, eyes darting from place to place. 

your entire presence is a blow to his core. a direct attack on his heart and his fragile stability. 

especially when you’re trying to rile up tsumiki and megumi, double-checking to make sure that they’re having as much fun as you. shoving them into game after game and practically forcing them to have fun. 

satoru hasn't seen you like this ever. and he's also never been to the fair, so it's a strange day. 

and when the four of you begin to walk around again, you don’t push satoru away, not to glare at him, or ask him what game to play next. you just idle beside him, eyes sparkling in the light. 

and he ignores it when megumi asks if you can really find him a new family or not. 

* 

satoru and tsumiki are looking for you and megumi—even though you’re well over sixty feet in the air. 

“is that them?” tsumiki asks, pointing at a blob in the sky. 

satoru looks up, wincing at the sun, seeing nothing but specks in the air. and clouds. it's a nice day outside, not too warm, not too cold. 

and satoru might be going a bit delusional. he's been outside for two hours, which is an hour longer than he prefers. 

“yeah, i think i see megumi’s frown. huh.” 

ten minutes ago, you left the two of them there to go on the rollercoaster, after several minutes of debate about what you should do. 

tsumiki, like satoru, didn't love the idea of being whipped around in the air at a million miles per hour. not that satoru was scared--of course not--it's just that his hair is so delicate, and he'd have to take his glasses off. 

tsumiki, though, was scared, and you'd tried to move all of them along but satoru could tell how badly you wanted to go, and megumi kept looking up in interest, so he'd told you they would wait here. 

there were several minutes of you making sure that they were going to be okay without you. 

he obviously pushed you away and smiled as you walked away with megumi, a hand on his back as you rushed to get in line. 

“do you think he’s scared?” tsumiki asks him, smiling happily, her legs swinging in the air. 

“nah," satoru is sitting too close, definitely, but tsumiki doesn't seem to mind. her bangs blow a little with the wind and she pushes them out of her eyes. "probably just sitting there bored.” satoru does his best impression of megumi at any moment, crossing his arms and slouching down with a frown. 

tsumiki giggles, imitating him (and megumi). “how long will it take?” 

if satoru didn't know any better, he would say that she already misses you. even though you're not really that far away--just a hundred feet above them. if satoru was anybody else, he would realize that he already misses you too. 

but he doesn't. he's good here, with all of the other people in the world. you're basically just a coworker to him (not). 

he shrugs. “i don’t know. i’ve never been on a rollercoaster.” 

“me either.” 

he gives her a knowing look. “i don’t think we’re missing out on much.” 

“megumi wanted to go," tsumiki says, like it makes a difference. 

“megumi didn't argue when y/n wanted to go,” he corrects. because he doubts that the boy would've ever suggested it, had you not been there. “she likes stuff like that.” 

tsumiki makes a face and satoru pinches her cheek. it leaves a red mark--that you'll surely comment on when you come back--and tsumiki scrunches her nose at him. 

the two of them are almost alone in the crowd. sitting there together, both of them waiting for their other half. satoru really doesn't mind it, though, sitting with tsumiki. 

she's a pleasant distraction from everyone else. and her happiness seems to leak into him, like a drug. 

she reminds him of you in the best of ways. the secret specks of life he wouldn't be able to see in any other place. the same genuineness and consideration. 

“have you been here before?” she asks, after a moment, tilting her head curiously as she looks up at him with big brown eyes.

“nope,” satoru looks around, adjusting his glasses. “i had better things to do when i was your age.” 

“like what?” 

“uh…" satoru doesn't even remember. "eat cereal?” 

she giggles. 

“i don’t know," he grins at her, "i lived in a big house and we didn’t leave much.” 

“we live in a big house.” 

“bigger.” 

her eyes widen. “really?” 

“yup. but our house is better.” 

it's true enough, he thinks. it's less lonely with both of the kids around and you stopping by almost every day. more comforting. satoru doesn't feel like he's being pushed into anything when he gets home every day. 

he nudges tsumiki, tickling her side a bit. 

she giggles again, nodding. “the house megumi and i lived in before was smaller. we shared a room.” 

satoru nods. he's been there, he thinks. he's seen the mess, the space, and all of the time it took to wreck it all. 

well, if he's terrible at taking care of the kids, at least he can give them more than that. a house with two people to watch over them. dinner every night.

“i liked it, but i think megumi likes his own.” she tells him, “i like my room, too, though. especially with the poster you got me. and the pink sheets.” 

“yeah, i have excellent taste.” 

she smiles at him--because she's the nicest of all of you. then looks back into the sky. he looks up too, but he can't make you or megumi out any more than before. “how much longer?” 

“i don’t know…” satoru looks down, back to all of the noise surrounding him. “wanna get some wata-ame?” 

tsumiki’s eyes widen excitedly, and she nods.

satoru smiles at her mischievously, knowing that this is their only opportunity. 

(if you were there, you would kick him for trying to make her more hyper than she already is). 

“okay, let’s hurry before they’re done.” 

and neither of them really mind sitting back and watching. satoru basks at her little hand in his, and the smile she wears when you and megumi finally return. 

yeah, satoru doesn't have to think about it. he doesn't even need to try one out; he knows that this was better than any rollercoaster. 

* 

it's gotten a little bit louder, as the day goes on. just like satoru knew it would. 

he tries to distract himself with your smile, with megumi's annoyance any time he says anything to the boy, or tsumiki's wide eyes taking in every new attraction. and it works, for the most part. 

but there's that tapping on his eyes, like a signal that he needs to back away. every time someone walks too close, it gets a little bit harder. 

not that he'll say anything though. he can't ruin your fun with his eyes. 

now you and satoru are sitting on a bench, watching both megumi and tsumiki go by on the carousel. you wave at them every time, but satoru is looking up towards the sky, trying to ignore the poking at his eyes. 

“hey,” you nudge him after he's spent a minute like that. “you okay?” 

“hmm?” 

you wait until satoru looks at you, gesturing your chin towards him. “do you have a headache?” 

satoru stares at you, brows furrowing. you're not supposed to know anything, he thinks. he's kept this secret very close to his heart. 

(if you ignore the wincing and frown he has every time someone wins a prize around him). 

you laugh, maybe because he's withering. “we can go,” you tell him, a little too seriously. “i know this isn’t—“ 

satoru shakes his head immediately. “no. i’m fine.” 

“if you’re getting overwhelmed…” 

“i’m not. it’s okay,” he grins at you, trying not to feel all that affected by your concern. the last person to notice anything like his headaches, or silence was suguru. or, the only other person. “i just need a snack.” 

“you just had a snack.” 

“well, i need another one.” 

you roll your eyes, looking back to the kids, tsumiki going around with her mouth open wide in excitement. “fine. after this, we can find something.” 

satoru smiles pleased and rests his head on your shoulder. like a kitten. this lasts for a second before he wraps his arms around you, making sure that you have no possible escape. 

your heart is only so loud, but if he tilts his head enough, he can hear it pounding. it's soft, a gentle distraction from the rest of it.

you glance down at him and then away. “are you having fun?” 

“loads.” 

you poke his side. “satoru.” 

“what? it’s true!” 

“you’re such a liar,” you say, leaning away from his embrace. 

but satoru’s not going to allow that, so he adjusts his old, moving you so your legs are pressed directly against his. he ignores how warm you are, how soft. 

but it's pleasant, like this. a bit of reprieve for his head, and an excuse to keep you close. satoru would've spent the whole day clinging to you if he didn't know it would raise suspicions. if he didn't know that you would look at him weirdly and megumi would make some outrageous comment about him--

“i like it,” he says, “it’s exciting.” 

you don’t say anything. 

“c’mon, don’t pout. you’re supposed to be happy. having fun,” he whispers, just like you've been saying to the kids all day. 

you lean against him, eyes following the flashing lights. “i didn’t really think about how… much it is,” you bite your lip, “i’m sorry. we should've picked something else. something easier.” 

“no, really,” satoru looks up at you, and your cautious eyes. you've got that furrow in your brows--the same one you get when tsumiki is frowning or megumi says something a bit morose. and, really, he would take this more seriously if you didn't look so cute. “it’s fine. you think i haven't had a headache before?" he asks, shaking his head. "this is nothing. plus, the kids are having fun."

you raise a brow at him. “megumi?” 

“i mean… as much fun as he can have.” 

“he’s going to lock himself in his room for the next six days. i won’t get to see him at all.” 

“he’ll come out for dinner,” satoru reassures you, laughing when you frown. 

you both sit there for a moment, leaning on each other. it’s a well-practiced routine, this sort of closeness. it's been written again and again through many years, a comfort that neither of you will recognize. 

satoru listens to your heart closely, trying to ignore all of the other sounds and sights. 

this isn't overwhelming, he thinks, it's just different. he's sure that he'll make it through a couple of more hours. 

satoru clears his throat, after a moment, leaning back. “are you having fun?” 

you look at him, eyes wide in anticipation, mouth already curling. 

and yeah, you don’t really need to answer that. he already knows. 

*

“what next?” you’re asking, for probably the sixtieth time today. 

the kids are looking around, but their eyes are dreary. megumi is slow to blink, and tsumiki has lost that little glimmer in her smile. 

but, satoru notes, you’re as awake as ever. looking around—missing the obvious exhaustion of the two of them. you're wired, stuck to this one indulgence--more of a kid than either of them. 

he holds back a smile, letting tsumiki lean against his leg. she's slouching, moving at half of her normal pace. 

“hey,” he says to you, gesturing his head down to her. you look at him curiously.

the two of you share a look, but your brows stay furrowed.

“we could—“ tsumiki yawns, pausing for a moment. then she blinks. “we could do that climbing thing—“ she yawns again. “over there.” 

megumi looks where she’s pointing and doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t even look like he’s about to argue, even though he's been arguing about every decision for the last two hours. for his entire life. 

both of them are cranky. like toddlers missing their afternoon naps. 

and your eyes widen, devout attention suddenly on them. satoru can see it as the realization hits your face, looking between the two kids hurriedly. 

then you look at satoru, panicking a little. 

what do we do? you’re asking him, with just your expression. 

you've got a guilty look on your face, and satoru knows that you're thinking about all of the things you've forced them into--the seven hours you've dragged all of them around. 

he could tell you that he didn't mind a minute of it, but you'd just argue with him. 

he grins at you, tapping tsumiki’s shoulder. then he fakes a yawn. “i don’t know... i’m pretty tired...” he says, trying to make his voice rough. 

you look at him for a moment, then play along, a fake smile adorning your face. “aw, satoru. is it past your bedtime?”

“yes.”

you laugh, and rest your hand on top of megumi’s head “are you guys okay with going home now? we wouldn’t want satoru to miss out on his twelve hours.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

"you know how he gets," you add, to both of them, giving satoru a little grin--which he promptly tucks in his mind for safe-keeping. 

“fine,” megumi says, tripping on his feet. 

the two of them begin to walk blindly forward, not bothering to look for the exit. they are practically zombies at this point, completely out of it. satoru is quick to snatch the back of megumi's hoodie and the boy glares at him. he's got the other hand around tsumiki's arm, keeping her in place as she tries to escape. 

satoru smirks back at the boy, and then he scoops tsumiki up, letting her climb across his back, in a makeshift piggyback. he taps her legs. “good?” he asks, but she only nods, not bothering to protest that she can walk, yawning again and then resting her head on his shoulder. 

it takes you a moment, but megumi doesn’t complain when you pick him up as well—because he’s started swaying at this point—and he wraps his legs around your waist, settling into your hold with your arms around him. 

his eyes close, and satoru feels a bit jealous for a single second. he looks so content. 

if only he was small enough to fit in your arms like that. 

satoru steps beside you, giving you a look. “you got him?” 

“i went to the same school as you,” you remark and begin to walk towards the entrance. "and just so you know, this is your fault." 

"how is it my fault? i was just following directions." 

"and getting them both high on sugar." 

satoru's lip twitches. "they were hungry." 

you roll your eyes, but your shoulder still brushes his as you walk. satoru's feet hurt, but he doesn't say a thing. 

it takes you both a minute to find it—the real maze is this entire thing—but eventually, you’re walking through the gates, trying to remember where you parked the car. 

the two of you walk around, exchanging brief comments and secretive smiles. if anyone's high here, he thinks, watching you smile at him for the fifth time, it's you. 

you're high on the adrenaline of nostalgia. the sort of memory that satoru knows he won't ever experience; not that he really minds living vicariously through you--he'd like to experience everything through your eyes. 

still, he doesn't fail to smile back every time, a bit sick from the delight exuding from you. 

as soon as you get to the car, the two of you quickly strap the kids in, satoru leaving a kiss on tsumiki's cheek as she clings to his shirt. it takes a moment, but he's gentle as he pries her hands away from him. 

a moment later, as soon as he's sat in the passenger side, she's already snoring. 

he laughs, smiling back at both of them adoringly. megumi is slumped to the side, sleeping as only an exhausted child can be, and he doesn't even notice when satoru reaches back to squeeze his leg affectionately. 

you look at satoru helplessly. 

"guess they didn't need a bedtime story," he says, shrugging. one of them murmurs something in their sleep and you grin at him again, starting the car. 

he'll have to buy tickets again soon, satoru thinks, just so you'll just keep smiling at him like that. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Indefinite hiatus

I was toying with writing up a long post about what running this blog has meant to me over the years and why I'm stepping away for the foreseeable future, but that feels too dramatic for what's really just me saying "I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year". So, I'll just say I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year.

Okay, actually I have a bunch more to say, but it'll be under the cut.

Politics sucks. And paying attention to it, even in the reduced way I've been paying attention to it over the last few years, is hard. You end up spending so much of your supposedly free time thinking about things you can't change, getting mad about things you can't change, and getting depressed when the people who can change things just keep going in the wrong direction. Even when good things happen, it's just a matter of a few days before something bad happens once again. And vice versa. It's an endless cycle of hope, despair, resignation. Rinse and repeat, and triple speed that cycle during an election year. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of spending every other year worried about what's going to happen on one day in November. I'm tired of hearing a piece of news and automatically composing a post about it or running through 20 different responses I might give to asks I might get about it in my head.

Everyone I know who doesn't pay attention to politics (or at least doesn't run a social media page dedicated to it) seems to enjoy their live a lot more than I currently do. Which sounds way more dramatic than what's actually going on, which is mainly that I want to get to a place where I just don't care. I want the world and its problems to flow off my back instead of weighing it down. I want to stop thinking about what people on the internet might say about something I haven't even posted yet. And that can't happen while I'm tied to this blog. So I'll be staying away from it for at least the rest of the year.

I did have a good time with this blog. I've met a bunch of really awesome people, some who are sadly no longer with us (RIP Blue), and some who I think will carry on the "fight" way better than I ever did. This isn't an admission of defeat, or pessimism about the election. Even if Trump wins, and I truly think he will if we have a fair election, I still won't be back this year. But I'll still vote and I'll still be proud that my silly little tumblr blog had an impact on some people's lives. I may not have the reach of a Tucker Carlson or a Glenn Beck, but I've gotten a lot of messages from people who said they changed their minds about an issue, or even politics in general, because of things I said, and that counts for something. If you guys take anything away from me, I want it to be this: Even the smallest impact matters. It doesn't matter if you only ever reach one person and then stop, reaching that one person is enough. Changing one vote is enough. Changing one mind is enough.

To all my mutuals, you guys are the best. I truly hope you have wonderful lives and I'm sad I won't get to see your names on my dash everyday anymore. To anyone I've ever followed or reblogged from, I couldn't have had a blog without you, so thank you. Yes, even the leftiod psychos, XD. To everyone else, find your own balance and never give into despair and never listen to people who tell you not to try. Even a failed effort is still more meaningful than sitting back and mocking people for trying to improve even the smallest thing about themselves or the world around them.

I won't be logging back in after I post this, so any messages or asks you send, I won't see. I'll still be active (or as active as I ever am) in my discord, so feel free to join there if you want to. It should still be my pinned post, but if it isn't, I'll edit this with a new invite link.

And that's all I've got to say for now.

[jetii]

i loveeeeeee ur writing. its like a masterpiece. mwah. i was wondering if you could do an angsty fic with the prompt "I loved you!" with any clone boy you want (maybe crosshair 👀) I was listening to Cardigan by taylor swift and it lowkey set the mood.

sorry if the request is very vague cause i never watched bad batch yet im a huge simp 🥲 so do whatever you want.

I know you got like a tonnnn on your plate and i lowkey feel bad requesting but you write really good so take ur time to take care of yourself.

hiiiii anon. if you are who i think you are, then you'll have already been watching TBB by now, but if you're not, what are you doing!! /affectionate

after listening to the song (i have a sister who is a swiftie but alas i am not) and thinking harder about your prompt, i was inspired to write this for Echo, so i hope that's okay!

The Way Back

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 9,621

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, dramatic reunion, reader is a lawyer, Tech is a good brother, Echo needs a hug, allusion to panic attacks/alcoholism/depression

Summary: Echo always knew you were it for him, but the idea of seeing you again after so much has changed is more than he can take. Until one day he finds himself outside of your apartment, and the choice is made for him.

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Echo doesn’t leave the ship when it docks on Coruscant.

His eyes are locked on the city-planet, lit up like a giant firefly, watching the endless stream of ships coming in and out. Their trails of light make the whole thing seem dreamlike, surreal. Even that feels like too much, reminds him too much of the view from your apartment, and he tries to close his eyes, but his eyelids are made of glass.

The first time he saw Coruscant, there had been a moment of... what, awe? Terror? Something. Something big, anyway. He didn't understand then that you can have a feeling be a lot of things. He'd looked down on the galaxy's center of power and felt something bigger than he could possibly contain. Now, sitting alone on the Marauder with only the whirr of the vents for company, he thinks maybe the feeling was dread.

The first time they came back here after Echo joined the Batch, the others didn’t notice his unease. Or at least they didn't mention it. It was an adjustment period for everyone, Echo most of all, and his brothers gave him space to do things on his own terms, even when it meant he did nothing at all.

