#I promise I didn’t just make him the fool because of the name

[cosien]

0 - The Fool

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I’ve been working on getting this project started for quite a while now and it’s been such a labor of love. I’m still clinically insane about this server so if you have any questions or comments or just wanna yap feel free to drop a line :)

[goldfades]

who else decodes you? / who's gonna know you, if not me? / and who's gonna hold you like me? / no-fucking-body / so tell me, who else is gonna know me? | joe burrow⁹ (part one)

part two!!!!!

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had been inseparable since LSU, with him promising you everything—a dream home and a life together. everything felt perfect during your golden days, but as time passed, things shifted, and the cracks began to show in your once-perfect relationship

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst... just straight up angst. asshole-y joe, lots of fighting, reader being a trophy wife, just real sad things im sorry i wrote this yall. NO happy ending in this part, part 2 will have a happy ending dw guys!!!

You met Joe Burrow before the world did.

Before the Heisman, before the draft, before his name carried weight outside of Athens, Ohio. Before the sleek suits, the Cartier glasses, the endless debates about whether he was the next great quarterback of his generation. Before all of that, he was just Joe. Your Joe.

The one who texted you goodnight from his twin bed in his childhood home, the one who took you to McDonald’s after late-night practices because that’s all he could afford. The one who kissed you in the front seat of his beat-up truck, hands a little rough from lifting weights but gentle when they held your face.

You were there for it all.

Through the transfer to LSU, when he was just a backup with something to prove. Through the championship season, where he turned into a legend overnight. Through the draft, when you held his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, waiting for the moment his name would be called. Through the move to Cincinnati, where you learned the ins and outs of being an NFL girlfriend—then an NFL wife in everything but title.

You never needed the ring to prove your place beside him. Not at first.

Because when you love someone for that long, when you’ve been there since day one, you assume you’ll be there forever. You assume that one day, when the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and he’ll be standing at the end of it. That the same boy who once promised you the world in a whisper under Louisiana stars would eventually make good on it.

But love isn’t always enough.

And timing? Timing has a cruel way of making a fool out of you.

Before the waiting, before the uncertainty—there was LSU.

The golden days.

The kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind that burned so bright it felt untouchable, invincible. You and Joe had been through the trenches of college life together—cheap dates, sleepless nights, long drives in his old truck where he talked about the future like it was already written in the stars.

Joe had always been a planner. He didn’t just dream—he mapped things out, broke them down into plays, like a game he knew he would win. And in every version of the future he spoke about, you were in it.

“I’m gonna make it,” he told you one night, lying in the back of his truck, staring at the Baton Rouge sky like it held all his answers. The air was thick with humidity, cicadas singing in the distance, but neither of you cared. You were twenty, wildly in love, and the world hadn’t touched you yet. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many people doubt me—I’m making it to the league.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. “I never doubted that.”

Joe turned then, propped himself up on an elbow, his sharp, determined eyes softening as he looked at you. “And when I do, I’m gonna give you everything.”

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a declaration.

Not just any ring—a rock. One that would catch the light from across the room, the kind that would make strangers do a double take. Not just any house—your dream home, the one you’d always wanted but never thought possible.

You had told him, once, in passing, the kind of house you loved. You were scrolling on your phone, lying with your feet in his lap, showing him a picture of a home that looked straight out of a magazine.

“That,” you had said, tapping the screen. “That’s the dream.”

White exterior, big windows—floor-to-ceiling in the living room, so the sunlight would pour in every morning. A wrap-around porch, because you always loved the idea of sitting outside with a glass of wine on summer nights. A kitchen with the biggest island imaginable, because you loved to cook, even if Joe barely trusted himself to make toast. A cozy sunroom, filled with mismatched chairs and overflowing bookshelves. A clawfoot bathtub in the master bath, where you could soak for hours after a long day.

Joe had barely glanced at the picture before he said, “Done.”

You laughed. “Joe, that house is like… five million dollars.”

“So?” He had smirked, cocky and confident in that way only he could pull off. “Give me a couple years.”

You shook your head, amused, but deep down, you believed him. You believed him because when Joe Burrow set his mind to something, it happened.

And when you asked, jokingly, what kind of dog he wanted, he just scoffed.

“Dogs? No. We’re gonna have like, eight cats.”

You snorted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He stretched out, hands behind his head, already painting the picture in his mind. “They’ll have dumb names, too. Like, I don’t know… Fettuccine. Or Tuxedo. Or—oh—Larry.”

“Larry?”

“Yeah. Larry’s gonna be the ringleader.”

You shook your head, laughing so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joe just grinned, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me.”

And you did. God, you did.

You loved him through the highs—the Heisman win, the national championship, the night he got drafted when you held his face in your hands and told him this is it, baby. This is everything you worked for.

You loved him through the lows—when he tore his ACL his rookie year and sat in silence for hours, devastated, gripping your hand so tight it went numb. When the pressure of the league weighed heavy on him and he retreated inward, needing space, needing you to be his anchor without him ever having to say it.

You loved him because he was Joe.