This time, it's different. He can tell they've noticed how he's been acting, and they're not just leaving him alone anymore. He can tell, because they're giving him looks. The kind of looks that ask questions he doesn't have answers for. They make excuses to stick close by, like they're afraid he might take off or that he's going to break down and have another panic attack. It makes him want to hide even more.

He's not going to, though. It's not so bad. Coruscant has always been a source of good memories for Echo, despite what happened. The sights, the sounds, the tastes — they're all still the same. He'd spent a long time on Coruscant before the Citadel happened, and he'd gotten used to it, the way the air smells, the feel of the rain against his skin. He had a whole life here. He was happy.

It's not so bad. He just... doesn't feel like going out, is all.

He knows he’s being stupid. He knows that he should be out there, enjoying what little downtime they’re afforded. Instead, he's on the ship, trying not to stare out the windows, trying to pretend that he isn't bothered by the thought of leaving, of the possibility of running into you again, however small that may be.

The worst part is that he's not sure why.

It's not that he doesn't want to see you. On the contrary, he does. More than anything. He hasn't stopped thinking about you, wondering if you're okay, if you’re happy, if you've thought of him. He's kept his ears open, and has managed to overhear a few stories here and there about you. The most recent had been about you winning a case for a group of Houk refugees who had been seeking asylum in the city, a big deal for a young lawyer to handle.

It had made him smile, a real, genuine smile, the kind he rarely got to have.

But there's something about seeing you again, about you seeing him that makes him hesitate, makes his stomach turn over and his throat tighten. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to know for certain, doesn't want to see that you're happy, that you've moved on, that you're doing well without him.

Maybe it's because he doesn't trust himself. He's different now, he knows that. He's different, and so are you. He doesn't know if he can face you, doesn't know if he'll be able to handle whatever is waiting for him. 

When he woke up in Rex’s arms and realized the galaxy had kept moving without him, he hadn’t thought much of it, solely focused on survival, on the fact that he was alive at all. He hadn't cared about what he'd missed, who he'd left behind. He hadn't known how much time had passed, and the thought that he was a dead man hadn't even crossed his mind. He hadn't thought about you, hadn't given himself the time or space to consider the consequences. You'd been the furthest thing from his mind. He'd had to keep fighting, to keep living. But once he had the time to think about it, to regret, well, it was...

It's different.

There's no other word for it. Everything is different.

Echo has had time, too much time, to think about you, to regret losing you. It's kept him up late into the night cycle, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, thoughts running a mile a minute.

You'd been a good person, a better one than he could ever hope to be, and he had loved you, and then he had died.

Or, he had thought he'd died. Turns out he hadn't. That had been the only mercy.

You'd been the first and only person in his entire life to see him as something other than a soldier, and he'd loved you for it. You'd seen him, really seen him, and you hadn't run. He had been terrified by that, but it had also been the best feeling in the world. And he had taken advantage of it. He had let you in, he had let himself fall in love, and then he had died.

It's different, now. He's different. The galaxy's moved on, and he's a ghost, and he's scared. He doesn't know how to face you, doesn't know if he can. So when they’d made it out of Skako Minor and Rex had asked if he wanted to comm you, he’d said no. And he's been saying no every time since.

A small voice inside his head, one that sounds a lot like Fives, tells him that's bullshit.

His brother would have called him out on his cowardice, and Echo thinks that's a fair assessment. But even though he misses you and wants nothing more than to hear your voice, it's better this way. It's better if you don't see him like this, if you never find out the truth. The thought of you seeing him, of you seeing what's left of the man you knew, is too much. He can't do that to you.

It's better if you never see him again. It's better if you have closure, if you've moved on and don't think about him anymore.

You deserve more. You deserve someone who hasn't lost as much as he has, someone who you won't have to worry about, someone who will be there for you.

Someone who can give you the life you want.

Echo knows he can't do that. And maybe if he says that enough times, he'll finally believe it.

“Why are you still here?”

The sound of Tech’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns and finds his brother watching him from the doorway, an expression of vague curiosity on his face, a soldering iron twirling absently in his hand.

Echo shrugs.

Tech gives a short, impatient huff.

"That is not an answer," he says, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Echo.

"I was just..." He trails off. Just what? Just looking out the window and moping? He sighs. "Nevermind."

Tech steps into the cockpit, looking unconvinced. Echo can tell he has a question on the tip of his tongue, can see him considering his options. Tech is not the most tactful person in the galaxy, and Echo isn't really in the mood to hear his thoughts, not when they're bound to be blunt. But instead of asking, his brother simply takes his seat beside him and begins tinkering with the dashboard, checking the systems.

The two of them are quiet for a moment, the only sound the clinking of the tools. Then Tech pauses and looks at Echo. 

Echo fidgets under his brother's gaze. "What?"

Tech doesn't respond right away, taking a second to look Echo over. His eyes flicker around the cockpit, as if the gauges and switchboards will give him some kind of clue, before coming back to his brother.

"There is nothing wrong with the ship," he says.

"Okay," Echo says, confused. "So?"

"So," Tech continues, "there is no reason for you to be here. We are scheduled to remain docked until 600 hours, and you have the day off. You could be anywhere."

Echo rolls his eyes, a prickle of annoyance flaring in his chest. "Yeah, well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Tech agrees. There's a moment where he considers something, and then he speaks again, "If I may offer a suggestion?"

"Go for it," Echo grumbles, not bothering to look at him.

"Go for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes. Physical activity is proven to improve mood and mental health. And you could do with the fresh air."

Echo frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Tech says, not even pausing in his work, "that you've been spending an inordinate amount of time locked away in here."

"I'm not locked away," Echo protests.

"No, I suppose not. But you have not been yourself since we arrived."

Echo doesn't have an answer for that.

"Go for a walk," Tech repeats, and this time he does stop and turn to Echo. He leans back in his chair and removes his goggles, letting them rest on his forehead, and the intensity in his gaze makes Echo squirm a bit.

"Where?"

Tech gestures towards the open space in front of them, the sprawling metropolis. "There are a number of options available, I'm sure. There are parks, shopping districts, museums, restaurants..." He ticks the ideas off on his fingers one by one, and then points back to Echo. "Perhaps you should find out for yourself."

Echo snorts. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," he says, the words coming out more defensively than he intended. "I'd rather just stay here."

"Yes, I can see that," Tech says dryly, and Echo gets the distinct impression that his brother is making fun of him.

He scowls.

Tech is undeterred. "But I don't think that is what you actually want to do."

Echo's mouth opens to argue, but then closes it just as quickly. He's not sure what to say, not sure if he wants to say anything. Tech isn't wrong. He doesn't really want to stay on the ship, not truly. The idea of getting out and going somewhere is tempting, and if he's being honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is sit here, stewing in his thoughts alone. Or worse, with Tech.

And he does need to stretch his legs.

He looks out the window again, taking in the sight of the planet before him. He's not sure what's going to happen once they get the signal for the next job, if they'll ever be back. He might never have this opportunity again.

He takes a breath.

"Fine," he says, throwing his hands up in the air. "You win."

Tech's lips twitch, a barely contained smile. "As I usually do."

Echo shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. He starts to make his way towards the door, and stops beside his brother.

"Thanks," he says, placing a hand on Tech's shoulder.

"You are welcome," Tech nods. “Try to be back by 0600 hours. If you are late, we will leave without you.

Echo snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He leaves Tech there and heads to the ramp. His steps slow as he reaches the bottom, but he forces himself forward, out into the bright sunlight and fresh air.

Echo spends the next few hours wandering around Coruscant, letting his feet guide him.

He goes wherever the crowds take him, stopping at whatever catches his interest. It's nice, being able to let his mind go blank and not have to worry about where he's going. He doesn't have to think about anything, doesn't have to consider the consequences, or the risks.

He just exists.

And it feels good.

When he eventually decides to turn back, he's a bit surprised at how far he's come. He hadn't intended to venture so deep into the city, had just wanted a walk to clear his head. But the area he's found himself in is one he recognizes.

Your apartment is nearby.

Echo can feel his pulse start to quicken, his palm begins to sweat, and he stops in the middle of the walkway.

The sun has begun to set, and the crowds are thinning. You’ll be on your way home from work soon, if you weren’t already. His brain helpfully supplies the route you would take, and his eyes flit up towards the skyline. He can't see your building, but he knows it's there, not far away.

The knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

No, he tells himself, shaking his head. I shouldn't.

He has no way of knowing if you're even home. For all he knows, you could be busy, out with friends or maybe on a date.

Don't, his mind warns him. She's moved on. You shouldn't.

He hasn't been to your apartment since the morning he left. The memory is a sharp one, a jagged knife cutting through the fog of his past. He remembers the way your bed had felt, the warmth of your body, the sound of your breathing as you slept tucked against him.

It had been so peaceful.

It had been so easy to leave.

His mind starts to replay those moments, the goodbye you had given him, and it's like a punch to the gut. He knows how much you care about him, knows that if you were to see him again, that wouldn't have changed. You wouldn't turn him away.

The night before, you talked for hours. Your conversation had been punctuated with kisses and caresses, laughter and confessions. You told him how much you wanted him to stay, how much you wished he didn't have to leave, how much you wished things could be different. You talked about what the future might hold for the two of you, and he remembers how that felt, how it made him believe, even for just a moment, that things would work out.

They didn't, of course.

But Echo is still here, and so are you, and he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the galaxy might be giving him a second chance.

He takes a deep breath.

There's no harm in taking a detour, he thinks.

He walks, following the familiar path, trying not to think too hard about what he's doing.

It doesn't take him long to reach the building. He hesitates in front of it, looking up at the facade. It looks just as it did the last time he was here. Same lobby, same doorman, same lift. They haven’t even fixed the panel that's been sticking, and it takes a good deal of force for him to press the button for your floor.

The doors close, and he stares at his reflection, at the dark circles under his eyes, the scruff that has accumulated on his cheeks and chin, the lines that have appeared at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. And then his gaze wanders to the ports and implants, the reminder of what was taken from him and what he was left with. He traces the outline of one with his thumb, remembering how he used to be.

He looks tired.

What are you doing? He asks himself.

He's not sure what he's expecting, doesn't have a plan for what will happen. All he knows is that he can't get the image of you out of his head. He imagines you coming home from work, and him being there, waiting. Would you be surprised? Happy? What would you say? What would he say?

Echo sighs.

He's an idiot.

The lift dings, and the doors slide open.

Your apartment is halfway down the hall, and Echo's stomach clenches with each step he takes. He reaches it and stands outside for a minute, running his fingers over the metal door, staring at the numbers painted on the surface.

It's just a door, he tells himself. Nothing special. Just a door.

His hand moves on its own, hovering over the bell. He waits, listens. There's no sound coming from inside, no music, no voices. Maybe you're not home yet.

Or maybe you're out. Maybe you're not alone.

He rings the bell and holds his breath, counting the seconds.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Nothing.

Echo rings again, this time holding the button down for a few extra seconds, listening for any sign of movement.

There's nothing.

The knot in his stomach tightens, and he releases the button, letting out the breath he'd been holding. He runs a hand over his face, feeling the heat of his skin through his glove. He's sweating.

Well, that's it, then.

He'd thought he was prepared for this possibility, but hearing the silence behind the door and knowing that you aren't home has shaken him more than he anticipated.

Maybe this is for the best, he thinks. It's better this way. Safer.

But the disappointment is palpable.

He's not sure what to do. He considers waiting a little longer, just to make sure, but the more he thinks about it, the more stupid it seems. He doesn't belong here anymore. He shouldn't be here, standing outside your door, hoping for something that won't happen.

He needs to go.

As Echo turns away from the door, a voice calls out behind him.

"Can I help you?"

For half a second, he's sure he imagined it, sure that it's just his brain playing tricks on him, taunting him. But then the voice speaks again.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Echo spins around, heart leaping into his throat, and there you are.

Standing there, a few paces away, is the woman he's been dreaming about, the one he's thought about every day, the one he's missed so much that it hurts.

Your hair is different, longer than he's ever seen it, pulled away from your face. You're wearing a dress, something he's only seen a handful of times, and your makeup is impeccable, but he can still see the hint of tiredness behind your eyes. He wonders how many hours you've put in at work this week, how much you've had to fight for your clients.

But the most noticeable change is that you're looking at him. Your datapad is held loosely in your hands, a bag of groceries on your hip, and you’re staring at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He doesn’t blame you.

This is a strange situation, and you must be wondering who the hell is standing in front of you, why they rang your bell and then walked away.

"Um," Echo says, suddenly aware that he hasn't spoken. He clears his throat, trying to gather his wits. He didn't think this through. "Hi."

You blink, clearly not expecting that response.

"Hi," you reply, warily.

Echo tries to say something, but the words won't come.

He's frozen in place, staring at you, unable to do anything except take in your appearance, drinking in the sight of you. He didn't realize how much he needed to see you until now, and the relief he feels is overwhelming.

"Do I..." You trail off, studying him carefully. "Do I know you?"

He feels his heart break, just a little.

You don't recognize him. Of course, you wouldn't. It's been so long, and he's not the same man you knew. His face is one of thousands, identical and interchangeable. He doesn't even look like a clone anymore, not really. He's more machine than man, now, and he has no idea how he expected you to see him.

"Yeah," he manages to say, his voice hoarse. "Yeah, you do."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting. When he doesn't say anything else, you take a step towards him, squinting a little. He can feel the tension in his body, can sense your scrutiny. It's not comfortable, but it's not unpleasant, either.

"Sorry," you say, sounding frustrated, "I can't quite —"

You stop, your eyes widening, and Echo can see the exact moment it clicks.

"Oh," you gasp, covering your mouth with a shaking hand. The motion makes the paper bag of groceries on your arm start to slip, and Echo rushes forward to catch it, placing it on the floor by your feet. He stands up, and he can feel your eyes on him, can see the tears beginning to well up, can hear your breathing quicken.

He waits.

"Echo?" Your voice is soft, tentative, like you're not sure if he's real or not. Like he's some kind of ghost. He's not sure that's not what he is.

"Hey, cyar'ika," he says. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat again.

A small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"Hi," you breathe. You cover your mouth again, trying to stifle the sob that rises from your chest. "I —" 

You let out a shaky breath, and then another, and then all of a sudden, you're crying, tears streaming down your face. Your hands come up to wipe them away, but more keep falling, and Echo is overwhelmed with the desire to hold you, to take away the pain and the sadness, to make everything right. But he doesn't know if he's allowed, doesn't know if it would be welcome. So instead, he just stands there, helpless.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "I can't believe it's you."

He smiles at that, his own eyes burning. "It's me," he confirms. "I'm here."

You're shaking your head, your eyes never leaving his face, as if you're afraid that he might disappear if you look away. He doesn't blame you, and he does his best to stay as still as possible. The last thing he wants is to scare you, or make you think he's going to leave. Not when he just got here.

"I thought..." You start, and then trail off.

"I know."

You swallow hard, taking a moment to compose yourself. "I thought you were dead."

Echo winces. He's heard those words from a lot of people, but coming from you, they hurt. "Yeah, I, uh... I thought so, too, for a while."

He sees the look of horror that crosses your face, the way your eyes grow wet again, and he wishes he hadn't said it.

"How... How long have you been back?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, strained, and Echo can hear the question underneath, the one you're afraid to ask. The one that makes his stomach twist into knots.

"Not long," he answers, trying to keep his tone even, light. "Only a couple months, really."

"Months?" you repeat, incredulous. "You've been back for months?"

Echo shifts uncomfortably and nods. "Yeah."

You stare at him, your mouth opening and closing as you search for words. "And... And you didn't comm me?"

"I, uh... No."

You let out a sharp exhale and turn away, bringing your hands to your face, and he can see that you're starting to shake again. You're silent for a moment, and he can feel his heart pounding, can feel the blood rushing in his ears. His stomach churns, and he feels like he's going to be sick.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, controlled. It's the same voice you use when you're working, the one you use to keep yourself calm, to keep yourself from getting angry.

"I just... I wasn't..." Echo trails off, not sure what to say. I wasn't sure if I was coming back? That's true, but not the whole truth. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me? Also true, but also not the full answer. I wasn't sure I was worth it? Yeah, that's the one.

But he can't say it.

He doesn't know if it's fear or guilt or shame, but whatever it is, it keeps the words stuck in his throat. You're waiting for an answer, and he's not sure he has one.

"Echo," you say, your voice a warning. You turn to face him again, and he can see the hurt and frustration in your eyes. He wants to hold you, wants to apologize, wants to take it all back. But he doesn't move. He can't.

"Why?" you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"I didn't want to bother you," he says. It's the best answer he can come up with, and the worst part is that it's also true. At least, that's what he tells himself.

But the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's the wrong thing to say. You stiffen, and then your jaw tightens. He can tell that you're barely holding it together, and he wants to say something, to explain, but he doesn't get the chance.

"You didn't want to bother me," you repeat, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can feel the sting of it. "I'm sorry, did I not make it clear how much I care about you?"

"No, you did," Echo says, backtracking, trying to placate you. "You did, I promise."

"Then please explain how you thought keeping me in the dark about the fact that the man I love was still alive and well was not a bother."

The word "love" hits him like a punch to the gut.

You love him. You still love him. You're still here, and you're still loving him, even after everything. He doesn't understand, doesn't know why. Doesn't know how. But he doesn't have time to think about it, not with the way you're looking at him, the hurt and confusion clear on your face.

"That's not what I meant," he says, his voice low, pleading. "It's not that. I promise."

You let out a shaky sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "What's the difference, then?"

Echo opens his mouth, and then closes it again, not knowing what to say.

"I mourned you," you say. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it sounds loud in the silence between the two of you. "I loved you, and I mourned you, and I was doing okay, and then you just show up, and act like it's no big deal, like I didn't spend weeks, months waiting for you to come back, hoping you'd come back, and..."

Your voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears begins to roll down your cheeks. Echo reaches out to brush them away, and you flinch. The motion stings, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't push it. He lets his hand drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, well, you did," you say, sniffling.

The words hit him harder than he expects, and he feels his throat tighten.

"I didn't know what to say," he admits, his voice breaking. "I didn't know what to do."

"Why not?" you ask, and your anger has softened, turning into something else. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Echo says quickly. "Of course not. You were perfect. You were... You were amazing."

You look at him, and there's a vulnerability in your eyes that makes him want to gather you in his arms and never let go. He thinks maybe he should. But before he can, you speak.

"So what happened?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, but Echo can hear the desperation, the need for an answer. "Where were you? Why didn't you come back?"

“I—“ Echo looks around, suddenly aware of the hallway and the closed doors surrounding him, closing in on him. The space is too small, the walls are too close, the air is too thick. He feels trapped, like the world is closing in around him, and he takes a step back.

"Can we... Can we not do this out here?" he asks, trying not to let his voice betray his panic.

You study him for a moment, considering. He doesn't blame you. After all, he'd shown up out of the blue, and you had every right to be suspicious. You're still crying, but there's a steeliness in your gaze, and he can tell you're weighing your options, deciding if he's worth it or not. His heart hammers against his ribs as he waits, praying that you'll give him a chance.

Finally, you let out a sigh and nod.

"Yeah," you say, "sure."

You bend down to pick up the groceries, and Echo rushes forward, scooping them up before you can. You look at him, surprised.

"Let me help," he says. "Please."

You hesitate, and Echo can see the worry on your face, but then you nod, fumbling for the keypad. The lock clicks open, and you push the door open, motioning for him to go ahead.

He steps inside, and the familiar scent of your apartment hits him hard. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it, how much he'd come to associate it with safety and comfort. It makes his chest ache, and he takes a moment to steady himself, willing the tears to stop.

Your apartment is the same, and yet so different.

It's still cozy, but there's a coldness to the air, a lack of warmth. The curtains are closed, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the dim bulb above the stove in the kitchen. There are dishes stacked in the sink, and a few pieces of dirty laundry have been discarded on the couch. The floor is littered with shoes and other miscellaneous items, as if someone came home and kicked everything off their feet, leaving it all in a pile. Echo’s brow furrows at the mess, and he wonders when you started to let the place get this way.

"I'm sorry," you say, sounding embarrassed. You take the bag of groceries from him, your cheeks flushed. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Don't worry about it," he assures you.

"Here, let me..." You trail off, disappearing down the hall, and a moment later, he hears a door slam shut.

Echo stands there, unsure of what to do. His gaze wanders around the room, taking everything in, trying to find something to occupy himself with. It feels like years since he's been here, and the sensation is both comforting and strange. He remembers the nights he spent curled up next to you on the couch, the quiet mornings in the kitchen, the lazy afternoons spent in bed.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on the present.

You're back now, and he needs to concentrate.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the wood.

It's quiet, but Echo can hear you moving around, and he wonders if you're trying to clean up, trying to make the place a little more presentable. He doesn't care about any of that. He cares about you.

And he doesn't know what to say.

He runs his hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye, trying to think. He's rehearsed this moment in his head, has imagined all the different ways it could go.

And now that it's actually happening, he can't remember a single one.

He's such an idiot.

The minutes pass, and you finally return. He hears you enter the room, the soft sound of your footsteps, but he can't bring himself to look up. Not yet.

"Echo," you say, and he can hear the hesitation in your voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know where to start," he confesses, dropping his hand and glancing up at you.

You've changed into something more comfortable, a pair of sweatpants and your favorite sweater, and your face is scrubbed clean, makeup-free. It's nice to see you this way, a reminder of the times you shared together, and the sight makes him smile.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing, it's just..." He pauses, his eyes wandering over you. "I forgot how you looked in sweatpants."

You roll your eyes, but there's a hint of amusement on your face. "Seriously? You're sitting here, after being missing for months, and you're making fun of my fashion choices?"

"I'm not making fun of you," he says, chuckling. The pressure in his chest eases slightly, and he takes a breath. "I just meant that I missed seeing you this way."

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, and then shake your head.

"You're unbelievable," you mutter.

Echo smiles, and for a moment, he feels normal. As if the last year never happened, and this was just a day like any other. As if he'd just come home from a mission, and you'd greet him with a kiss, and everything would be fine.

But then you sigh, and the moment is over.

"Look, I get that this is... Well, I'm sure this isn't what you were expecting," you say. You move to sit across from him, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands. "But we can't keep pretending like nothing happened. You have to talk to me."

Echo stares at you, his eyes taking in the familiar lines of your face, the curve of your lips, the color of your eyes. They aren’t as bright as he remembered, not as full of life, and the realization breaks his heart. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

"Okay," he begins, clearing his throat. "So, uh, this is going to be a lot."

"That's okay," you say gently. You give him a reassuring nod, and Echo feels a swell of gratitude for you. "Just... Start at the beginning, and we'll go from there."

"Right, the beginning." Echo nods, trying to organize his thoughts, and then he starts to speak.

He tells you everything, from the moment the explosion happened, to the moment he woke up and found himself in Rex's arms, everything in between. He tells you about his injuries, the surgeries, the physical therapy. He tells you about his time with the Batch, his newfound abilities, the things he's been able to do, the things he's learned. He talks about the missions, the jobs, the danger they've faced, and the risks they've taken. He tells you about the planets, the people, the experiences. He tries to leave nothing out, even the hard parts. The loss, the pain, the fear. He doesn't want to spare you any of it.

You sit there and listen, asking questions when necessary, but mostly staying silent. And when he's done, he sits there, feeling a strange sense of relief. He hadn't realized how much he needed to talk about everything, how much he'd been holding in. And he hadn't realized how good it would feel to tell you. To have someone who cared, someone he trusted, who knew him better than anyone.

When the words run out, and the room is silent, you let out a long, slow exhale. You sit there, your hands folded together, your gaze fixed on the tabletop, and Echo waits, not sure what to expect. But the longer the silence drags on, the more worried he gets.

"Cyar'ika?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

You take a breath and look up at him, and Echo is startled to see that your eyes are glassy, and there are fresh tear tracks running down your cheeks.

"Sorry," you apologize, wiping at them with your sleeve. "I'm not — I just..."

You take another breath, and then let it out, composing yourself. "Thank you," you say. "For telling me. I know that can't have been easy."

"It wasn't," Echo admits, and his throat tightens a little. "But I'm glad I did."

You offer him a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You look like you’re far away, lost in your own thoughts, and Echo has a feeling you're not fully present, not in the moment. And he doesn't blame you. His words can't have been easy to hear.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" he asks, trying to break the silence.

You glance at him, your eyes focusing, and then look away, your jaw clenching. Echo can see the emotion on your face, can tell that you're struggling to stay calm, to hold it together. You've always been good at that, he thinks.

"I just..." You pause, taking a shaky breath, and Echo can see the tears forming in your eyes again. "I just don't understand."

He frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"

You close your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself. Then, you stand up and begin pacing around the kitchen, your hands clasped behind your back. You move slowly, deliberately, your gaze fixed on the floor, like you're trying to make sense of something, figure something out. 

Echo watches you, feeling uneasy. You're not giving anything away, and the silence is starting to get to him. He's never seen you in the courtroom, but he imagines this is the stance you take when you're interrogating a witness. 

It's effective.

"Can you say something, please?" he asks. He knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn't care.

"I'm thinking," you say, and Echo bites his lip.

He feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin. He wants to get up, to follow you around the room, try to coax a response out of you. He wants to make this better, to make this right. But he knows that pushing you won't help, so he stays seated, trying to keep his patience.

 You continue to pace, your expression blank, and the seconds tick by, the only sound the muffled noises of the city outside. It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally stop, standing in front of him, your arms crossed.

"I can't believe you thought I wouldn't want to see you," you say. Your voice is low, almost a whisper, and there's an edge to it that Echo doesn't recognize. It's not anger, not exactly. It's something else, something deeper.

"I know," he replies, his voice just as quiet.

"I thought you were dead," you say, the words coming out in a rush. "I grieved you. I mourned you. And then you show up, and you're... You're alive, and you're here, and you think the best thing to do is to leave me alone?"

"I didn't know what would happen," Echo explains, trying to keep his tone calm. "I wasn't sure if I was coming back, and I didn't want to —"

"No," you say sharply, cutting him off. "That's not an excuse. That's bullshit, and you know it."

Echo swallows, and nods, not sure what to say.

"We made promises," you continue, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can see the frustration on your face. "To each other. We talked about our future, we said things that... We made things that were real, and then you just decided it was too much, and you walked away. What the hell is that?"

"I'm sorry," Echo says around the lump forming in his throat. "I shouldn't have —"

"No," you interrupt, your eyes burning. "You shouldn't have."

Echo looks at you, and he feels like he's going to shatter. You’re staring at him with such intensity, and there's an anger in your gaze that he hasn't seen before. It's so different from the gentle look you usually give him, and it makes him ache.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says. "I swear, I didn't."

"Then why did you?" you ask, and there's a note of pleading in your voice. “I spent so long wondering, worrying, and you just... You didn't care."

"Of course I did," he argues. "It wasn't about that."

"Then what was it about, Echo?" you demand. "What was so important that you thought you couldn't tell me? That you couldn't comm me, or send a message, or do anything that would have let me know you were alive? That would have told me you were okay?"

"I didn't think —"

"What, that I'd care? That I'd worry? That I'd miss you? That I'd wonder where you were, and if you were okay, and what the hell happened to you?" you say, your voice rising.

Echo can feel the frustration building inside him, and he knows he shouldn't respond, knows that getting angry won't help, but the words tumble out before he can stop them. "I'm sorry," he snaps. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

"That's not an excuse," you snap back, and Echo blinks, shocked. You're the most level-headed person he's ever met, and he's never heard you yell before.

"Yeah, well, it's the best one I've got," he says.

"Echo, I loved you," you say, and the past tense stings. "When Fives told me what happened to you, I —" Your voice catches, and the fight goes out of him. He can see the pain on your face, the hurt in your eyes, and he can't help but feel responsible. "I can't even describe it. It felt like my whole world was ending. And I don’t blame you for doing your duty, but I do blame you for not coming back to me."

"I know," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I really am."

You shake your head, turning away from him. "Why didn't you comm me?"

Echo hesitates. He doesn't want to admit his fears, his worries, the insecurities that have plagued him. He doesn't want to tell you how much he doubted, how much he doubted you. It feels too vulnerable, too raw. And it would only make you feel worse. But the longer the silence stretches, the more you deserve the truth. And he can't avoid it forever.

"I didn't think I was worth it," he says, his voice low. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, the sting of embarrassment. He can't look at you, doesn't want to see the pity, the disappointment, the anger. "I didn't think I was worth it."

You turn to face him, your expression softening.

"You were all I had left," he says. He feels exposed, and it's not a comfortable feeling, but he can't stop now. Not with the way you're looking at him. Not when he's so close to fixing this, to getting you back. "After everything that happened, I just... I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You really thought I'd just leave you?"

Echo can hear the hurt in your voice, and he's surprised at the sharpness of it. He expected to be met with some amount of anger, but he didn't expect it to cut so deep. He didn't think his insecurities would upset you so much. He's used to it, by now. After everything he's been through, the doubts and worries have become a constant, an almost comforting presence. But you were never supposed to know about them.

"It's not that," he says. "I know you wouldn't have left me. It's just... I didn't want to drag you down with me."

"That's stupid," you reply. There's no malice in your voice, but there's no sympathy, either. "What makes you think I couldn't handle it?"

"It's not about what you could handle," Echo says. "You didn't sign up for this. You didn't sign up for any of it."

"I signed up for you," you argue, and Echo is startled by the fierceness of your tone.

"And look at what that got you."

You fall silent, and Echo regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He's always known he wasn't good enough for you, but it's different to actually say it out loud. It makes it real. And he's not sure he's ready for that. But you're looking at him like you can't believe he said it, and the disappointment in your eyes makes him feel even worse. 

Your eyes rove over him, taking in the scarring, the metal implants, the ports and wires, the armor. You look like you’re seeing him for the first time, and the disgust and fear he’d thought might appear are nowhere to be found, just a profound sense of sadness and resignation.

"Oh, Echo," you breathe. The words are quiet, but they feel like a slap, and he has to look away, not wanting to meet your gaze.

"I'm not the man you knew," he says. He sounds defeated, even to his own ears. His eyes are burning, and he has to fight to keep the tears from falling. He hates how weak he feels, how small, how vulnerable. "I can't be. I'm... I'm not him anymore."

"Yes, you are," you insist. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing gently, and the sensation makes him jump. He'd almost forgotten how warm you are, how soft. How safe. He wants to hold on, to pull you close, to never let go. "You're still the same man, the same Echo, I just..."

"What?" he asks, when you trail off. "You just what?"

You sigh, dropping his hand and running your fingers through your hair, tugging lightly. The familiar gesture makes him ache. "I don't know, Echo," you admit. "I'm... I'm sad. And I'm angry. But I'm mostly just... Confused."

"Confused about what?"

"I'm confused as to why you didn't come back to me," you say. "I'm confused as to why you thought I'd want anything else."

"I thought you deserved better," he says, the words sounding hollow, even to his own ears. "I thought you deserved someone who was whole, who could give you a normal life, who didn't have a hundred years of baggage and trauma to deal with. And I was terrified that you already had that."

"Had what?"

"A normal life," he answers. "Without me. And the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was true."

"It's not," you say. Your voice is quiet, but firm, and Echo looks at you, searching for any trace of doubt, of hesitation, of insincerity. But all he finds is determination, and it makes his heart clench. The intensity in your gaze is too much, and he has to look away. His eyes trail over the walls, the ceiling, the floor, lingering on the groceries on the table, the dishes in the sink, the empty bottles of wine shoved into the trash, the pile of laundry on the couch. There’s a dent in the wall that wasn't there the last time he was here, and the carpet is worn. He wonders when that happened.

He feels a tug on his arm, and then you're reaching up to cup his face, your hands soft and warm. You turn his head to face you, your thumb stroking his cheek. The touch is gentle, comforting, and Echo can't stop the sigh that escapes him. It's been so long since someone touched him like this, and it's nice. It's more than nice. It's familiar. It's safe. It's home.

"I only wanted you," you whisper.

"Even after everything?" he asks. He doesn't mean to sound so incredulous, but he can't help it. He's spent so long convincing himself that you were better off without him, and now, hearing you say the opposite, hearing you say the words he'd only ever hoped for, the ones he'd tried to convince himself were true... It's a lot to take in.

"Even after everything," you affirm.

"You could have had anyone," he says. "Why me?"

"Because I love you," you answer, as if it's the simplest thing in the galaxy. As if it's the most obvious thing in the universe. "And I don't want anyone else."

"Cyar'ika..." His voice cracks, and the tears are falling freely now. You wipe them away, and the touch makes his chest ache.

"I've never stopped loving you, Echo," you say. Your voice is barely audible, but Echo hears it. And it's the best sound he's ever heard. "And I don't plan on stopping now."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I left you, and I'm sorry I didn't comm you, and I'm sorry I was such a coward, and I'm —"

"Shh," you murmur, cutting him off. "I forgive you."

Echo can't speak. He's not sure he can move, can't even breathe. The relief is overwhelming, and it threatens to knock him off his feet. His chest tightens, and the tears won't stop falling, and he doesn't know what to do. He's missed you so much, has regretted leaving every single day, and now that you're here, now that he has you back, he can't find the words to express how grateful he is, how relieved, how happy.

"You really thought I was going to leave you?" you ask, and Echo can hear the note of humor in your voice, can see the ghost of a smile on your face. It's reassuring, and he lets himself smile, too.

"Honestly? Yes," he admits.

"Never," you reply.

Echo leans down and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. You move your hands down his face, brushing the tears away with your thumbs, before bringing them around his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He moves to do the same, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, and Echo chuckles, holding you tighter.

"I missed you," he whispers, and it feels good to say the words out loud. "So much."

"I missed you, too," you say, your breath warm against his neck. You tilt your head and press a kiss against his throat, and Echo feels his heart stutter. "More than I can say."

Echo hums and pulls away, bringing his hand up to brush the hair away from your face. Your skin is warm, and soft, and he leans in and presses a kiss against your forehead, savoring the contact. You sigh, and he can't resist the urge to kiss you again, this time on the cheek.

"Echo," you murmur, letting out a shaky breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and your grip on his neck tightens, your fingers digging into the fabric of his blacks. He moves down your throat, trailing kisses along the column of your neck, and you gasp.

"I missed you, too," he murmurs, and you laugh.

"Yeah, I got that," you say. "Now, will you please kiss me?"

Echo smiles and obliges.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and it tastes like home. He cups the back of your neck, his scomp moving to rest on your hip, and you let out a pleased noise, your hands sliding down to his shoulders. The warmth of your mouth, the way your lips part, the little gasps and sighs you make, it all makes him want to get closer, to be nearer.

You break the kiss, and Echo lets out a quiet whimper. You chuckle and rest your head on his shoulder, and Echo brings his hand up to stroke your hair, his fingers combing through the strands. You sigh and lean into his touch, and he can't help the contented smile that spreads across his face.

"I'm glad you're here," you murmur. "I'm glad you came back."

"Me, too," he says. He tilts your head up and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering. You close your eyes and nuzzle his neck, and Echo sighs, holding you close. It feels so good to have you in his arms again, to be able to hold you, and he wishes he could stay here forever. But the reality of the situation catches up with him, and he can't help the wave of guilt that washes over him.

"I'm sorry, Cyar'ika," he says.

You frown, and pull away slightly. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I didn't think this through," he admits. "I... I didn't know what was going to happen, and now..." He pauses, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I just... I'm sorry. I’m leaving soon, and I know it's going to be hard, and I know you're going to have to say goodbye again, and I'm —"

"Echo," you interrupt, and your voice is firm. You put your hand on his chest, and he can feel the heat of it, even through the layers of armor and clothing. "I know what I signed up for. I'm not expecting anything different."

"But —"

"No," you cut him off. "No buts. I knew what this was, Echo. And I still want it."