Because he was the boy who once whispered about forever under Louisiana stars, who promised you a rock, a dream house, and eight cats named Larry and Fettuccine.

Because you believed, back then, that promises were made to be kept.

--

It started small.

A casual comment, barely even a question, when you were knee-deep in cardboard boxes in your new Cincinnati apartment. You’d been together for years by then, had already lived together in Baton Rouge, but this—this felt different. More permanent. He was the face of a franchise now, the golden boy of an entire city. And you? You were the woman who had been by his side through it all.

So when you held up a framed photo—one of the two of you from his LSU days, his arm wrapped around you, both of you grinning like you had the whole world ahead of you—you said it without thinking.

“Guess we’ll need some wedding pictures to put up soon, huh?”

It was light, teasing, the same way you’d joked about it a hundred times before. But this time, Joe didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

He just exhaled through his nose, set down the box he was carrying, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m still adjusting to all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment, the city, the new life he was stepping into. “Let’s just… settle in first.”

You told yourself it made sense.

Joe had always been slow to process change. He liked routine, predictability. He had just gone from college quarterback to the number-one draft pick, from playing in front of thousands to playing in front of millions. If he needed time, you’d give it to him.

And so you did.

You poured yourself into the role of supportive girlfriend, the unwavering presence behind the scenes. You went to every game, wore his jersey, kept your social media lowkey even when the WAGs of the league started reaching out. You made sure home felt like a safe haven for him—a place where he wasn’t Joe Burrow, NFL quarterback, but just Joe.

Months passed. Then a year. Then two.

And still, nothing.

You tried to be patient. You tried not to compare. But it was impossible not to notice when guys who had been in the league half as long as Joe were proposing to their girlfriends. When you went to team events and saw wives flashing diamond rings, their hands resting on their husbands’ arms like they belonged there. When your own friends started getting married, settling down, building the life you always thought you and Joe were working toward.

You weren’t the kind of girl who begged for a ring. That wasn’t you. That wasn’t why you loved him. But you also weren’t stupid.

So, one night, after a Bengals win, when it was just the two of you curled up on the couch—Joe half-asleep, his head resting on your thigh—you ran your fingers through his hair and asked,

“Do you ever think about it?”

His eyes cracked open slightly. “Think about what?”

“Marriage.”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy in a way that made your stomach tighten.

Joe didn’t sit up, didn’t tense. But he also didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the ceiling, his fingers drumming lightly against your leg.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it.”

That was it. No elaboration. No follow-up.

And maybe it was the years of knowing him, of reading between the lines of what he didn’t say, but something about his tone sent a cold prickle down your spine.

You swallowed. “And?”

Joe sighed, shifting so he was looking up at you fully. His face was tired, drawn, the way it always was after a game.

“I love you,” he said first, because Joe always led with love, even when he was about to disappoint you. “I just don’t know if I’m… ready for all that.”

All that. Like marriage was some heavy, unbearable thing. Like it was a burden, instead of the only thing you’d ever wanted with him.

But you didn’t push. You never pushed.

You just nodded, kissed his forehead, and told yourself that he just needed more time.

You’d already given him years. What was a little longer?

For every golden memory, there was a night that ended with you crying into your pillow, your chest aching from the weight of words left unheard.

And Joe was never the type to yell.

That was the problem.

You could scream, slam cabinets, cry until your eyes were swollen, beg him to just say something—but Joe would sit there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on some invisible point in the distance. Silent. Stone-faced. Like he was waiting for a storm to pass rather than standing in the middle of it with you.

And when he was done listening, when he decided he had nothing to say, he’d just walk away.

No slammed doors. No cruel words. Just an exhale through his nose and the slow, deliberate sound of his footsteps leaving the room.

Then came the silence.

Hours, sometimes days, where he wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge the way you curled up on your side of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself because if he wouldn’t hold you, you had to do it yourself.

It always started the same way.

Joe had never been a selfish person—at least, not intentionally. He loved you, worshipped you in his own quiet way. But he was also a man who had spent his entire life being taken care of.

First by his parents. Then by his coaches. Then by you.

At first, it hadn’t bothered you. You wanted to take care of him, because loving Joe Burrow meant making sure he ate real meals instead of surviving off protein shakes and granola bars. It meant picking up after him when he left his clothes on the floor, washing his jerseys so they always smelled like fresh detergent instead of sweat, keeping your home together while he threw every ounce of himself into football.

But over time, something shifted.

The gestures that had once been acts of love started to feel expected. You would spend hours cooking his favorite meal, only for him to eat in front of the TV without so much as a thank you. You’d clean up after him like clockwork, while he’d scroll through his phone, oblivious to the way you were moving around him like a ghost. You handled the small things—the groceries, the laundry, the appointments—so he never had to think about them. And the worst part? He didn’t think about them.

He didn’t think about how exhausting it was to pour so much of yourself into another person and get nothing in return.

One night, after a long day where you’d cooked, cleaned, and ran errands while Joe came home from practice, showered, and immediately planted himself on the couch, something in you snapped.

You had been standing in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, while Joe sat in the living room, watching game film, oblivious to the way your hands were trembling from frustration.

“Joe,” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

He hummed, eyes still on the screen.

You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Do you even see me anymore?”

That got his attention. His head lifted slightly, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Do you see me?” you repeated, voice shaking now. “Or am I just here? Like some… unpaid assistant who cooks your meals and cleans your shit and waits around for you to remember I exist?”

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Frustration. A bubbling anger that had been simmering for months. “I do everything for you. And I never ask for anything in return. But you don’t even appreciate it, Joe. You don’t see it. You don’t see me.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, babe. I—look, I didn’t ask you to do all that.”

Your heart sank.

There it was. The knife, twisted so deep you almost doubled over from the pain of it.

You swallowed, eyes stinging. “You shouldn’t have to ask for basic effort.”

Joe exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the couch. “I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

And then, just like always, he walked away.

The silence stretched for days.

No matter how loud you got, how many tears you shed, it never mattered.

Because Joe didn’t scream.

Joe shut down.

--

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place where the wine was poured before you even asked and the waiters moved so seamlessly you barely noticed them. It was a Bengals event—one of those exclusive, high-end dinners meant to bring players and their partners together, a little PR, a little networking, all wrapped in the illusion of luxury. Normally, you didn’t mind them.

But tonight? Tonight, Joe was off.

He had been for weeks. Ever since the injury, ever since he had to watch his team play without him, it was like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders and refused to budge. You had tried, God, you had tried—to comfort him, to give him space, to be exactly what he needed. But no matter what you did, it felt wrong.

He barely talked. Barely looked at you. And when he did, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t place.

Resentment?

Disappointment?

You didn’t know.

So you sat at the table, plastering on a smile, sipping your wine, pretending everything was fine as the conversation buzzed around you. Ja’Marr and his girlfriend, a few of the other guys, their partners. The usual crowd.

The joke started innocent enough.

“You’re literally the dream NFL WAG,” Ja’Marr’s girlfriend said, laughing as she leaned over toward you. “Like, you do everything for him. Cook, clean, go to every game. You’re basically the gold standard.”

The table chuckled.

You laughed, too, but there was something hollow about it. It wasn’t that the statement was wrong. It was just that… for the past few months, being Joe’s girlfriend hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt like an uphill battle, like loving him was a test you were always on the verge of failing.

But before you could say anything, Joe scoffed.

Loudly.

The kind of sound that cut through the easy, playful atmosphere and made everyone shift in their seats.

You turned to him, confused, but Joe wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was clenched, his grip tight around the base of his glass.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, sharp, edged with something you couldn’t name.

The table went quiet.

Your stomach sank.

“Joe,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm, but he pulled away, shaking his head.

“I need air.”

And just like that, he was on his feet, pushing back his chair, striding toward the exit without another word.

You barely hesitated before following.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold air hit you like a slap. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few blacked-out SUVs and a couple of lingering staff members. Joe was already a few steps ahead, his hands on his hips, breathing hard like he was trying to keep himself together.

You didn’t care. You weren’t going to let this go.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up to him.

Joe exhaled sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“No. No.” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t get to humiliate me in front of everyone and then walk away like nothing happened.”

Joe turned then, eyes flashing with something you had never seen before. Rage.

“You think I don’t know?” His voice was louder now, cutting through the night air, his face twisted in frustration. “You think I don’t fucking see the way you take care of everything? How perfect you are? How much you do for me?”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t the first time you’d fought, not even close. But this was different.

This was Joe shouting.

He never shouted.

“You think I don’t know how much you’ve sacrificed? How much you’ve had to deal with while I sit on the fucking sidelines, watching my team play without me?” His hands were in his hair now, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “You think I don’t feel like a goddamn failure every second of every day? That I don’t fucking hate myself for it?”

Your chest tightened. “Joe—”

“I get it, okay?” His voice was hoarse, his breathing heavy. “I get it. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I never said that.”

Joe looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you saw it.

The exhaustion. The fear. The guilt.

And underneath it all, something else. Something raw and painful and impossible to ignore.

“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly, shaking his head, stepping back. “Not tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. “Joe.”

But he was already turning away.

Already leaving.

And for the first time, you didn’t go after him.

Time, though, has a funny way of making fools out of people.

Because a little longer turned into another year. And another.

And soon, you weren’t just the girlfriend who had been with Joe since before the fame. You were the girlfriend who was still waiting. The one people whispered about at games, in comment sections, in DMs you tried not to read.

Why hasn’t he proposed yet? If he wanted to marry her, he would’ve by now. She’s been with him forever. That’s kinda embarrassing.

You weren’t stupid. You heard the whispers. You ignored them, brushed them off, laughed about them with Joe like they didn’t sting.

But deep down, they did.

And then, one night, you cracked.

It wasn’t planned. You weren’t trying to pick a fight. You were just lying in bed beside Joe, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, when an engagement post popped up on your feed. Another NFL couple. Another ring. Another reminder.