"But you shouldn't have to," Echo argues. "I don't want to put you through that."

"Well, it's a little late for that," you reply. Your tone is sharp, and Echo winces. "Look, Echo. I know the situation isn't ideal, but I'm not going to walk away because it's hard. And I'm not going to stop caring just because it hurts." You look at him, and the determination in your gaze makes his heart skip a beat. "You're worth it, okay? No matter what."

"Cyar'ika —"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "You're not changing my mind. You can try, but it's not going to work. So don't waste your time." You give him a stern look, and then your face softens. "Okay?"

"Okay," Echo agrees. He knows it's futile to argue. He's never been able to say no to you. Not when it matters. "I'm still sorry, though."

You roll your eyes, and then stand on your toes and give him a quick kiss. "You're lucky I love you," you say, and the words make him feel lighter.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees, grinning.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Echo shrugs, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He's been so focused on finding you, on convincing you to forgive him, on making things right, that he hasn't thought about what comes next. The prospect of it is both exhilarating and terrifying, and he doesn't know where to start. There's so much to do, and so little time. And he doesn't want to waste another second.

"Do you want to stay?" you offer.

"Stay?"

"Here," you clarify. "For a while. I don't know how long you can, but..." You pause, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I was going to make dinner. If you wanted to stay."

"Dinner?" Echo repeats, and he can't hide the excitement in his voice. The idea of a home-cooked meal is so far removed from his life now, so distant, that the thought of it almost makes him lightheaded. "Really?"

You laugh, and the sound fills him with warmth. "Yes, Echo. Really."

"What are you making?" he asks. The question sounds childish, and he can't believe how eager he is, how excited.

"Just a simple dish," you say. You move towards the counter and begin putting the groceries away, and Echo follows you, a smile spreading across his face. While you tell him about the recipe, he moves toward your sink, picking up a dish and turning the water on. You look over at him, and the fondness in your eyes makes him blush. "You don't have to do that, Echo."

"I know," he replies. "I want to."

"Well, alright then."

The two of you work together, talking and laughing as you wash the dishes and prepare the food. Echo feels lighter than he has in months, and it's a relief to be here with you, to have something normal and familiar to do. Something so domestic, so ordinary, and yet, so special.

He wants to remember this.

When the food is ready, you gesture to the table, and Echo takes a seat. You sit across from him, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other. He's missed you, missed this. Missed being here, missed having someone who knew him, someone he could trust. Someone he could love.

You're both quiet, and Echo can see the wheels turning in your head, can see the way your eyes dart over him, taking everything in. You're cataloging, committing him to memory too. The realization hits him, and his chest tightens. He'll be leaving soon, and you're doing what you can to make sure you won't forget him. It's a sobering thought, and he's not sure how to handle it.

"Hey," you say, and Echo looks up, meeting your gaze. "It's okay. We'll be fine."

"How did you know?" he asks, startled.

You shrug. "It's written all over your face."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I wish I could stay."

"It's okay," you repeat. “We have the night, and that’s more than enough. For now, let's just enjoy the time we have."

Echo nods.

You're right.

You always are.

You smile, and it's so beautiful, so genuine, that it takes his breath away. You reach across the table and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table and putting your chin in your hand. The way you're looking at him, the affection in your eyes, it makes him feel like he's the only thing that matters, like he’s home.

And, right now, he is.

He's missed this.

He's missed you.

And as the two of you sit there, enjoying each other's company, Echo knows he's made the right choice. He knows that coming back was worth it, that finding you, fixing things, making things right, it's all been worth it. And he knows that, no matter what, he'll be back.

He'll find his way back to you.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolinist @deerspringdreams

[transmascaraa]

Hi! It's 🍓 anon again >_<

May I request Ga ming, Freminet, Thoma, Aether, Scaramouche + whoever you wanna add with a S/O whos kinda a depressed bed rotter?

yk, doesn't really get out of bed, doesn't take care of themselves

example: brushing their hair, their teeth, eating, cleaning (they don't know how to cook or do a lot for themselves anymore)

I've been kinda a bed rotter these months (few years) it's actually really embarrassing being in this state 😭😭

multiple characters headcannons!

bed rotter.

characters: gaming, freminet, thoma, aether, wanderer x gn!reader

author's note: hi long time no see(it's been a few days)🥰 sorry for the lack of posts lately lmfao i kinda had basically NO motivation for writing whatsoever but i'm back for this one now‼️(i was busy with obsessing over the natlan characters for half of the time yes) so like i hope you enjoy this rn lol ^^ (🍓anon you're not alone in that state😔 it happens)

✷ Gaming

-WILL take care of you if you won't

-didn't get out of bed to eat?

-breakfast in bed, dinner in bed, lunch in bed just for you.

-he will brush your hair for you. (if you have longer hair/hair that can be brushed lol and if not, ignore this lmao😭)

-don't feel motivated to get up? he'll do his best to motivate you to get you out of bed, but if it doesn't work, he'll try again tomorrow.

-he never loses hope like he's literally sure of himself that he will help you one day

-and it works because he's literally the sweetest bf ever for caring about you

-if you don't wash your teeth or something, he WILL offer to wash your teeth in bed somehow for you but sometimes that offer was literally what made you get up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☆ Freminet

-again, will be absolutely the most caring and understanding bf of all time

-problems with brushing your teeth? okay, you don't have to do it immediately. if too much time passes he'll motivate you out of bed.

-not eating? he's gonna cook you the best food ever and bring it to you in bed.

-and he'll even bring some really tasty food from the house of the hearth if it ends up being really good for you.

-if your room is a mess, judging by the type of person he is, he'll clean it for you.

-but he won't kill himself for you, instead, he will try to motivate you throughout doing things that make you happy like drawing in front of you if you like drawing and stuff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✧ Thoma

-literally will do anything and everything to make sure you feel okay

-trying to motivate you through sending you some typa tiktoks like "dancing in the rain together<3" with the caption "we should do this💕" or stuff that is very wholesome WHILE not being in bed and rotting basically

-i mean it did help quite a few times

-about the food part, you know who thoma is. he will cook for you BUT sometimes he will force you to get out of bed just to eat with him in the kitchen

-that's a really big thing actually (to get you out of your bed at all) and he's proud of it.

-will try to motivate you to brush your teeth by walking in your room while he's brushing his(i have no idea why i js think he might)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✿ Aether

-okay YES

-y'know how thoma got you out of bed by making you come to the kitchen to eat sometimes? yeah? well aether does it ALL the time.

-literally there isn't a time he will bring you food in your bed unless you've stopped bed rotting.

-brushing teeth? he will not let you come out of the bathroom when you go in to do literally anything(might force you to take a shower sometimes as well)

-if your room is messy, he'll just quietly scold you to himself while cleaning everyone for you, then afterwards confronting you about it

-another way to also get you out of your bed is him calling you to the living room to see some random video/tiktok instead of just sending it to you(it usually works)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

★ Wanderer

-does NOT tolerate this shit

-nuh uh not in the LEAST bit

-wanna eat instead of literally starve to death? come to the kitchen yourself(the best food is waiting you there)

-not showering and/or not brushing your teeth? he will scold you and insult you(lovingly) until you get up and do everything to be clean in the bathroom.

-messy room? standing next to your door with his arms crossed looking at you as if you were his 4th betrayal hoping that you care for him enough to do something for HIM if not for yourself.

-but like deep down, which he won't admit, if you don't do something he tells you to because you feel that bad and unmotivated, he might let it slide and tell you beautiful things while you're asleep on his chest.

-he loves you no matter how big of a bed rotter you are tho

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

woah i love scara's part

anyways i liked it as a whole lol

i hope you guys like it too^^

| @mariaace <3

[baby-tini]

do you think you could make some hcs about how each Mikey would react about reader successfully escaping and he finds her years later? And if not that's completely fine, have a good day

Not exactly HCs, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless~

TW- Kidnapping, Abuse

With Street Racer!Mikey, there's no escaping really, and I don't mean that as in you're not gonna get away, I just mean that he doesn't really have any bad or toxic behaviors, so there's no need too leave really. But, for the sake of this post, I'll say he does. I would say that it wouldn't be easy, simply because of his reputation and the fame that he has. I do imagine that he's pretty big on social media and he obviously has pictures of you, so fans are gonna recognize you. With constant paparazzi in your face and fans swarming you, leaving Street Racer!Mikey isn't going too be easy. If you did manage too get away though, he'd be pretty heart-broken and upset, I don't see him getting super pissed buy he'd be pretty upset and would actually file you a missing person, because, why would he look, knowing he doesn't have the capabilities in doing so, he'd have the police do it for him, When they do manage too find you though, his eyes are just empty as he takes you in his arms as he welcomes you home, stating that he was so worried and that he's glad you're safe.

Manila!Mikey would be the easiest, surprisingly, simply for the fact that he doesn't have the influences that the others do. He's not a big gang leader anymore, it's just you and him. The most difficult thing would be living in the Philippines, specifically if you're not from there and you're simply just a tourist, Manila, in the Philippines, is surrounded by water, so you can't leave without a boat or a plane so you'd have too be hiding out there. Getting on a plane or boat would be relatively hard for you because that's where he's constantly gonna be looking out for. It'll be harder for you if you stay on the move and are changing your name or look constantly. He will find you though.. and when he does, whether that be years or months later, you're deeply in for it and you're never leaving again. He might even go as far as too break your legs so that you physically can't leave him again, his approach isn't really that bad though, especially if you're in public, he'd just lead you away, whispering threats in your ear as you feel his gun digging into your side. When he gets you behind closed doors though... it's not very pretty for you.

Bonten!Mikey and Kanto!Mikey are the hardest too escape from, simply because of their influence and authority. They're both infamous gang-leaders and have a plethora of disposable men that are constantly watching you.

For Bonten!Mikey though, your biggest problem wouldn't even be Mikey himself, it would be Sanzu. He is extremely loyal to Mikey and he reports everything you do back to Mikey, even the smallest of things, like eating a certain thing or where you're going and how often you're going too. Now, with Bonten!Mikey, while he is busy quite often, he's not away all that much, he just sends his executives away too do it for him so that he can stay with you and you're always physically with him. So much so that he'll stand outside the door as you're showering, he's truly so clingy, so escaping him has an extremely low success rate. When, or if, you do, he's gonna lose it. He turns more cold, if possible, and everyone bares his wrath, he becomes more physical and he's teetering on the edge if a breakdown. You are another person that has yet again, left him, and he's just out of it, even slipping into a depressive episode. That was until, Sanzu had found you, and he's quick too report it too Mikey and he's never driven so fast, demanding, over the phone that Sanzu consistently trail you as he gets there. You don't really know what's happening as you're thrown into a car, it's dark and it's cold, you can't even see anything as you fall face-first on the soft cushioning as his hands immediately grab for you. The same cold hands you've dreaded feeling since you've escaped as you stared up onto the dead black abyss that were Mikeys eyes. Kanto!Mikey is a very similar situation for you, its very hard too leave for you because he's so notorious in the gang world and there's a lot people that are willing too hurt you. So, he's already very watchful of you in the first place. You're constantly with him, you don't even have room too breath- much less have freedom around him. He's also so very strict with you and he has rules planned for you, as well as consistent updates about you, from his men. Now, lets say a miracle happened and you did escape. He's not going too stop until he finds you and if it takes him years too find you, it's gonna be a brutal meeting when he sees you again, he's gonna go from having his hands around your throat too making out with multiple times within the same hour and it's excruciating for the next few months for you. You're gonna be walking on egg-shells for a long time and he'll never trust you again and you're not gonna be on your own ever again. You can do nothing by yourself, ever again. Good luck.

Toman!Mikey is a good 50\50 for escaping for you, it's not the hardest but also not the easiest. Again, going back to him being a gang-leader, he has people watching you and it's for the simple facts of safety. He understands how dangerous his reputation is perceived and there'll be people that are going too use you as collateral too spite him and Toman!Mikey can't have that happening. So you're already on a pretty tight leash and are constantly escorted by his most trusted men to everywhere you're going, and while he would constantly like too be with you, he knows that's not very plausible, but he's fine with the cute pictures and videos that he has you send him while he's away from you. When you do manage too escape though, Mikey doesn't really notice at first, simply because he's away, but when he receives the flood of texts from his men, detailing your escape, he didn't think it was actually an escape at first, he thought it was a kidnapping and he was quite infuriated. When he does figure out it's a kidnapping, he has his men working day and night looking for you, no rest for them until you're back in his possession and they know that. When you're back in his arms years later, you are no longer given the freedom that you once had, but you now sit, as a caged bird. No longer allowed the fresh air as he, personally, watches you from the video camera he had installed in your new room.

[shoccolatine]

Do you feel comfortable with writing stuff about mental health issues. Like, MC being depressed due to a mission going wrong or something similar and hiding it from Zayne while they spiral deeper into it until he catches them doing something bad - like idk, self-harm, looking up suicide methods, something like that. Gender neutral reader would be great <3

If you don't want to write this for any reason, feel free to ignore my ask :)

mission failure.

⚘pairing: zayne x gn!reader

⚘summary: after one too many failed missions, you reach a breaking point. zayne comes to your aid. ⚘tags: sfw, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, mental health issues, self-esteem issues, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-descriptive/implied self-harm, mild descriptions of morbid thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst ⚘word count: 2k ⚘a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope i did it justice! this was a very interesting write and i enjoyed it a lot. i tried to be as delicate and vague with the s/h descriptions as i could so as not to trigger anyone, but this fic still deals with sensitive content so please be safe and take care of yourself! much love 💜

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was it. You just couldn’t do anything right.

Another hunting mission had gone poorly. The third in a row, now. They do say all good things come in threes, but could the same be said of misfortune? It certainly seemed so. The first two mission failures had been played off as flukes, but this time…

You made the long trek back to Headquarters with the weight of a tail dragging between your legs, bearing a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Beside you was Tara, who was not quite so worse for wear and, although disappointed, didn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment as you. After all, she hadn’t been the one to let the Wanderer get away. Again.

“Hey, don’t look so down!” she says, in her usual cheerful tone. She pats your arm in an attempt to be comforting. “Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

You give her a look and a frown. “I mean, we should, shouldn’t we? It’s our job, after all.”

“No way! Those Wanderers were tough! I’m amazed we got as far into the Zone as we did!”

But we lost our main target, you thought, yet you held your tongue. There was no changing Tara’s mind once she was set on something. This mission was above her level, anyway, but with every other Hunter either stationed elsewhere or taking a well-deserved break, and Xavier being unreachable as usual, all you had was each other. It had been up to you, as the higher level Hunter, to uphold the team morale and guide you both through a successful mission. But lately, you just kept falling short. Even the most straightforward of missions went awry. Just what was happening?

The entrance doors slid closed behind you as you and Tara headed upstairs for the debrief. Your heart pounded with every step you took. Three failures in a row… Jenna was going to fire you for sure. She might as well do it now, to make space for a newer, better Hunter to take your place and finish your missions properly.

Instead, what came of your debrief was the offering of a week-long break. "Time off to clear your head and refresh," Jenna had said with hard concern, but it might as well have been an arrow to the chest. Just fire me now and get it over with, you thought. Stop wasting everyone’s time and resources and find someone else.

You didn’t need a break. You just needed to be better.

Getting better, however, came with a steep demand you placed upon yourself like a vase upon a pedestal, delicate and teetering. If Jenna wanted to give you another chance, then you would use this week to return to peak performance. You would train, and train, and train, until you were sure to succeed at every mission she threw at you. It was flawless. You’d be back at it in no time.

But as soon as you got off the train and back into your apartment, all you wanted to do was sleep. 

And sleep you did. You slept until you couldn’t think of those missions anymore, and when the thoughts inevitably returned, you slept again.

“You’re not eating enough,” Zayne said during your following check-up later that week. He stated it so matter-of-factly, like he did with any other diagnosis, never looking up from his computer as he typed something. You never knew exactly what. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a break right now?”

“How do you know that?”

“Word gets around,” he said, the beginnings of a smile etched on his face. You didn't like the idea of people knowing things like that so easily. People sure do like to talk... Zayne's hazel eyes lifted from the screen and over at you. “You need to take better care of yourself. Now is as good a time as any to catch up on your body’s needs.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped. Sometimes Zayne needed to mind his own business. Wait, but he was your doctor, and one of your closest friends… What was the matter with you? You really needed to go back to bed and stop being such a nuisance. 

Maybe it’d be better if you got out of his life, too.

You met his questioning expression and the heat of your response drained out of your face. At that, you decided you didn’t want to wait for a reply. Whatever he wanted to say to you with that curious expression of his, you didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t deserve to hear it. You quickly left his office and never looked back. If he called your name as the door to his office slid closed behind you, it went unheard.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

5 missed calls.

Your phone screen blares the message in your face, blinding against the darkness of your room and blurry against the tears that threatened to fall, that had already fallen, that fell and dried and fell again. Your fingers itch to reply, to call him back or send him a text, but what’s the point? He doesn’t really care. He’s probably just going to scold you for leaving your appointment halfway and being childish and not following doctor’s orders and being rude to him.

Not only have you messed up your job, you’re messing up your relationships now, too. When will you ever stop? Can’t it ever stop?

Your phone buzzes and lights up in your fingers as your ringtone sings into your sheets once more. It’s him again. Doesn’t he know when to quit? You watch his name as it waits idly on your screen. It gets tired of waiting, as it always does, and finally disappears. You sigh as another hot tear slips down your cheek.

Something new happens this time.

1 new voicemail, your phone screen reads. You start to slide the notification away, but against your better judgment, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you give in, tap the notification, and listen. 

The line is silent for a moment, and part of you hopes he gave up and left you nothing.

Finally, after what sounds like a throat clearing, he speaks.

“Hey, it’s me,” Zayne’s voice comes through the speaker. It’s got that usual muffled crackly phonecall texture laid onto it, but it sounds enough like him that it feels like he’s right there with you, underneath the blankets. “Are you alright? …Listen. Whatever it was I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner, but you left so suddenly. Call me when you’re able?”