You set your phone down. Turned toward Joe, who was staring at the ceiling like he always did when he couldn’t sleep.

“Joe,” you said softly.

He hummed in response, eyes still fixed upward.

“Are you ever going to marry me?”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t bitter. Just quiet. Tired.

Joe closed his eyes. Let out a slow breath. And in that moment, you already knew the answer.

Not yet. Not now. I need more time.

The same thing he’d been saying for years.

But this time, you weren’t sure you could keep waiting.

--

It didn’t happen in one moment. It wasn’t a clean break, a single conversation where you both sat down, acknowledged the inevitable, and walked away like two people who had outgrown each other.

No, it was ugly. It was heartbreaking. It was loud.

It started in the living room, the place that had once been your sanctuary. The place where you curled up on the couch together after long days, where you laid your head on his lap while he absentmindedly played with your hair, where he kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But tonight, it was a battleground.

You stood near the coffee table, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to keep from falling apart, while Joe paced in front of the fireplace, his hands tangled in his hair. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his entire body radiating frustration. But under it—under the anger, the exhaustion—was something else.

Defeat.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Joe muttered, voice low but strained, like it physically hurt him to say it out loud.

Your stomach twisted. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured between the two of you, his voice louder now, raw with emotion. “The fighting, the tension, the constant feeling that no matter what I do, I’m letting you down.”

You flinched, because that wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t letting you down—he was shutting you out. Pushing you away, piece by piece, until you barely recognized the man standing in front of you.

And yet, despite it all, you still wanted to fight.

You needed to fight.

“Joe, you haven’t even tried—”

His laugh was hollow, sharp. “Tried? Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, running a frustrated hand down his face. “I have been trying for months. Trying to be what you need, trying to hold this shit together while I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Your throat tightened. “I never asked you to hold it together alone.”

He looked at you then, and the pain in his eyes nearly brought you to your knees.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “And that’s the worst fucking part.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Because suddenly, you saw it—the breaking point. The moment where all the fights, all the silences, all the nights spent lying in the same bed but feeling miles apart had led to.

This was it.

You swallowed, hard. “Joe… don’t do this.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to be what you need anymore.”

“I don’t need you to be anything—I just need you to try,” you choked out, hot tears spilling over your cheeks.

“I am trying!” His voice cracked, his hands gripping his hair like he was barely holding himself together. “But I’m not enough for you! And I don’t think I ever will be!”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, everything blurred—your vision, your thoughts, reality itself. Because how could he say that? How could he look at you, after everything, and think he wasn’t enough?

He had always been enough.

He had been everything.

Your chest heaved, your heart splintering, but you forced yourself to take a step forward, reaching for him like you had so many times before.

But this time, Joe stepped back.

Like touching you would break him completely.

Like it already had.

A sob ripped through your throat. “Joe, please—”

His eyes were glassy now, his own tears threatening to fall. But his face was set, his hands shaking at his sides.

“This isn’t working anymore.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through you like a blade.

And just like that, the world tilted.

You had imagined a lot of worst-case scenarios over the past few months—imagined nights where he would sleep on the couch, imagined him needing time apart, even imagined him telling you he wasn’t ready for marriage yet.

But this?

This was never supposed to happen.

He was supposed to fight.

He was supposed to love you enough to stay.

But instead, Joe exhaled shakily, like this was killing him too, and took another step back.

Like he had already made his decision.

Like he was already gone.

And then, through the unbearable tightness in your throat, through the tears blurring your vision, you said the only thing you could.

“What about everything you promised me?”

His face broke. Just for a second.

And then, softer than you’d ever heard him, he whispered, “I meant every word.”

And still, he turned away. Still, he walked to the door, grabbed his keys, and hesitated for only a second before pulling it open.

And you stood there, frozen in time, watching as the love of your life—the boy who once promised you forever under Louisiana stars—walked out of your life like he had never meant to stay.

The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Your legs gave out before you even realized you were falling. You collapsed onto the couch, hands clutching your chest as if that would somehow stop the pain, as if pressing hard enough could keep your heart from shattering.

But it did.

Piece by piece. And Joe?

Joe was gone.

--

Joe wasn’t sure when it started.

The feeling had been creeping up on him for months—slow at first, like a whisper in the back of his mind, something he could ignore if he kept moving, if he kept winning.

But then he got hurt.

And suddenly, there was nowhere to run.

No game to prepare for, no film to study, no Sunday nights under the lights where he could lose himself in the only thing that had ever made him feel like enough.

He had always known you were out of his league. Everyone did.

You were a force—bright and untouchable, the kind of woman who could walk into a room and have everyone wrapped around your finger without even trying. You were loved in ways Joe had never been. Not because of what you did, not because of your talent or your career, but just because of who you were.

And Joe?

Joe was… Joe.

He had worked for everything. Clawed his way to the top, gritted his teeth through every setback, played with a chip on his shoulder so sharp it could cut. He had spent his entire life proving people wrong, showing them he was worth it, and still, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough.

But not with you. At least, not at first.

At first, you had looked at him like he was someone special—not because of football, not because he was Joe Burrow, but because he was yours. And for a while, that had been enough.

But then the marriage thing came up.

Then the quiet expectation that he was supposed to take the next step, that he was supposed to be ready.

And fuck, he wanted to be.

He wanted to put a ring on your finger, wanted to build a life with you, wanted to buy you the house you dreamed about and fill it with all the stupid cats he promised you back at LSU.

But the more you pushed, the more it felt like he was already failing.

You deserved the world, and he—he wasn’t sure he knew how to give it to you. You had grown up with love. Joe had grown up with pressure.

Your family adored you, your friends would kill for you, strangers on the internet called you an angel, and the worst part? They were right.

You were perfect. You were kind, and patient, and you gave so much of yourself without ever asking for anything in return—until, eventually, you did.

Until you started looking at him like you needed something more.

And maybe that’s when it started.

The resentment. The guilt.

The way he began shutting down because every time he looked at you, he saw someone who had given him everything, and all he could do was hold it in his hands and wonder when he was going to drop it.

So he pulled away.

And then he got injured. And then it got worse.

Because for the first time in his life, Joe had nothing to offer.

Football was gone. He was stuck on the sidelines, watching his teammates play without him, watching the world move forward while he stood still. And every time he came home, there you were—beautiful and untouchable and looking at him with so much love, and God, it made him want to rip his fucking hair out.

Because you weren’t supposed to love him like that.

Not when he was like this. Not when he felt like nothing.

And so, he made himself nothing to you.

He let the silence stretch between you, let the fights spiral into something he couldn’t control, let the guilt eat him alive until the only option left was to let you go.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he didn’t love you.

But because he loved you too much to keep being a disappointment.

Because you were everything. And he was just him.

--

Joe barely remembered the drive to Ja’Marr’s house.

The roads were dark and wet from rain, the city quiet in the way it only got after midnight, and yet everything inside him was loud. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles were white, and his breath came in short, uneven bursts, like his body was still trying to catch up to what had just happened.

He had left.

He had actually left.

The second Ja’Marr opened the door, his easygoing expression dropped. “Shit.”

Joe must have looked as bad as he felt.

Ja’Marr didn’t ask questions, didn’t crack a joke or act like this was nothing. He just stepped aside, letting Joe in without a word.

Joe walked past him, straight to the couch, sinking down like his body couldn’t hold him up anymore. His hands were still shaking. He stared at them, trying to steady his breath, but the more he tried to push it down, the worse it got.

He felt like he was imploding.

Ja’Marr sat across from him, elbows on his knees. “You good?”

Joe huffed out something that was supposed to be a laugh but came out broken.

“No,” he admitted.

And then, just like that, the weight of it all came crashing down.

He broke.

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Joe let himself feel it.

His shoulders caved, his head fell into his hands, and before he could stop himself, a sob tore through his chest. It wasn’t quiet, wasn’t controlled—it was raw, guttural, the kind of grief that sat heavy in his ribcage and made him feel like he was drowning.

Ja’Marr swore under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn, man.”

Joe couldn’t respond. He could barely breathe.

Because he had spent so long trying to convince himself this was the right thing—that letting you go was necessary, that it was better for you, that one day you’d understand—but now, sitting on his best friend’s couch, in a house that wasn’t his, without you, it hit him.

You weren’t in the next room.

You weren’t waiting for him to come back.

You weren’t his anymore.

And for the first time since he met you, since you were just a girl in his corner, since he was just a college quarterback with a dream—he was alone.

—

The house was silent.

The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but hollow.

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, staring at the front door as if it would swing open at any second, as if Joe would walk back in, apologize, say he didn’t mean it.

But the house stayed empty.

You should’ve done something—gone to bed, taken a shower, moved—but you couldn’t.

Your body felt detached, like you were floating just outside of yourself, watching as the reality of what had happened settled into your bones.

He was gone.

You sucked in a shaky breath, your eyes darting around the room, landing on all the pieces of him he had left behind. His hoodie draped over the back of the couch. His sneakers kicked off near the door. The blanket you always fought over, still crumpled where he had last used it.

Your throat tightened.

It felt wrong.

How was it possible that someone could just leave, and yet everything still looked the same? How was it possible that the world hadn’t just stopped?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You grabbed his hoodie, pulling it into your chest, clutching it so tightly your fingers ached. It still smelled like him—like his cologne, like home, like everything you were supposed to have forever.

A sharp, broken sob tore through you.

Your legs gave out.

You sank onto the floor, your body curling in on itself, gasping for air between sobs that didn’t seem to end.

You had imagined a million worst-case scenarios for your relationship, but you had never imagined this.

A fight, maybe. A bad one.

A few nights apart, maybe even a week.

But not this.

Not a house that suddenly felt too big, too cold, too wrong without him in it.

Not a silence that felt like it would swallow you whole.

Not an ending that you weren’t ready for.

Not Joe—your Joe—leaving, and not coming back.

Joe didn’t tell his parents right away.