The silence creeps in again, and you can almost hear him consider saying something more, can almost see his expression as his thoughts thunder in his brain but refuse to leave his lips, but then there’s a click, and the call ends. The robotic voicemail message drones monotonously about saving the message, and halfway through, you hang up, too.

The back of your throat clenches and burns, and you barely fight back a sob as it wrenches itself out of you. Zayne was worried about you. You made him worry. You thought he was mad, you wanted him to be mad, but he’s not. He cares about you. Why…?

You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if you could push back the sting of tears that rush, hot and salty, from your bloodshot eyes. It hurts, and you start to see flashes of bright white stars under your eyelids, but it’s better than succumbing to the pain in your chest. Your heart shares a galaxy with the stars in your vision, a dying star that’s fizzling out, or maybe even being consumed by the void of a black hole. How morbidly comforting. You suddenly want to rip it out.

You wonder, just how difficult would it be to separate the Aether Core from your still-beating flesh…?

You try to shake the thoughts from your mind but they hold fast. Throwing the blankets off of your body, you leave your room hobbling like a zombie, make a beeline for the kitchen, and pull open a drawer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s late at night when there’s a knock at your door. A slight rap of the knuckles. A sharp one, two. Once, then twice, and on the third knock there’s another sound, too. A rattling jingle. And it’s times like these when you curse yourself for giving Zayne the extra key to your apartment.

He calls out your name as he steps in. You barely hear him. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s far away, or speaking quietly, or if you’re just that far gone into your own thoughts that everything else around you is muted.

He might have called only once, or a dozen times, by the time he reaches your room and spots your hunched figure on your bed. He says your name again, and this time you do hear him. 

You meet his gaze, steeled with concern, and immediately regret it. 

He sees you, really sees you, and all at once your façade crumbles once more. He approaches the edge of your bed, and you turn your eyes anywhere but at him as you brace yourself for impact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

Zayne grabs your wrist. Yet, his touch is gentle—firm enough to grip you, but soft enough that you could pull away if you wanted. You don't. You’re far too tired to fight anymore. You continue to stare at the floor with teary eyes, but there is resignation hanging heavy on your shoulders, like a wet blanket. Zayne takes your silent compliance as an okay to pull you along with him down the hallway of your dimly lit apartment and into the bathroom.

He sits you down on the toilet. The light clack of the lid hitting the porcelain beneath from your sudden weight seemed to jolt you awake a bit; your eyes refocus and follow his movements as he shuffles through the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a few things and then returns to tend to his patient.

"Hand. Here," he says as he holds out his own. You offer yours, and he meets you halfway. He always does. He’s as meticulous and calm as always as he cleans, disinfects, and wraps your wounds, ever the doctor, but there’s a certain softness in his motions that you’re sure he reserves for only his most cherished patients. 

Only for you.

The thought rolls a warm wave over you, the once wet blanket that had been dragging you down now fresh out of the laundry and wrapped carefully around you, cozy and hot and certain. There’s still a bit of damp spots here and there, but those will also dry in time. And you know Zayne will still be here when that time comes.

Your thoughts are broken when long fingers drag against your cheek, wiping away yet more damp spots and fanning through your shining lashes.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Zayne says, repeating his words from earlier that day. Was that really only today? This day was lasting a lifetime. As with before, his tone holds no ice. You regret snapping at him when he was only trying to help. He must feel your tension, because he puffs a breath out through his nose just then, and the warm air tickles the hairs on your forehead. He places a kiss there, the barest brush of his lips on your skin. He pushes your hair back with long warm fingers, tucking a strand behind your ear. “If you need help with that, I’m here. Always. You need only ask.”

Later still and he’s tucking you into bed and giving your forehead another gentle kiss, making you feel like a kid again. He’s surprisingly good at that. You don't know how he does it.

Zayne follows you under the covers, and leaves you an open invitation to snuggle against him, if you wish. You gratefully accept, tucking your head under his chin as he envelops you. He’s very careful not to apply pressure to your bandaged skin. 

Right before you fall asleep, he whispers a promise of breakfast tomorrow, and dinner, and whatever else comes next. A promise of staying, no matter what.

[desertskiespodcast]

Mental illness does not care about your creative endeavors. It doesn't care about...well, anything. It just is. And what "it" is, is sometimes (most often) not conducive to a consistently productive artistic life. And damn. It sucks. Because all I wanna do is make and make and make. Create and create and build and craft and..yeah. And sometimes I can't make and make because of depression. You might know what that feels like. My particular brand of neurodivergancy means I'll spend seasons incredibly over the top productive in my creative pursuits (though those seasons have become fewer since I began pursuing mental health recovery) and other seasons when I'm too low to be productive (and those seasons are fewer too, but maybe not as infrequent as I'd like). And maybe you too are sometimes inhibited by the sudden worsening of your symptoms. You draw less, you write less, you act less, you...get the picture. The thing I wish I'd known when I was younger is this; the inability to produce art as consistently as I'd like is a really shitty reason to not make the art I love when I'm able to. I do not think that living with a mental illness automatically means a person is more creative. I do believe that I like the art a person suffering from a mental illness makes more than I would otherwise. I think the reason is this. Those who live with depression, anxiety, OCD and the like, they're more likely to embody the human condition in its extremes than those who live relatively symptom free (I'm so thankful that some of you live symptom free). It can be difficult to communicate emotions in art, it's always comes across just a little bit muted. That's not to say art isn't emotionally powerful. We know it can be! But what's in the head almost never gets completely out. What with all that bone and everything. But the person who feels the real big feelings is going to make something that, though slightly muted as it may be, will nevertheless come across extremely human. And as a human, I enjoy stuff that feels very human. Most people do. Human people that is. So, if you suffer as many do, with the symptoms of a mental illness, please make your art as your symptoms allow. There's no rush. We need what you make because it's going to make us feel what you feel because what you feel is amplified human emotion. It speaks to us. I feel the need to add this: Do not avoid the pursuit of mental health because you think being free of, or experiencing less of, your symptoms will ruin your art. It can't. You never forget the big feelings. Even when they're not there anymore. You never forget them. So do something with them.

[notiddygothgf]

12. Ankle Biter

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ I think we both know what you want. Be a good girl and you might get it. You want me? ❞ ❝ Yes, please. ❞

★ c.w.: smut, denji. (NOT BETA'd. olivia will be my beta-er.) (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: IM BACK FROM THE DEADDDDDD!!! hi  my pookies. so. depression and uni have been tag teaming me. woman in stem or whatever. your comments have been keeping me going!!! When you're reading this, I'll have a few chaps stored up so i don't have hiatuses like this anymore teehee. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS!! its a two parter, so chapter two will be coming soon!!! okay!! comment!!! vote!!! love you all!!!! muah!!!! xxx

★ w.c: .6.8k

shameless ; chapter index

YOU TOLD YOUR HUSBAND you had a mission today. You told him you would be out all day – and probably into the night – with division four, which wasn’t totally a lie. In fact, it wasn’t even a stretch of the truth by much at all. You had spent the earlier half of your day making rounds in Tokyo with division four, ultimately finding that the perpetrator of a series of mysterious sounds coming from the downtown area was a tiny little cheese devil, which was disposed of in a matter of minutes.

What had been a lie, however, was that you would be out all night with the entirety of division four. Realistically, it was only one member.

“I’m hopping in the bath,” Aki sighed. He slipped his blood-soaked shirt (and coat) into a black trash bag. He kicked off his Converses, too. In the other room, he had left the tap on so that the tub could fill with warm water.

You followed him to the bedroom door, which you had left cracked open by accident a few minutes earlier when you and him had stumbled home. In the living room, Aki’s roommates ran around barefoot, chasing after one another for god knows what reason.

Even with his back turned – his toned, muscly back that rippled when he moved – he towered over you. Stepping behind him, you asked, “Can I come with you?”

He turned around then, face dusted with that pink tint you had grown to love. Like he – after all of the unspeakable things he had done to you – was embarrassed at the prospect of you wanting to bathe with him. Always the gentleman.

“The gremlins are home,” He mused, much more quietly than he had been speaking only a few moments earlier. His eyes, as moody and blue as ever, darkened as he added, “You sure you wanna start something so early in the evening?”

You retorted, “I never said I’d be getting in with you ,” like you hadn’t originally planned on doing exactly that.

“You’re just gonna sit and watch me, then?” He asked slowly, brow arched a little higher.

Shit. You couldn’t bullshit your way out of this.

“Okay, well, then, maybe I will get in,” You conceded, arms crossed – only because the way he was looking at you made you giddy and… a little nervous, to be frank. “But that doesn’t mean I’m starting anything. Not after the stunt you pulled earlier.”

The stunt in question? Aki had snapped at you for putting yourself in a compromising position on the mission – one that easily could have resulted in your demise, of course, but that was irrelevant, because all that mattered was that he had raised his voice at you to say, “ Stop being a dumbass. You almost died .”

You were the one who pulled a stunt, if anything. Still, you loved getting him riled up.

When he only peered down at you with a humored little grin, like he didn’t believe a word you had said, you added, “I’m just gonna be there to hang out with you.”

“Mmh,” He hummed after a brief silence, “Right.”

He knew you were playing hard to get. It wasn’t working, either. Not even a little bit.

Aki didn’t say another word as he led the way to the bathroom, his shirtless figure moving with that same quiet grace you’d come to know so well. You followed him, your heart doing somersaults in your chest, even though you tried to hide it beneath a casual air. When he reached for the robe hanging on the counter, he tossed it your way with an easy flick of his wrist, and you caught it.

The bathroom was warm already when you arrived, closing the door behind you and Aki and locking it with a quiet click. Aki slipped out of his pants without a word while your back was turned, busying yourself with the robe in your hands, unsure why you were suddenly so shy about it. 

You slipped your button-down off. Then your belt. Your pants came last – followed by your socks. Once you were in your undergarments, you stripped yourself bare – praying he didn’t see you in such an intimate position, like he hadn’t seen all you had to offer already.

You were trying to seem indifferent, but the soft sounds of his clothes hitting the floor did something to your composure. When you finally gathered the courage to turn back around, he had already sunk into the water, his body disappearing beneath the steaming surface.

Damn it. You missed it.

Now, Aki leaned back against the tub, his arms draped casually over the edges, and he was watching you with that half-lidded gaze that never failed to make your nerves fray at the edges. His hair, dampened slightly from the steam, clung to his forehead, and the way his eyes raked over you sent a shiver skittering down your spine. You stood frozen for a beat too long, feeling the intensity of his stare searing into you. He made no attempt to hide it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, barely managing to sound anything but meek as you crossed your arms over your breasts.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low and calm, though the smoldering gaze he cast your way didn’t falter. He didn’t even try to conceal the hunger in his eyes.

You huffed, rolling your eyes in a half-hearted attempt to mask the effect he had on you. You weren’t used to this kind of intimacy — not with him staring at you like that, all relaxed and self-assured in the steaming water. Somehow, this was more vulnerable than being naked – getting ready to bathe with him.

With a slight shake of your head, you shrugged off your clothes and stepped into the tub, sitting with your back pressed against his chest. His strong arms bracketed your sides, and you felt the warmth of him radiating through the water.

For a moment, everything felt quiet, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Aki’s fingers reached for a washcloth, his movements slow and deliberate as he wrung it out over his head, dark hair dripping with water. Then, he did the same for you, squeezing the warm droplets over your back, and you couldn’t help the way your body relaxed into him.

“Is the water okay?” He spoke – voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Not too hot?”

You were going to pass out.

“It’s fine,” You answered.

He hummed low in response, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. You hesitated for a moment before speaking again, voice a bit more quiet, but teasing. 

"Your voice... It's super hot. Have I ever told you that?"

Aki paused, the water dripping from the washcloth over your skin like tiny, warm raindrops. He let out a low chuckle, and you could feel the way his chest rumbled against your spine. 

"You think so?" he asked, his lips curving into a grin you didn’t even need to see. "Is that why you get all flustered when I boss you around on the clock?"

Heat flooded your face as you laughed, turning away from him a little. "I do not!" You tried to defend yourself, but the way your voice cracked betrayed you.

You absolutely did. Made you so hot beneath the collar that it wasn’t even funny .

"Yeah?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over the back of your neck, sending a chill down your body despite the heat of the bath. His voice dropped lower, teasing as he mocked you. " Yes, Sir, " he purred, the tone rich and velvety. "Sounds so goddamn sexy when you say it. Drives me fucking crazy."

You couldn’t help the embarrassed laugh that bubbled up in response, biting your lip as you hid your face with your hand. "Stop," you groaned, turning your head away, the flush on your cheeks deepening. But he didn’t stop—he could feel your embarrassment, and that only seemed to encourage him.

"You’re not saying anything now," Aki teased, his hand never pausing in its slow, comforting rhythm along your back. You tried to gather your thoughts, but it was impossible with the way your pulse quickened whenever he even touched you. "You’re cute when you’re flustered." 

You were going to combust. Actually.

His hand slid up from your shoulder, fingers lingering against your skin as they traced the line of your neck. You shivered, feeling the intensity of his touch, before his hand cupped the back of your head, gently tilting it back. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, the steam swirling between you.

His lips brushed against yours, soft but deliberate, like a question answered in the quietest of moments. A rush of heat flooded through you, your pulse syncing with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The kiss deepened, slow and sweet, before he pulled back, just enough to speak.

"Thought you said you weren’t starting anything, hmm? " he murmured against your lips, his thumb tracing your jawline. And in that moment, the world felt small again—just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, as if nothing else existed.

“I wasn’t,” You tried to protest, but whatever reply you had planned died on your lips the moment he pulled you in – by your jaw – for another kiss. It was soft at first, careful — but it didn’t stay that way for long. Heat flooded between you as the kiss deepened, his wet hand gliding down your chest, teasing touches igniting your skin with a slow burn.

"Bullshit. You love to get me riled up," His voice, low and husky, made your stomach flip as he murmured, “So I can give you what you want, right? Because you know I’m the only one who can.”

You did. You really, really did. And he was right.

Your breath caught, and your mind scrambled for some witty retort, but all you could manage was a shaky, "What do I want, then, if you know so much?”

One of these days, you would learn to keep your bratty mouth shut. That day was not today.

His fingers were gentle yet deliberate as they ghosted over your stomach – up, and then down, stopping just above the water’s surface. His lips hovered near your ear, "Watch the attitude. I’ll give it to you if you ask nicely.”

And, as his fingertips dipped beneath the surface, slipping down over your belly button and ghosting over the skin of your navel, you figured you would do whatever he asked if it meant he would go a little lower.

“I think we both know what you want,” He hummed. “Be a good girl, and you might get it. You want me?”

You broke without so much as a second of hesitation, “Yes, please .”

“Where, baby?” He breathed, voice deep and hot against your neck, your ear – while his fingers trailed a little lower, just barely caressing the place where he knew you needed him. “Here?” His other hand left your chin to slide down your side, coming up around your ribs to cup your breast ever-so-gently, “ Here?” 

“Yes– God, both,” You hissed quietly. When his hand slipped a little lower, towards the apex of your heat, you leaned into him.

“With those two sitting outside?” He added, continuing to tease you, like he was reveling in the feeling of drawing you closer to the edge of your patience. “We’d have to make it quick. They’ll start banging on the door any minute, now.”

You were going to say something, suggest that maybe the two of you should take a rain check on the bath, but the moment his fingers parted your lips and pressed gently on your clit, what came out was a desperate whisper of, “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good girl,” He breathed. Slowly, painfully slowly – he began rolling his finger over you in circles, applying a pressure so gentle it made your head spin. 

Meanwhile, the hand groping your breast began to massage it. The air of the bathroom grew suddenly cold, and maybe it was the warmth of the water, or of his kisses down your neck, but you felt your nipples form stiffened little peaks. A wonton shiver ripped itself from your core.

Clearly, he was just as riled up as you were – something that was evidently pressing up against your ass. You shifted your hips back a little further so that he could get a little friction – take the edge off a bit.

His touch was like a lighter, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his fingers traveled, sending goosebumps up and down your body. And, for a few minutes, he sat there, rolling his fingers over that little bundle of pleasure that had you bucking your hips up – biting your lip so hard to prevent a sound from escaping that you drew blood.

When his hand slipped further up the slope of your chest, fingers pinching your nipple, you mewled, arching your back. 

“So sensitive today,” He said. You didn’t have to look to know he was grinning. Every time his calloused, wet thumb slipped over your nipple, you rolled your hips. “You want more?”

You nodded. Fuck, yes. 

And, thankfully, this time, he didn’t keep you waiting. His fingers dipped a little further into you, tracing over your needy pussy like he had all the time in the world. It felt strange, given the water between his fingertips and your body, but not at all unpleasant.

Then, when you least expected it, he breached your entrance with one finger, eliciting a gasp from you.

He hushed you, taunting you as he murmured into the skin of your neck, “You’re gonna give us away. Gotta be quiet for me, baby. I know you can.”

When the other finger followed suit, you weren’t all too sure. 

He propped his head up on your shoulder, glancing over at you. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, misty with desire. “Haven’t even started with you, yet,” He tutted. “My pretty mama… so sensitive. Thought you were mad at me, huh ?”

You said nothing – out of embarrassment, of course, but the way your whole body arched into his touch gave you away. Aki grinned, pulling his fingers out of you, then putting them back in. 

You found yourself melting into him entirely. Desperate for some form of friction, you began to grind down on him; his hand, his lap. 

“ Mmmh, ” you purred. His voice alone was enough to have you inching a little closer to your peak – already, like you were a pent-up highschooler and not an adult. You slurred, “Keep talkin’”

“Yeah?” He pressed more kisses to the inside of your neck. “You’re gonna take it like a good fuckin’ girl, aren’t you? For me?” His breath was hot and ragged, fanning against your skin with a purpose. He knew better than to suck hard enough to leave a mark. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”

He leaned forward to capture your lips. You didn’t care that your head was craned at an awkward angle. You didn’t care.