He had gone weeks pretending it wasn’t real, pushing it down, acting like if he ignored it long enough, it wouldn’t hurt. Like the breakup was just another fight, another rough patch, and any second now, you’d come home.

But then spring rolled around, and he found himself back in Athens for a few days, sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, pushing food around his plate while his mom chatted about some wedding she had gone to.

He barely heard her—until she said your name.

“I just know she’ll look so beautiful at her own wedding one day,” Robin said, smiling like the thought made her happy. “Did she ever decide on a dress style? I remember she showed me a few options the last time we talked.”

Joe’s fork clattered against the plate.

His parents looked up.

The room suddenly felt too small. The walls too close. The weight in his chest unbearable.

“She’s not picking a dress,” he said flatly.

His mom’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

Joe exhaled sharply, staring at the table. His throat felt tight, his hands fisting in his lap. “We broke up.”

Silence.

Not the kind he was used to. Not the easy kind.

His dad was the first to speak. “When?”

“A while ago.” His voice was hoarse, his jaw tight.

Robin looked like he had just slapped her across the face. “Joe… what?”

She sounded hurt.

Like he had broken her heart, too.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Joe swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

His mom was still frozen in shock. “But—why? What happened?”

Joe should have had an answer. He should have been able to give them some logical, concrete reason why the only real love he had ever known had just… ended.

But there wasn’t one. Not really.

So he just shook his head. “I wasn’t enough for her.”

His dad exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Joe—”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears, and that—that was what finally did it. That was the moment it hit him, the moment the denial shattered and left nothing but cold, brutal truth in its place.

You were gone.

Not just for a few days.

Not just waiting for him to fix it.

You were gone.

Joe scraped his chair back so suddenly it screeched against the floor.

“I gotta go,” he muttered, standing up, hands shaking.

“Joe—”

“I just—I gotta go.”

And then he was out the door, out of the house, into his car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His vision blurred. His chest caved in.

He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold it together.

It didn’t work.

That was the moment Joe decided he needed a distraction.

A new game plan. A new something—because if he let himself sit in this pain, if he let himself really feel it, it might consume him completely.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He threw himself into excess.

He spent money like it was nothing, like it was oxygen, like keeping the spending going would somehow fill the empty space inside of him. New cars, new watches, expensive nights out where the bill was triple what it needed to be. If someone wanted a round of shots? Joe was covering it. If his guys wanted to go to Miami for the weekend? No problem.

And the women.

That was the easiest distraction of all.

They were everywhere—at the clubs, at the restaurants, at the parties where he never used to go but suddenly needed to be. They touched him like they wanted him, smiled at him like he was the most important man in the room. And for a few hours at a time, he let them.

He let them run their hands over his chest, let them whisper in his ear, let them follow him back to hotel rooms or his new penthouse in the city.

He let them treat him like he was whole.

But then morning would come, and the illusion would shatter.

Every single time, he’d wake up next to someone who wasn’t you.

Someone whose perfume didn’t smell like yours. Someone whose touch didn’t feel like home. Someone who would roll over, press lazy kisses to his skin, and call him baby in a way that made his stomach twist.

Because you used to call him that.

And now you never would again.

It was supposed to feel good. It was supposed to be freeing, making up for lost time, for all the years he had spent as the devoted boyfriend, the one-woman man, the guy who turned down numbers and shut down flirting because he only wanted you.

But none of it worked.

None of it made him feel better.

Because at the end of the day, he was still Joe.

And you were still gone.

It took one of his teammates pulling him aside one night to finally say what he couldn’t.

“Bro,” Sam said, hand on Joe’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Joe blinked, pulling his attention away from whatever girl had been whispering in his ear at the bar. “What?”

Sam gave him a look. “You’re not this guy.”

Joe let out a sharp laugh. “I’m fine.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Joe didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

Not even close.

But he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

So he just exhaled, forced a smirk, and lifted his drink. “Don’t worry about me, man.”

But Sam was worried.

And deep down, Joe knew why.

Because no matter how many nights he spent surrounded by people, no matter how much money he threw at the problem, no matter how many women climbed into his bed—

The only thing he ever felt anymore was hollow.

--

The day you packed your bags and left Cincinnati, you didn’t cry.

You had done enough of that.

Your best friend had offered—begged, really—for you to come stay with her in Columbus, and after weeks of waking up in a house that no longer felt like a home, you finally said yes.

It wasn’t running away.

It was survival.

Joe had been your world for so long that, without him, you weren’t sure where to stand. Your entire adult life had revolved around him—his schedule, his dreams, his highs, his lows. You had built a life inside of his. And now, that life was gone.

So, for the first time in years, you weren’t trying to be somebody’s something. You weren’t trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive WAG, the woman who held it all together.

You were just trying to be you.

Whoever that was.

—

Columbus was different.

It wasn’t Cincinnati, where every street corner reminded you of Joe. Where the grocery store held memories of early-morning runs before his games. Where your favorite restaurant was the place he took you after he signed his first big contract. Where you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a billboard with his face plastered on it, a cruel reminder that he was still Joe Burrow, still untouchable, still larger than life—just not yours anymore.