You gasped when his digits curled up with a shocking suddenness. It was muffled, nothing more than a quiet cry silenced by the devilish onslaught of his lips dancing with yours like making a mess out of you was his job – and then you felt the pressure of his hand against your throat. That, combined with the feeling of his fingers curling inside of you, brushing against your tender walls… you were reduced to a babbling mess in a matter of seconds.

No one knew your body better than he did.

“Take it, baby,” He nestled his head into the crook of your neck, on the other side. His words, shadowed by his desire, spurred you on. His fingers picked up the pace. “Just like that.”

You shuddered, eyes threatening to roll back, feeling the slow pull and drag of them against your insides. When he scissored his fingers inside, you could feel yourself being stretched open. It felt so full, so good, your mouth hung open before you could even control it.

“ Aki ,” You whimpered weakly.

The way his fingers were hooked inside of you, fuck, they kept pushing at just the right spot. It felt like he was reaching into you and untying the strings of your orgasm; slowly, with every curl nudging you a little bit closer.

You glanced down at his arms. His big, strong, toned arms, his biceps, fuck. You could see the deep muscles of his forearm ripple and tense as he fucked you open with his fingers – a little quicker now. Your nails bit deep into the skin on his thighs, but he didn’t seem to care.

He seemed to be more focused on making you cum all over his fingers.

“You’re getting loud,” He spoke into your ear, nibbling just below the lobe soon thereafter. “What should we do about that?” The pace of his fingers quickened. “Feel good?”

“F–uck off,” You gasped out. “ Shit .”

He dove back into another searing kiss, body fitting against yours like two puzzle pieces finally reunited. You could feel him pressed up against you, his warmth, his hardness, and it sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

His lips spoke the language of his love, breathing his longing into your body. Your tongues were locked in a hungry, sensuous tango.

You whispered weakly, “Feels so good,” voice quivering with desire as his hand slipped away from your chest – he moved to cover your mouth with it, popping three digits deep into your mouth to shut you up.

“Want everyone to hear you?” He licked his lips. “Stay quiet, and I’ll give you what you want,”  A pause, then he crossed his fingers, twisting them deeper into you in a way that had your back arching away from him, had your legs quaking, 

“ Mn-ghh ,” You mewled around his fingers, feeling so damn good now that he was finally in you again. His fingers were so long, so big, the perfect size for you. No one could touch you like he could. You knew that.

You wrapped your tongue around the digits, sucking on them to give you something to do while you held in the shrieks of pleasure you knew would give you and Aki away to his roommates.

Pressing another messy kiss to your neck, he muttered, “ That’s my girl . You got it.”

You whimpered weakly in response. You were close enough already, and his voice was only nudging you closer and closer.

Somehow, despite the odds, the coil in your gut was drawing tighter and tighter. He was reaching deep inside of you and undoing you from the inside out like the lace strands of a tightly wound corset. The brutal pace of his long, fingers made your fucking brain go blank. You could do nothing but writhe and squeal for him.

He curved his fingers up sharply at just the right angle, thrusting his hand up and down and – before you knew what was happening, that warmth in your belly pooled up again. 

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” He grinned, voice a low murmur. “So fuckin’ sensitive. Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll talk you through it. I’m right here.”

When you whined quietly, eyelids fluttering shut, his fingers pressed deeper into you, massaging that spongy place deep inside of you that had you shaking. You gasped, clawing at his thighs.

“I know, I know,” He reassured you, Saccharine words dripping with venom. “ Wanna make you cum. You can do it f’me, yeah? I know you can. ”

For him.

“I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, rutting up against you. “ Make you feel so good .”

You gasped, the sound muffled by his fingers. Your body, however, gave a different signal. Your legs spasmed once more. His fingers were deep inside of you from both angles – three fingers knuckle deep in your pussy, three fingers pressing deep enough into your mouth to make you gag on them.

“So fucking beautiful,” Aki panted against your neck. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You could feel your guts clenching around his finger like you were trying to push him out. The sheer power this man had over you was near absurd. 

“I got you, baby,” He panted, peering over at you with such feverish hunger that it made your legs shake. “You know I’ll always make you feel good, right?”

That much was true. You knew that he knew your body well – better than anyone else ever had or ever could.

Then, you moaned – it slipped out. Truly, you had never intended to let it slip. Yet, still, when his fingers curled up against a particularly sensitive spot with all of the ease of a harpist plucking at the strings of your core, your lips spilled a sinful, long, drawn-out moan, as if to say, Don’t stop, I’m close . 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” His smirk grew in size with a satisfied hum, “You gonna cum for me?”

Instantaneously, somehow, his fingers pressed the right spot – just the right amount of pressure – then it snapped. The coil of your release snapped with all of the power of a freight train, your orgasm slamming into you in a way that had your back arching up off of him. The ebb-and-flow of the pleasure made your mind run wild with desire – your hips rode it out like you were surfing waves..

You gasped, biting down on his fingers. Finally coming down from your high, you laid your head back.

Fuck me. I can’t believe I just did that. This was a new low for you – in the bathtub? While his roommates were outside doing god knows what?

He slid his fingers out of you slowly, savoring the way you clenched around them one last time before pulling out. He sucked the slick of your arousal off of his fingers. 

“Hey, there. Welcome back.” He hummed, sucking gently on your neck, too gentle to leave a mark. The two of you panted, desperate to catch your breath. You were too weak to say anything as he turned your head to the side, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. 

You whimpered weakly in response. Aki chuckled, wrapping his arms around your trembling body and bringing you in for a hug. 

“You okay, baby?” He hummed, tucking your hair away behind your ear.

This was too intimate. All of this was too intimate. It made you wonder what a life with him really would entail. 

As if sensing your thoughts, Aki leaned in, his movements slow and careful, like he was afraid of shattering the fragile moment between you. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, tender and undemanding, the warmth of his mouth mingling with the steam from the bath. It was brief, but enough to send a shiver through you, a quiet promise hidden in the way his lips lingered before pulling away.

He hummed softly, the sound reverberating through the humid air as his fingers found their way to your hair, massaging the water into your scalp with slow, rhythmic movements. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, the stress melting from your body as he worked.

Without thinking, you shifted, moving to sit on his lap, your hands reaching for his shoulders, intending to initiate the next step. But before you could, his hand caught your wrist, stopping you gently but firmly.

“No, not in here,” Aki murmured.

You frowned, a playful pout forming on your lips. "Why not? You’re still..." Your voice trailed off, your eyes drifting over his body, but before you could say anything more, his quiet laughter interrupted your thoughts.

“Let’s finish washing up first, okay?” he smiled, brushing his thumb over your wrist, his gaze warm but teasing as he held you at arm’s length. There was something so endearing about the way he was in control, yet still patient with you.

You sighed, the heat still simmering in your veins, but nodded nonetheless, settling back into the warmth of the bath as his hand resumed its soothing motions, reminding you once again that with Aki, there was always time.

There was always time.

After finishing up in the bath – taking about 30 more minutes just to shampoo, condition, and wash up, you and Aki helped you into your robe (which was his robe, but he was letting you use it) and tied a towel around his own waist. Even though you protested, saying you could limp back just fine, Aki insisted on carrying you back to his room.

The fabric of Aki’s robe was soft and plush against your damp skin. Thankfully, the living room was empty. It sounded like both Power and Denji had retreated to their rooms for the evening (but you could never be too sure).

Still, at the very least, you didn’t think anyone could see Aki walking back to his room, carrying you like a bride – hair dripping wet, completely bare beneath the oversized robe he had given you. Neither Denji nor Power could see the way your face flushed when you passed their rooms – doing your best to appear as if their Captain hadn’t just been knuckle-deep in your pussy.

Once you were in his room, Aki set you down on the bed. “Pajama shirts are in the top right drawer on the dresser. Sweaters are in the closet. You can wear my boxers for shorts, if you want. They’re top left in the dresser. I’m a towel short, so I’ll be right back.

You nodded. He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of your head – leaning down to do so – and then left the room. You glanced around, taking a moment to soak in your surroundings. Aki’s room was so him , something so different from the cold apartment you knew back home with your husband. The walls of his bedroom were a soft, deep blue. All of his furniture matched – black. On his dresser, there wasn’t much more than a few small pictures and loose belongings he’d taken out of his pockets earlier.

Curiously, you rose to your feet and walked over, ghosting your hand over the smooth, finished surface of his dresser. There, like little mosaics of his life, the pictures told a story. A photo of him and Himeno on the far left – it looked like they were at some sort of event with a photobooth. She was grinning ear-to-ear, arm thrown around Aki’s shoulder, face a little flushed with what you assumed was liquor. Aki, in contrast, was pouting, as if the very idea of posing for silly little pictures pissed him off – he was younger, sure, and his hair was shorter, eyes a little brighter, but it was definitely him.

I still have to call her back and tell her what happened, You remembered.

The next photo was with Denji and Power. It was a picture of them at a bowling alley – Aki’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing that Poker-Face expression you knew so well. Denji was stuffing his face with a hot dog, and Power was grinning with her arms crossed. 

The one after that made you stop in your tracks. It was a family portrait – or it looked like one, anyway. Aki was on the bottom left, wearing that miserable little pout of his. Behind him, a man and woman with black hair and soft features stood, smiling. Another boy was right next to him. He looked almost exactly like Aki, save for the shorter hair and youthful smile. 

He really had been serious his whole life. Furthermore, after glancing one more time at the woman you assumed was his mother, you could tell where he got his good looks from. She was beautiful. It was an honest shame that he lost both of his parents so young.

The door clicked, a reminder that looking through people’s personal affects was weird, and you skipped over to the closet. Opening the door, you quickly snagged a big gray hoodie. 

In tandem, the door to Aki’s bedroom opened. He came in looking like something straight out of a wet dream – towel tied loosely around his waist, his skin glistening with droplets of water that caught the dim light of his bedroom.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of Aki’s bare chest, the defined muscles of his torso flexing slightly as he moved. Your eyes roamed up and down his body, lingering on the lines of his abdomen, the narrow curve of his hips, the way the towel clung to him just enough to drive you crazy.

Your mouth went dry, and you had to swallow hard to keep yourself from doing something stupid like staring too obviously or letting out the low groan building in your chest. It was impossible to look away, though — Your brain short-circuited before you could fucking think of anything else.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

You blinked, trying to say something, but all you could think was: Fuck me. A ll you could think about was the man in front of you, who looked as if he had been cut from stone, shaped carefully by the hands of a Greek sculptor.

You were all too aware of the way Aki’s chest rose and fell with each breath, the droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the tantalizing glimpse of skin just above where the towel ended – the way the moisture trickled down his pecs and abs and his biceps , and–

“You want a picture?” He teased you. Then, clearly comfortable around you, he turned around and pulled a T-shirt, Sweatpants, and a pair of boxers out of the dresser. 

You wanted to add something, perhaps a witty comeback, but you couldn’t think one up. Not when he reached down and untied the towel, letting it fall to the ground with a quiet ‘floop’, and certainly not when he pulled a pair of black boxers up to his hips, wiggling from side to side until it hugged his ass perfectly .

Any moment now, you were going to start drooling like a fucking dog.

“You have a brother?” You asked.

He tensed – evident in the way his shoulders bristled at the mention of it. “Had a brother,” He corrected with a sigh that made you regret bringing it up. “Taiyo. He died with my parents.”

You felt your own shoulders drop. Gnawing on your lower lip, you commented, “I’m sorry. You look like your mom, though. You’ve got her eyes.”

He stilled, the tension draining from his posture, and when he turned to look at you, sweats halfway up his long legs, his face softened too. “Thank you,” he murmured, and the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled made your heart flip.

He tugged his shirt on next, pulling it down over his lean frame, and then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, towel in hand. You watched, momentarily mesmerized, as he rubbed the towel through his damp hair, still half-distracted by the quiet ache in his voice from before.

Finally, you slipped out of your robe and pulled Aki’s sweater on. You didn’t want to let the moment linger too long, not when the air still felt heavy with what he’d shared. 

You reached over and flicked on the radio on the nightstand, the dial clicking softly. The familiar melody of an old song spilled into the room, crackling in from a nearby station. An old 70’s song drifted through the speakers, setting a strange kind of peace over the space.

‘I go crazy, 

When I look in your eyes, I still go crazy. 

No, my heart just can’t hide that old feelin’ inside. 

Way deep down inside. 

Oh, baby, you know when I look in your eyes, I go crazy.’ 

Flopping back into the bed with a tired sigh, Aki glanced at you sideways, a small, amused smile playing on his lips as the song played on. He looked like the fatigue from the day he had finally caught up to him. You shifted closer, laying down on your side next to him. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, your noses nearly brushing. His eyes met yours, warm, soft blue, like pools of desire. There was a tenderness in the way he looked at you now that made you melt. Something unspoken, but not entirely unfamiliar.

‘I go crazy when I look in your eyes, 

I still go crazy. That old flame comes alive, 

It starts burning inside, way deep down inside, 

Oh, baby, you know when I look in your eyes…’ 

For a moment, you didn’t need to speak. The music did all the talking, the lyrics wrapping around you both like a cocoon of nostalgia. But eventually, he broke the silence, his voice barely above a murmur. “You know… you didn’t have to say that about me. About my mom.”

‘I go crazy…’ 

You blinked, confused for a second. “I saw the picture on your nightstand. It’s true. Did I upset you?”

He let out a quiet laugh, his breath brushing against your cheek. “No, not that, but... it’s just strange, is all. ‘M not used to having someone notice the little details about me.”

“I notice a lot about you,” you admitted without thinking, the words slipping out, vulnerable but unguarded.

His eyes softened even more, something unreadable flickering behind them. “I know.”

There was a beat of silence, the intimacy thickening the air between you. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he confessed, voice hushed, as though the vulnerability of the statement might break if he said it too loudly.

Your heart skipped at his words. You wanted to tell him that he did the same for you, that you’d been carrying around your own lonely weight for so long, but it was hard to find the words when his eyes were that close, and his hand was still on your face, warm and careful. Instead, you closed the space between you, pressing your forehead to his, feeling the soft hitch of his breath against your lips.

“I love you more,” you whispered, the words a promise.

His eyes searched yours, a lingering intensity beneath the softness, as though he was still making sure this moment was real. The space between you felt like it was shrinking with every breath, and then, finally, he leaned in. It was slow, almost hesitant at first, like he was giving you the chance to pull away, to stop it—but you didn’t want to stop it. His lips brushed yours, feather-light, barely there. The gentleness of it sent a shiver down your spine, making your breath hitch.

You felt your whole body relax into him, the world fading around you as the kiss deepened. His lips were warm and soft, moving over yours with such tenderness that it felt like he was trying to savor every second. He kissed you like you were something precious—like he had all the time in the world and wanted to make sure you knew exactly how much this moment meant to him. 

It was the same thing as before – the same lips you had felt a hundred times before, passionate and gentle.

The warmth of his hand cupped your cheek, thumb grazing along the line of your jaw as he tilted your face slightly, angling the kiss deeper. You responded, leaning into him, letting yourself sink into the kiss, into him. It was slow, unhurried, but there was a steady pull between you, a quiet need that grew with every second your lips stayed locked together.

Your hands, almost of their own accord, slid up his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt. You curled your fingers into the fabric, tugging him closer, and he obliged, his body pressing into yours as he shifted. His lips parted slightly, and when your tongues brushed, the kiss grew hotter, more urgent. A soft sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it, his own breath hitching in response.

You felt him smile against your mouth for just a moment before the kiss became more heated. He shifted again, rolling on top of you, his weight settling over you in a way that made your heart race. The heat between you intensified, the kiss turning hungry, both of you chasing the feeling, lost in the closeness. His hands wandered, sliding down to your waist, fingers digging in slightly as if he needed to ground himself, to keep from getting completely lost in you.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, fist tangled in his damp hair, pulling him down even closer as you deepened the kiss, your lips moving together with a heat that sent electricity coursing through your veins. Every brush of his lips, every little movement, felt like it was setting something inside you alight. His mouth, his touch, the sound of his breath mixing with yours—it was all you could think about.

But then, just as the kiss reached a fever pitch, the door creaked open.

“When’s dinner gonna be rea— Oh, shit,” Denji’s voice pierced through the haze of your kiss, making your entire body jolt in surprise. He paused, voice lazy but amused. “Didn’t know you guys were getting freaky in here.”

Aki groaned, like shit like this was a frequent occurrence in this household, and threw the blanket over you to shield you from his roommate’s prying gaze. “What happened to knocking? ”

“Does Himeno know about you guys?” He asked. “It seemed like she did toda–”

“Denji,” Aki gritted out, rolling onto his butt and pointing at the door. “ Out. ”

“Fine,” Denji sighed, not moving from his spot, “If you’re gonna bang, do it quietly this time.”

“Do you want to starve?” He retorted.

“You’ll starve too, asshole,” Denji popped his hip out. “Some of us are injured. ”

Aki hissed, “You’re gonna have much worse than a busted leg if you don’t get out of my room.”

They’re like children, these two, you thought, but chose not to voice it.

“Alright, damn , sorry,” He conceded. “Can you make curry? Please?”

Aki’s gaze flickered from you to Denji, clearly weighing his options. The moment was already ruined, and you could see the gears turning in his head. He let out a low sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before meeting Denji’s gaze with a dry expression.

“Will you piss off if I do?” Aki asked, deadpan, his voice tinged with exasperation.

Denji shrugged, grinning lazily as he leaned against the doorframe. “I can try.”

Aki stared at Denji for a moment, as if he was weighing whether it was even worth the trouble. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the bed, glancing at you briefly before heading for the door. As he slipped off the bed, he leaned down just enough for his voice to reach your ears, low and steady.

“ This isn’t over, ” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your lips for a beat before he turned and walked out, leaving you sitting there with your heart racing.

As soon as Aki was gone, Denji gave you his usual lazy grin, completely oblivious to the tension that still hung in the air. “Hi, by the way,” he quipped, wiggling his fingers in a half-hearted wave before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

You sighed, cheeks still warm, but a small smile crept onto your face. Typical Denji.

After taking a second to steady yourself, you got up and followed Aki down the hall. When you reached the kitchen, he was already there, pulling two cans of beer from the fridge. He cracked them open with practiced ease, the soft hiss of carbonation filling the quiet space.

Without a word, he handed you one, his earlier promise still lingering in the air between you, the cold bottle brushing your fingers. “Here,” he said, his voice a little softer now that it was just the two of you again.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The cold liquid slid down your throat, a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering in your body from earlier.

Aki leaned against the counter, his shoulders relaxing as he took a swig of his own beer. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there beside you, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. The tension from the bedroom had faded, replaced by the easy calm that always seemed to settle in when it was just the two of you, no interruptions.

After a moment, he glanced over at you, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I don’t know who he thinks he is,” he said, a little amused. “ Hi, by the way ,” Then, “Fuckin’ ankle biter.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking another sip. “What? You mad he interrupted us?”

“Maybe.” He deadpanned, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Is curry fine with you?”

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled.

A/N: [pornhub lady voice] If you liked chapter 12... you'll LOVE chapter 13....... you know i hate to blue ball yall. thats why i wont!! stay tuned!!!! again, comment and talk to me, wya, i missed yall. how r u? howd u like the chapter??? what do u wanna see in the story?????? tell me everything omg. also HAPPY HALLOWEEN BITCHZZZZZZ !!! i'm gonna get wasted as little bo peep. wish me luck -- if my man lays it down who knows i might be inspired to write a smutty chapter about it. (stay tuned) seriously though take care yall!! i'm so glad to be back!!! kisses and hugs xx

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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[badgyalshii]

ITS NEVER OVER |||

+ (WHERE HAVE YOU GONE)

word count: 1.7?

Paul atreides x Reader (Always safe for POC + PLUS SIZE) Paul POV!!!

warnings: signs of depression? were happy in there tho, proof read? yeah something like that (god i am not good at these😭) y/n is not in this chapter but ofc shes mentioned entirely throughout the text.

A/N: AHHHHHH THE FINAL CHAPTER BEFORE THE FINALE, IM EXCITED TO POSTTTT, i hope you guys enjoyed and i love the feedback i recieved! i love you all, have a good day/night, whenever you get this! (Also, considering that this is from pauls POV i thought that i might add an extra title)

Hey! Have you read the first chapters? You didnt? What! Read it here!! I . II . III . IV.

Hmm? You said you like shii’z writing?! Omg me too! Check out her masterlist!

He let out a heavy breath before he ripped his mask off of his face. He wasn't supposed to be out alone considering he was the new crowned emperor. But he was, and he was searching for you and he wasn't gonna give up until he did. He wore heavy clothing to try and hide his identity from others, and a bag that slung around his shoulder consisting of his journal, water, and other things he might need. He settles for the night in a rock. A rock with a beautiful view. He has been on the road for so long, he's forgotten how long, he didn't really care to remember either, considering it would help motivate to find you. He walks around the rock, searching for anything to give him clues of you or if you might've been here.

As he looked around, It was clear that someone had been there before. He looked at the bad attempt of making a bed, but he didn't touch it. His eyes slightly closed from trying to study the bed, there were still prints of a body, maybe two, on the bed. He hunches over. There was a piece of hair, as disgusting as it sounds…he picked it up. It was the same as yours, he took a rather long pause before thinking, maybe he should smell the bed? No, what if he smells something he doesn't like. He shook his head before looking at the single strand of hair that was in his hand. He sat down on the bed, setting the hair gently aside before taking off his glove and putting the strand back in his palm. Everybody's hair could be similar, he thought. He let out a sigh before looking ahead of him. He didn't know what time it was, but all he knew was that he was tired and heart broken. He didn't miss his home, not at all, not with you not there.

He put his glove and his mask back on before placing the hair into his bag. Out of everything that was going on, at least the view was beautiful. He stood and walked to the view of the rock, carelessly taking footsteps before he sighed and dropped down, his legs open and his elbows on his knees as he took in the view. He let in a deep breath. ¨tired. I am tired¨ he let out in a whisper. He fought his sleep often because he knew it would make him less confident and he would grow to slack, but sometimes he just couldn't take it anymore. The yawns leaving his lips, difficulty holding onto the hooks that latched onto the sandworm, but he thought he could finally settle here for a while, as a reward for finding a piece of hair that have a 5 percent chance of being yours.

As he watched the view, he thought of you. He didn't cry as much anymore. When he cried, he cried alone in private. And during that time, he cried until he couldn't anymore. Every time he saw Irulan it made him sick to his stomach. As much as he wanted to blame her, he couldn't. His heart was too good and he knew better than to let a weak desperate moment turn into anger. ¨why did i offer?¨ he would think over and over, countless times, wondering how could he be so careless. But he wasn't, he didn't want to marry her for the reason of love, just wanted to keep her safe as a promise to the retired and overthrown emperor. Thinking about it made him question his character, who has he grown to be? hed remembered what you said, he always thought of the smart and wise things you had to say.

¨its okay to feel how you feel, paul¨ you looked at him with a pity smile on your face while your hand was on his cheek. He had another nightmare. He didn't want it to be true. ¨this is gonna make me go crazy, y/n¨ paul whispered back, leaning into y/ns touch. ¨don't let it fool you, don't let it phase you, don't let it change you¨ you replied. At times, all paul wanted to do was give up. He didnt wanna be the chosen one. It was all too much. He could stay here forever, with you. For all eternity if he could.

Paul sighs and looks to the side. Remembering what you said, he wished things weren't so quiet.he laughed to himself, all the dreams he had of the future, but none of you. He sat alone, all alone, not one book, not one sound, just him, by himself. He felt empty, he wants you, he needs you, he needed someone to make him feel complete again, but days spread thick and long, bored, fighting himself back and forth between hope for finding you and wondering if you had just moved on. He wished he had a dream of you, of your blue eyes glistening in the sun, of your laugh, He wished it was so vivid that he touched you, that he could control his dream and talk to you, make love to you, but he had nothing, nothing at all. Nothing to remember you by, just a stupid suspicious piece of hair, tears brimmed his eyes, he needs you. There was no one he could pray to if he was the chosen one. No matter how hard he fought, how he tried to distract himself from work, it all lead up to one person, not one other thought, never out of sight out of mind, he knew what he wanted and he fell so deep he felt like he just couldn't grasp it anymore, how was he supposed to live his life without you. Your soft gentle hands grazing his face and answering the stupid and goofy questions he asked. There was no one else and he knew that now, didn't even find anyone else attractive. Lonesome nights, he didn't want to be on his own, ever again. Once he found you he vowed to never let you go, no matter how loud your voice is, no matter if you kicked him down, your in his heart and he just cannot let go, but how long could he search? Huh? How long would it be until he found you? When will he hear your voice again? When will he kiss you again? He didn't even say I love you before you walked off, for all he knew, that was his last goodbye.

On the first day, he acted as if nothing happened, but then he realized you weren't there, he couldn't pick at your dinner plate, he could hear your laughs, he couldn't feel your pity hits after he whispers a dirty joke. He had no one to talk to, no one to ask him if he was okay. Was he...okay? Had he known he was okay? Or has he grown so long to the point where he wasnt and he just didn't know it. He wished he said more, begged you to stay, cried about it, weeped about it, there was so much he could've done and he didn't, he only said a short explanation of how he was waiting for you and now he's on the run, on the search. He was so tired, so tired of looking at the same spice on the ground, carving on the rock of the walls. He wanted to be next to you, holding your head in his shoulder, hear your soft snores as you slept like there wasn't a care in the world. He'd never expect this, a life without you. He sighed and shook the thought out of his head, noticing he was in too deep and he wiped the tears that slowly dropped from his face, letting out a sniffle as he looked ahead. He didn't want to be too deep, of course he missed you, but he wanted to find you with a clear conscience, a healthy mind. He needed something to keep him going. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He placed a palm down and leaned closer to the floor. What is this? This imprint on the floor? Looks familiar.

He looked over it, careful not to move or make any sudden movements. ¨y/n?¨ he muttered. Any normal person would've thought paul as crazy, looking like he's searching for spice on the floor, and then wanting to jump and cheer, because, well, because what?

The necklace

The necklace Paul got for her. It was there! Clear as day. What a time to cheer! He couldn't fight off the smile on his lips. She's alive! She's alive! What a joy, out for two years! Been all around Arrakis, and at such a time he was going to give up, go home, force himself to get comfortable with his new situation, you were out there. Shall he go home? To tell stilgar and have a celebration? Sweet red wine sounded like heaven. He wiped his eyes as finally, finally tears came down. Tears of joy, he waited for this moment, oh so long! He was so happy he could take the dirt and put it in his bag also.

He laughed, he found it funny how he grew so tired of being next to his queen that he went and found you himself after he told you to come back. He grew impatient. He took out his journal and wrote, writing his life away as he thought of you, as the warmness of love and hope crowded his vision and spreaded throughout his body. This is all he wanted, to find you. And he was so close, so, so close.

He hadn't felt like this in a long time. He got up and collected the dirt from the necklace in his hand and watched it fall from his gloves. Looking around and seeing the footsteps, all yours he believed! He looked before following the footsteps, he followed them foot by foot until he was in the sand again. He hunched over, trying to search for the footsteps as they were getting lost from the wind of the sand until he couldn't anymore. He stood and pulled out his compass for the direction that you went. When it pointed he saw and lifted his head in the direction you went. This was it, this was the final piece, this was the end.

You were home.

Taglist 🏷️

@ennycutie @cookiezxx

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

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

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

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

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Thank you all for being so patient with this update! As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[pinkyqil]

Memories

Alexia putellas x Jenni hermoso x spain nt

Warning: mention of depression, death, suicide suffering in silence, angst

A/n: had this in drafts for a really long time and finally finished it all of this is pure fiction so don't take it too heart plz and if you're going through a hard time I definitely don't suggest you read this and that you're always loved by someone out there.

and as always hope you enjoyed the fic and your feedbacks are appreciated 💗

© PINKYQIL

Alexia and jenni had been on a long break taking one from each other and their relationship. they wanted to fix things as well has giving each other space so with the circumstances giving that what they did.

Not wanting to cause any unhiddien tension at camp it would be quite obvious that there was some type of heavy tension between them. but there professionalism wouldn't let that get into there work space.

A few of there closest friends had noticed the distance between them but said nothing.

Alexia on the other hand found herself struggling from every single corner. she wasn't the type to talk about her feelings so as usual she bottles it all.

in until she couldn't handle it all but today she couldn't handle the pain anymore everything was taking a toll on her. The media fans even family members everything she felt was ruining her she couldn't take it anymore she tried over an over to overcome everything alone but her mind told her otherwise so she choose to do the unthinkable.

Mapi had walked past her bestfriend noticing something usual about her but couldn't say anything as alexia already passed her. she would later realize that moment would be the last one she would ever see her bestfriend.

Irene was talking to jenni asking if things were alright between the couple being one of there closest friends and she cared for both of them like sister's.

Later that day the team had been called for one more run through before they faced Italy it was nice to have mapi pina and patri back at camp. everyone was very happy for them the hardship they've been through they come to deserve everything if not everything.

But someone was missing doing the run through it was alexia jenni was the first to notice it wasn't like her at all. Beings the firm captain she's always reminding everyone to be on time helping the younger ones out. and all it was all feeling strange to jenni she had a bad gut feeling and didn't want to believe in it so she shock off the bad feelings.

Later that same evening alexia was nowhere to be found it felt like her existence was erased to jenni from some reason. She gave the girls one last goodbye before she head to the shared penthouse her and alexia brought together thinking she might be there.

Jenni found herself going through all the room except their's for some reason as if she was afraid to discover what was behind those doors. She finally found the courage to open the door she found herself shaken and dropping to her knees.

she couldn't believe what unfolded right before her eye's wishing this was all some type of horrid nightmare but it wasn't.

There it was alexia body laying unconsciously on the ground no movement detected the sight before jenni broke her heart once again.

she knew alexia was struggling but not to this extent she wanted her to come over and at least ask for help but she should have known better it was alexia after all and now she had lost her.

She held alexia body close to her the shock still hitting her so hard. they we're supposed fix there problems together always be there for each other but since. there fight everything went downhill it was a dumb argument that went too far between the two that was supposed to be resolved but never happened.

Tears rolling down her face wishing she could take back everything said between them. She lost the one person that loved and truly cared for her lost the one person that she called hers the one to always put a smile on her face everyday.

She was la reina in the hands of her knight in shining armor who couldn't save her in time but memories of her will always be remembered

[lowkeyrobin]

JJ MAYBANK ; replacement

summary ; the falling out of pogues jj maybank and y/n l/n

warnings ; language, shit talking, fighting, the term girly used to refer to voice

track ; if i were the devil, colby acuff

work count ; 1.4k

masterlist ; part two

You collect sea shells along the beach while JJ surfs far out in the water. This was your way of bonding with him now that John B and Sarah were gone.

He didn't talk as much to you as he used to, but he still took the time to hang out with you, Kie, and Pope at least. He was just depressed about John B being gone, and you totally understood.

Now, you sit in the sand, enjoying the salty air against your face as you watch JJ wash to the shore again. He picks up his board and unstraps his foot from the little device and walks over to you, hand outstretched to pull you up.

You take his hand with a little smile, the seashells in your pockets clinking and clanking as you walk away from the water.

"John B would've loved those waves"

˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚

You sit on a dead tree log next to one of the campfires, located far enough away from the water. Your guitar lays in your arms as you strum the strings, lightly singing along as you play the melody. You make sure to keep your voice deep so you wouldn't have any voice cracks or sound too "girly" around all these people whom you didn't really know or didn't want to know anymore.

Of course, your friends were caught up believing Sarah Cameron and John B were still out there, having been sent texts from random numbers claiming to be them.

You'd never been the type to be fooled easily or quickly trust someone or something, it was no shock you didn't believe them, even after seeing the texts for yourself. You were the only one to not receive a message from them, which was why you were so skeptical. You knew John B knew your number by heart, having to call you over payphones when he got in trouble or lost his phone for the millionth time that day.

JJ was the first to call you a dumbass about it, deadass. The fact that you'd think that the pair were dead before thinking they were okay was insane to him. Then that started an argument, and now you were taking it out on your music while you could see them devising a plan down by the water.

You stand up, whistling along to yourself.

You think about how JJ yelled at you. So much for the best friend title. What a shitshow.

Kie and Pope just sat back and watched, they didn't do a thing.

JJ was known for little outbursts and tantrums, but you'd never seen him so mad. He looked at you like a thousand suns burned in his eyes.

He didn't tower over you physically, but mentally, it felt like it, it sounded like it. You'd never seen him so angry over something so small, which obviously made you fight back about how he needed to calm himself down about it. He just about lost it after that, with Kie and Pope standing off to the side unknowing of what to do as he threw a glass cup at you.

You stared at him with that familiar reminiscence that he for sure felt as well. You were JJ in this universe now, and he played the role of his father.

You jumped and stepped away to avoid the explosion of fragile glass and looked back up at him, your eyes swallowed by fear, pupils dilating. He was silent and still, probably realizing how he'd blown things out of proportion. He wasn't able to say anything or call for you as you ran outside and jumped onto your bicycle, trying to run away as fast as possible, in fear he'd run after you.

In fight or flight, you picked flight, you were outmatched in that case scenario.

Pope ran out after you but was unable to catch up or make you stop with his desperate calls. He stops in his tracks, a few yards away from the front of the house. He watches you travel away, using all the might left in your legs to get away as fast as you could.

You reminisced how close you were with JJ before John B went missing, even before all the treasure shit. You used to go driving around at the dark and enjoy nature and vent to each other before you hurt someone or yourselves. But now, it was like everything you'd built was just... gone.

You stand on the beach, venting out your feelings as you stare daggers into the back of JJ's head, standing down the beach about ten or twenty yards.

"I watched the flames in your eyes burn like hellfire"

You circle around the little bonfire, then move towards the largest one towards all the people, tourists, kooks, and pogues alike.

"The devil walks among us friends, I know this is true"

You notice Kie turn to look at you, happily enjoying yourself with the large crowd of strangers, quietly listening to you out of earshot. She turns back to the two boys, listening as they speak.

"One thing that I know, we need to take a look around. If I were the devil, this world would be my playground"

You strum the strings of your guitar, glancing up at the people singing along and watching and even recording you. You look up, using a slight form of acting to act out your words, furrowing your brows.

"As I place that thorny crown on my furrowed brow, well, I'd shine in all the tears of joy, yelling from the crowd"

You continue, aware of the strangers actually recording you, hoping they wouldn't post you online, although you know they would without your consent. Maybe it was just the fact you were a walking jukebox or your weird accent, but they genuinely seemed to enjoy it. Scarily enough, that included the weirdo Topper, too.

"If I were the devil, this world was mine to see. Well, I'd witness all the atrocities, and it'd probably frighten me" Your voice shakes a bit, looking over to see Pope, Kie, and JJ looking at you, probably listening.

You quickly looked away, not trying to interact.

"So I'd run back home with a story to tell. I'd tell all my demons friends that I always preferred Hell"

They must've heard you with that one. JJ furrows his brows while Kie shows the same, more lighthearted facial expression while Pope looks up at you with a visible apology as he catches your eye. JJ is the first to start making his way towards you as you talk to a group of three Pogues who'd been recording you, who genuinely wanted to share your talent online. They were also trying to use you as a jukebox, which didn't mind, since the Kooks' bluetooth speaker died long ago and music was needed at the moment.

The blonde quickly pulls you around by your shoulder, making you nearly hit him with the neck of your instrument. You jump out of your skin in surprise, then look at him, furrowing your brows.

"Fuck's up your ass? Replacing us already?" He asks in an intimidating tone.

You roll your eyes and turn back to the three pogues, apologizing before dragging him down towards the water for some privacy. Kie and Pope watch in the distance out of earshot, working as your body guards in case a physical fight starts.