Columbus was quiet. A fresh start.

Your best friend had a cozy apartment near downtown, and the first night you arrived, she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push. She just ordered takeout, opened a bottle of wine, and let you sit in silence.

That first week, you didn’t do much.

You slept too much, or not at all. Some nights, you laid awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Joe was doing the same. Other nights, exhaustion won, and you crashed so hard you barely dreamed.

The dreams were the worst.

Because in them, he was still yours.

You still woke up to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen, still felt the weight of his arm draped over your waist, still heard his voice murmuring morning, baby in that slow, sleep-rough tone he always had.

But then morning would come, and none of it was real.

So, you started over.

You got a cat.

It wasn’t planned—you had just gone to the shelter one afternoon, thinking you’d look, thinking maybe it would distract you for a few minutes. But then you saw her.

Small. A little scrappy. White with a black spot over her eye, looking at you like she had already decided you belonged to her.

The name came easily.

“Larry,” you told the adoption worker, lips twitching into something like a smile. “Her name is Larry.”

Joe would’ve laughed at that.

Joe would’ve—

No.

This wasn’t about Joe.

Larry was yours.

So you took her home, bought her the stupidest, most ridiculous toys you could find, and let her curl up on your chest at night, purring so loudly it drowned out the silence.

You learned how to French braid.

You had never bothered before—your hair had always been something he liked, something he ran his fingers through when he was half-asleep on the couch. But now? Now, you spent hours watching tutorials, standing in front of the mirror, fingers twisting and looping until, finally, you got it right.

It was small, stupid even. But it was something just for you.

You started reading.

At first, it was just a way to pass the time—something to do instead of scrolling through Instagram, instead of wondering what he was doing. But then you fell into it, deep. You found yourself curled up on the couch for hours, lost in stories, letting yourself escape into other people’s lives.

Romance novels were hard at first. Because love still felt like a wound, like something sharp and raw and too close to home.

But one day, months after the breakup, you found yourself reading a love story and not feeling like your chest was caving in.

That was progress.

You cooked for yourself.

You had always cooked for Joe—his favorites, his comfort foods, the meals he requested after long practices. But now, you cooked what you wanted. You tried new recipes, bought ingredients you had never used before, made dishes with no one else’s preferences in mind.

It was weird, at first.

But then, one night, you sat at the table, eating something just for you, and it didn’t feel lonely.

It felt… peaceful.

You went on long walks, alone, with no one to check in with. You bought flowers for yourself. You started journaling, writing down things you had never let yourself think too hard about.

You let yourself exist.

And one day—on a random, unremarkable afternoon—you realized something. It had been weeks since you last thought of him.

Not that he was gone.

Not that it didn’t still hurt, sometimes, in quiet moments when you weren’t expecting it.

But for the first time, in a long, long time—

You felt like you. Without him.

[pellucid-constellations]

I'd Answer

You've been gone. Azriel's been broken. Something has to change, and Azriel would do anything.

Part 2 of If You Cared to Ask

“This is for you,” Mor huffed, plopping down a small bouquet of roses onto the growing garden that seemed to have sprouted on the table. “What is that, number twelve?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t count them,” you brushed off, your gaze falling on the gifts for a fleeting moment.

Mor hummed. “Are they doing anything for you?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Your friend shuffled into the small sitting room and gracefully landed in the chair beside yours, her eyes piercing a hole in the side of your head when you refused to look up. She sighed, and then sighed again, making a show of slotting her chin in her palm and looking forlorn. 

The third sigh was your breaking point. 

You placed your book on the table and turned to Mor with your brows raised. “Yes?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she airily replied. “I was just wondering when you were going to give this up. You don’t have to forgive the guy, but at least put me out of my misery and let me tell him where you’re staying. I’m basically a delivery service at this point. He says sorry again, by the way.” 

“Oh, well in that case—” 

“More than just sorry, but I can’t remember everything he said. It was all rambly and his face was all gaunt.” Mor pressed her fingers up to cover her eyes. “I’m not even sure if he’s eating. Rhys had to stop sending him out because he almost fell out of the sky.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel bad?”

You hoped your ruse was believable because hearing that Azriel was doing so poorly did make you feel bad. Your heart lept up to your throat at the prospect of your mate falling from the sky from exhaustion. But he had had so many opportunities to make this right and you weren’t about to give up your anger so easily. 

Mor offered a sad expression that looked authentic this time. “Y/n, he loves you. He’s an idiot and the whole lot of them are mindless fools, but Azriel has never loved anything the way he loves you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you snorted. “And he shows that love by forgetting me and then arguing when I’m clearly upset over it?” 

“I know. He told me how much of an ass he’s been. But, I promise you, I’ve known Azriel for a long time. He was just—just handling everything with Rhys poorly. He felt so so guilty when Rhys got trapped. You know that.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and avoided Mor’s gaze. “I know.” 