"Fuck's up my ass? Are you kidding, JJ? Just leave me alone, okay? You're acting like I dedicated that shit to you, it's a song, get over yourself!"

"Get over myself? Says the one who ran away earlier! John B is alive, we're going to go save him, Y/n."

"Piss off"

You angrily walk back up the sandy beach, returning to the pogues with a smile. "Sorry about that, but what were you saying before we were interrupted?"

JJ looks on in astonishment, Kie and Pope approaching to make sure he was slightly okay after that.

"Fuck them"

˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚

"Where's Y/n?" John B asks in concern, gasping for air, looking back up at JJ, Kie, and Pope.

The trio glance at each other awkwardly.

"Long story, we'll tell you later" Kie quickly speaks

"Are they okay? Did something happen?" Sarah asks, voice shaking a bit in worry.

"Oh, no, no, they're fine!" Pope exclaims, raising his hands up a bit as he speaks with body language. "Uh, there was just some... technical difficulties"

JJ scoffs, "Technical difficulties as in they replaced us"

"JJ!" Kie slaps the blonde's arm, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm speaking the truth, Kie! They replaced us, they're done with us, get it through your head!"

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love pt. 8💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!reader]

TW: Cussing, angst, some tension

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hi everyone! Posting in Elvis hours again! Hope you like where this next part is heading! More to build upon and can't wait to share with you what's next! I Hope you enjoy!

*

July 8th, 1969

The next few days felt like an eternal hell. It almost felt like you had to start your life over. It was lonely and quite depressing. You were so mad at Elvis for how he’s treated you after all these years and the other night was your breaking point. You thought a person could change but you might have been wrong. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened over dinner. You kept to yourself for the next few days and no one seemed to mind. John didn’t bring up once why you stormed out of Elvis’ house. It was a better idea for him to do that. You didn't want anything to do with him. 

You had to get yourself out of this funk. You can either let this define you or do something else to make a difference in your career. You started taking fewer hours at the diner which was a scary choice because you knew it wasn’t going to be easy getting new auditions and getting booked for them. It had been three years since you’d gotten anything remotely interesting. You were afraid you didn’t have it anymore. 

You tried to push that negative energy out of your mind and focus on some good. You had to try and go out there. It was still your passion and something you would tirelessly work for. 

For the next few days, you set out for any audition you could find. You'd wake up early to go to the diner for a few hours, then change into new clothes to go search for audition notices around the city. There were quite a few you found and it made you feel hopeful one of these projects could be yours. 

You hadn’t spoken to Elvis this entire time. It was almost strange after you were so used to this new routine you two had. You had too much anger towards him to speak to him about everything without yelling at him again. You were surprised that he didn’t even try calling you. Every time the phone rang, you always expected to hear his smooth southern drawl ring in your ear but you were left disappointed. 

After a few days of nothing but empty promises and bad auditions, you had to keep trying. You knew there would be a hundred nos before there would be one yes. You were about to head out for the day and go to another audition you had scheduled when the phone rings. You were home alone and wondered who could be calling this time of day. 

You quickly pick it up, “hello?” 

“Hi, may I speak with y/n?” A woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. 

“Speaking?” You say, not recognizing the woman’s voice. 

“This is Nancy from Paramount Studios. We’re holding open auditions today for a new production. Your resume was passed onto us from a friend and we were wondering if you’re free to come in today around one?” She asks you. 

You were a bit taken aback. This was unheard of for you. No one was calling you for auditions, you were normally the one on the phone begging them for a chance to be seen. But you had to push that self-doubt away and seize this opportunity now. 

“Oh yes, I can be there no problem!” 

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then,” she says. 

You were thrilled, this could be a new start for you. Your brain couldn’t help but spoil the moment with doubt. This all felt too easy. You had only been out looking for new jobs for a few days and this fell into your lap? It didn’t settle with you, right? 

It had Elvis written all over it.  

He did something to get you this. Sure, it could be just dumb luck but with Elvis around, that wasn’t a thing. He needed to stay away from you, you didn’t want him around screwing up anything else for you. 

You raced to the studio and got there early to get your hands on the script they wanted you to read from. The audition went really well. The scene they had you do dealt with a girl pleading for her boyfriend to tell her the truth whether he loved her or not. It wasn’t too far off from your real life you realize. You connected with the script and let your emotions over your whole situation with Elvis fuel your performance. You left the soundstage feeling positive but still not that hopeful you had the role. It had been a while since you worked so you weren’t sure if your lack of work would hinder you. 

The next day, you get a call and it just about makes you scream with joy. You got the part and you needed to be on set in two days. You couldn’t be happier. It was a shorter production for your character but you didn’t mind it. You get to be on set for five days and do what you love. It was going to be a new start for you, just like you hoped. You had a new sense of optimism. Things were going to be alright, and maybe you needed Elvis out of your life for it.

That thought made your heart cry.

*

The first day of shooting went well and the entire cast and crew were wonderful to you. You had some jitters at first but they disappeared when you started to work with everyone. Everyone showed you respect and appreciation for showing up and being prepared for the day. 

You’re always surprised how much waiting there was when you’re on set. Your call time might say for you to be onset at three, but you won’t start shooting til four. That’s Hollywood for you. It takes the crew a while to set up the new camera or change locations. Thankfully you had the patience for this waiting game.

You weren’t called onto set for another three hours so you had time to kill. They were kind enough to give you a small trailer to get ready in that you shared with another co-star. It wasn’t like what the big stars got but you were thankful you had a couch in there you could take a nap in if you wanted. Sometimes you have to take advantage of the downtime and get a few minutes of sleep. You were going to be on set late today for scenes that were going to be shot at night so you needed the rest.

You lay down on the small, two-seat sofa and try to get comfortable. A knock on your trailer door snaps you awake and you sit up. You couldn’t have dosed off for more than a few minutes and became fearful that you overslept and they were looking for you on set.

“Come in,” you quip, straightening out your hair and smoothing the dress you had on.

Sunshine pours into the trailer and a tall shadow walks in. Your heart stops when you see his face. That beautifully sculpted face that people dreamed about was standing in your trailer. 

Elvis.

He wore tan slacks and a white button-up, looking at you like he did when he first saw you a few weeks ago. He looked so put together and effortlessly beautiful. His hair fell down on his forehead, just how you liked it. He wore these gold sunglasses that had his initials on the sides of the frames. He takes them off and his blue eyes melt into you. God he was beautiful, it shouldn’t be that distracting but he was! You blamed it on not seeing him for the last week that you were jarred by his presence but who were you fooling, he was just too damn beautiful to look at.

Your mouth goes dry as you stare at him longer, not expecting him to be here. 

“What are you doing here,” you say a bit coldly. 

He continues to stare at you and doesn’t say anything right away. 

“How are you, honey?” He asks softly. His voice has you melting. You curse at yourself for feeling this way for him. Even after everything he did, you still feel weak around him. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly. 

He stays quiet and looks around your small dressing room. You didn’t want him here lingering, he came here for a purpose and you wanted to get him out of here as quickly as possible. You also had things to get off your chest. You didn’t want him to stall or try to do anything drastic. 

“How much did you pay them to get me in this movie?” You ask him, crossing your arms against your chest.

He turns around quickly, confusion covering his face.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, taking a few steps closer to you, and taking off his sunglasses.

“Oh come on don’t play dumb, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t gotten an acting job in over three years. Then all of a sudden I get a call that I was recommended to them by someone? It doesn’t make sense,” you huff.

“I didn’t pay them, honey,” he says calmly.

“Stop calling me honey,” you snap, “and stop lying to me!"

His lips form in a scowl and his blue eyes burn into you menacingly. He stands before you and takes a slow breath in while looking at you. He makes you feel on edge, being this close to him again was too much to handle. He was so provocative without even trying. His presence pulled you in so easily and made it hard to focus even when he was mad. He gently lifts your chin up to look into his eyes. His skin on yours again made you feel like a puddle. You defiantly look at him and wait for him to say something.

“From what I remember, you like me calling you honey quite a bit,” he teases, eyeing you up and down slowly. You hold your breath as you feel yourself crumble for him. He was right, of course he was and it pissed you off. 

“I’m trying to be civil with you. I just wanted to see you,” he says low.

You quickly push his hand off of your face and scowl at him.

“Did you think this would make up for what you did? Like I’d forgive it all?” You ask him.

“I didn’t do anything about this role. I didn’t pay anyone anything,” he says fiercely. Your heart gallops away at his tone and the way he continues to look at you.

“I did pass your information to producers here, yes, I did. I still know people here and met with one of them last week for lunch. They were saying they were having a hard time casting this movie. He explained to me the role and… of course, I thought of you. It’s like second nature to me… but I just passed on your information, that’s all. I helped you get the call sure, but you did the work. You were the one who impressed all the producers and director. You got yourself here, I just wanted to help from a distance, that’s all,” he explains.

You sit down quickly on the couch behind you, feeling the wind get knocked out of you. 

He was just trying to do something good.

He did something kind and stayed out of the way.

He’s letting you shine and do what you love.

Damnit he's impossible to hate.

You didn’t know what to say to him. You felt bad for snapping at him like this. You’ve had so much pent-up anger towards him this last week you couldn’t think straight about the whole situation. The sight of him on a magazine cover in the grocery store ticked you off. The sound of his voice on the radio put you in a foul mood for the rest of the day and you almost always drove in silence because of it. You still hadn’t listened to his new album even though it was everything anyone was talking about.

The guilt wracked through you the longer you looked at him. You couldn’t find the words to start to apologize to him. He still put you through a lot of strife. This wasn’t going to make it all magically disappear but it was a good start.

“I… I didn’t know,” you say timidly.

He stays silent, letting you find the words you want to say.

“I appreciate the help,” you continue.

“It’s the least I could do… you know I care for you don’t you?” He asks, taking a seat next to you on the sofa. “I’ve missed you terribly. I hate not seeing you.”

He looks at you softly, his eyes pleading for you to keep looking at him. He places his hands on either side of your face and gently rubs him thumbs across your cheeks, studying every detail of your face. It felt so good to be touched by him again. He was so comforting and intoxicating to be around. He keeps staring at your lips, parting his slightly as you’re both sitting there and he leans in a bit more. Both of you breathe in sharply as you get closer.

You were nervous for this to go any further. On one hand, you wanted him to kiss you like he used to, you missed how his lips made you feel on fire. You wanted to let your guards down with him. A part of you wanted him to hold you in his arms again and hear him say how much he’s missed you. What you would give to hear him plead for you over and over and over…

You let that fantasy wither away and slowly pull your face out of his hands. You take a sharp breath in, you were holding it the entire time he was touching you. He looks like he just got his heart ripped out of him. He was so physical and emotionally hurt by you.

“I want to believe every word you say, but you have to understand why I have the hesitancy not to,” you sigh. His eyes fill with hurt as he looks at you.

He gets up and runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated even though you can’t see his face anymore.

“Please come by the house after you’re done here, so we can talk. I just want to talk to you again,” he says firmly as he heads for the door.

“Elvis I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, trying to stop him.

“Y/n please, I don’t want to fight with you here. Just come to the house after you're done here okay?” He says sternly.

“No, I’ll go over when I’m ready to talk to you. I have to be back here really early too so I can’t come by,” you snip.

“Goddamn it,” he mumbles under his breath and goes to the door furiously, not taking another look at you. The sound of it slamming made you more upset at yourself. You didn’t know what to say to him. It was hard to have him look at you with those soft eyes that could make you do anything. You didn’t want to talk to him about everything you’ve been feeling these last few days. You wanted more time to process this all. It wasn’t going to be easy to stay away from him.

*

The next few days on set were wonderful and went by too quickly. You wished you had more days to work with all the kind people in the production. Elvis weighed in the back of your mind though. All you could see were those hurt, pleading eyes of his that begged for your attention. It had been over a week since the huge fight you two had. You still weren’t ready to talk to him. You knew it would go the same way when you saw him in your trailer the other day. You didn’t want to blow up on him again, you needed to have a civil conversation. 

It was a sweltering night in LA. The city was experiencing a heat wave and wasn’t letting up for a few more days. You were looking forward to being in your air-conditioned apartment and relaxing. It was well after midnight and started to drive home. There was no traffic this time of night but the lights of office buildings in town poured onto the darker roads, illuminating your way home. 

You unlock the front door and feel the warm, stale air hit you in the face. It was also pitch black in there and couldn’t see a thing in front of you. John had to be home, he didn’t stay this late at Elvis’. 

“John?” You say loudly. The flick of a match makes you stare into the darkness, trying to see who’s in there. 

He was in the kitchen and stepped out, “yeah?” 

“Why are all the lights off? Why is it so damn hot in here?” You say grumpily. 

“The powers shut off,” he says lighting another candle. 

“What do you mean? Was there a blackout or something?” You say confused. 

“The bill wasn’t paid on time,” he grumbles. 

You were taken back. John took care of the rent and the electric bill. He made more than you and that’s just how you’ve always done it. He had never missed a payment like this, even in hard times. He never asked you for the money even if you two were having a really hard month.

“What do you mean? Elvis paid you right? You’ve been working three weeks for him. I’m sure that’s been plenty to pay the electric bill,” you press. 

“Well it wasn’t, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” He snaps at you, taking the candle to the bedroom with him. 

You knew he was lying. The man was lying right to your face. You just about had enough of it with all the men in your life lately lying through their teeth when talking to you.

You follow him to the other room, needing to understand what’s going on.

“Please don’t walk away from me. I don’t understand how we didn’t have money to pay the electric bill. This has never happened,” you press.

“I said I’ll figure it out in the morning! Get off my back about it. Should probably get used to it if you’re going to be out there acting again,” he huffs.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you blaming this on me?!” You protest.

“Well you’re not helping very much,” he snarls at you.

You look at him in disgust, not believing this is how the man you thought you loved is treating you.

“How dare you. You’re unbelievable, you know that. I know Elvis is paying you more than you’ve made in a long time so I don’t understand where our money is going,” you seethe.

“I guess it’s none of your concern since it’s not your money,” he barks at you.

You had enough. You couldn’t be anywhere near him at this point. You needed to know where all that money was going but you didn’t have the patience tonight to go back and forth with him. It was ridiculous the way he was talking to you. It seemed the happier you were, the meaner he was to you, sucking all the joy out of your life.

You quickly push past him and reach under the bed for your duffle bag. You open your closet and pull articles of clothing off the hanger and shove them into the bag. You then go to the dresser and put more clothes in there before rushing to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” John asks annoyed.

“I can’t be here. I’m going to stay at a friend's tonight,” you snap.

“Come on,” he says dumbfounded, pulling at the duffle bag, trying to get it out of your hands.

You quickly pull it back though and don’t let him get it out of your grasp.

“No, I’m going. I’m tired of your shit,” you yell, quickly getting out of his sight. You rush out of the apartment and get back in your car. You drive almost on autopilot, leaving your neighborhood and driving up to the Hollywood hills, towards Elvis.

*

*

*

Tagging: @loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis

@ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

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@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog

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@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[meandhisjohn]

News from a crazy mind...

Sherlock, mental health and the support from a fandom.

When Sherlock becomes what the doctor ordered....

100 days lie between those moments.

100 days since I wanted to die.

100 days since I emailed Dignitas.

100 days full of struggle and hope.

100 days later I made it out of hell again.

A handful of people who showed me unconditional love during the hardest setback of my disorder career.

I will love them till the day I die.

And once again the Sherlock world saved my soul before I destroyed it myself.

A fandom full of kindness and support and a detective and a doctor who saved me in more ways than they can ever imagine.

Had a doctors appointment on Friday and I have one hell of a doctor.

Not as good as John Watson but highly supportive of anything that increases my strength.

We talked about a little miracle.

A miracle that sounds so incredibly stupid but it is such a huge thing.

For the past five years I have to take besides my regular medication in mornings and in the evenings a little extra cocktail of meds in the afternoon to keep my extreme nervousness in check.

I'm nervous and tense 24/7 and it takes a toll on my body sometimes.

It makes it very hard to sleep and to find a way to sit still.

So the extra meds are necessary..

Ten days ago I started to listen to Podfics and quickly discovered a new way to enjoy the Sherlock universe.

I'm 43 years old and retired since I was 39 because my body couldn't take the stress anymore.

I have some free times during the day and I made it a habit for the past ten days to listen to Podfics in the afternoon and again at night.

And suddenly I could sleep and, and here comes the miracle..

I forgot to take my afternoon meds.

Even more my body relaxed in a way I haven't experienced in decades.

My body was obviously as surprised as I am because since a few days I have to drink a coffee in the afternoon, otherwise I would fall asleep.

I can only drink coffee without caffeine which tastes awful but otherwise my nervousness goes through the roof and I shake like a leaf.

But now instead of taking an extra dose of anxiety relief pills I take a real good old black coffee full of caffeine after listening to Podfics.

And that sounds incredibly ridiculous but for me it is a miracle because for the first time in over 15 years I feel calm and not because of a chemical reaction but because of a human reaction.

I know @totallysilvergirl had no idea what would happen by telling me about Podfics but I will never forget it!

Back to my incredible doctor who saw the change from a person who was determined to end this endless circle of depression and anxiety to a person who smiles again.

Now he ordered a six months try of daily Podfics ( no joke) to see if my blood levels improves and accordingly my medication can be reduced.

He knows that in the past three years my disorder was always better during my Sherlock highs so he is actually happy about the new development.

Long story short ( too late I know)

Do whatever feels right for you!

Invent your own therapy!

Do what makes you happy no matter how unconventional it might be.

Because you matter!!!!

I attach you my new and exciting Podfic collection for you.

Maybe you will find something you like.

Of course everything is available in Reading form as well.

Be happy in your own, weird, wonderful way.

@keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @a-victorian-girl @bewitched-bullet @lisbeth-kk @whatnext2020 @inevitably-johnlocked @barachiki @babaybo @jobooksncoffee @rey-jake-therapist @missdeliadili @helloliriels @podfixx @johnlocky @johnlockpodficclub @johnlockficclub @peanitbear @strawberrywinter4 @chocolate1elise @kettykika78