The lack of vitriol in your tone had Mor perking up. “And you remember how hard he tried to get him back—how broken he was when Rhys sent out his last message. Az feels responsible for everything when it comes to his family.”

You didn’t need the reminder. The tortured way he carried himself over the past 50 years was evidence enough of the truth behind Mor’s words. And you had been there to soothe that pain, to help run the court that Rhys left behind. 

When silence persisted, Mor craned her neck to catch your gaze. “I’m not saying what he did was right, but you know he’s been in overdrive since Rhys returned. He goes off on those missions when Rhys calls, but… y/n, he only leaves without notice when his informants…” 

Mor trailed off. 

Your gaze finally flickered up. “When?” 

Mor bit her lip and winced. “He told me not to tell you this part. He said he didn’t want you to think he was making excuses.” 

“Tell me anyways.” 

“Fine. But you can’t rat me out.” Mor sighed and leaned back in the chair, still facing you. “He does go on every mission Rhys proposes, and that’s… stupid, but he tells you about those ones, I think. When he just up and leaves, it’s because—y/n, it’s because they're about you. You know there’s a slew of people that want you dead for your involvement up in Illyria. He has a team of informants with the sole purpose of listening for you name.

“He goes on Rhys’s missions because he doesn’t want his family separated again, but sometimes, it’s because he just wants to protect his mate.” 

A stone dropped past your ribs and into your stomach. “But, he never told me—” 

“You know these overgrown bats think that suffering in silence is an honorable thing to do,” Mor rolled her eyes. “They overwork themselves fighting the good fight or whatever and seem to forget that the rest of the world is still out there, facing the consequences of their actions. And… I think he just wanted you to feel safe. I think he’s been scared.” 

Something sickly climbed its way up your consciousness. You looked down at your hands as they rested in your lap. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel in six days, and each day had more anger coursing through you, building up a wall that you thought impenetrable. Because you were so angry; Azriel had disappointed you time and time again, left you feeling abandoned and alone, and then he got defensive about it as if you were the one at fault. 

Part of you always knew it was a defense of some sort, but you had thought it a defense of something nefarious. You had tossed around the idea of infidelity a few times, and that rivaled the thought of him simply falling out of love with you. 

But it was this. 

It was him hiding how hard he’d been trying to protect you—however idiotic his tactics may have been. 

“You can tell him where I am,” you murmured clenching your fingers into your palm. “And leave the door unlocked, I guess.” 

Mor had left the small apartment on the outskirts of Velaris before you finished your sentence. 

It took approximately 7 minutes for a tentative knock to sound at your door. 

Mor had left it unlocked, but there was still a knock. 

You took a glance at the pile of flowers on the table before heading to the front door. The old floorboards creaked under your feet, a reminder of the rundown apartment you had sought out after you left. It was a frantic process, searching for a place to stay; you hadn’t cared much for luxury or comfort.  

Opening the door was jarring. Azriel’s wings were half-raised as if he’d just flown down and then forgot how to control them. His face was pallid with dark smudges beneath his eyes. His hair was windswept, expected from the flight, but it looked tugged at and disheveled beyond that. 

“Hi.” 

Maybe you’d been looking him over too long because Azriel’s voice cracked at the single word. He sounded unsure, verging on afraid, and all you had done was pass over his figure with your eyes. 

You tightened your grip on the door handle. “Um, hi.” Your tone was harsher than you meant it to be. 

Azriel flinched. “I’m sorry, Mor said…” 

“No, I—Come in.” 

You stepped back and pushed the door open to accommodate his hesitant steps into your rental. Azriel stood in the middle of the space and wrung his hands as you shuffled behind him, a slight tremor showing in his fingers. You leaned back against the door with your own hands pressed at the small of your back. You watched Azriel’s lingering gaze trail over the flowers in the corner of the room. 

“You didn’t like them?” he meekly asked. 

Something inside of you hurt. 

“They were okay,” you answered. “But I didn’t want flowers.” 

Azriel nodded and his lashes fluttered shut. His hands twitched. 

“I’m sorry—for the flowers, I mean. They were a pathetic reason to send Mor to you. You wanted to be left alone.” 

“I did not want to be left alone, Azriel.” You kicked away from the door, bringing your arms across your chest for some form of protection. “I wanted you. I wanted you to care about me.”

“I do,” Azriel stressed. He took a step forward and the wood beneath his boot creaked. “I do, y/n.  I care about you more than anything—I love you.” 

“Then why couldn’t you show me? Why did it take me leaving, me getting hurt, for you to finally listen to me and see how much I’ve needed you?” 

Your chest was heaving, each word from your lips a choked gasp. Azriel took all of it and absorbed your full meaning, seeming to wince at every insinuation that he didn’t love you. His jaw quivered and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Why did you stop talking to me?” you asked, a broken rendition of your anger. “Why—Mor told me… She told me things. Things that make sense. But why does it feel like I don’t matter to you?” 

“My love,” Azriel stressed. Yearned. He rushed forward, abandoning all reservations and gathering you into his arms as tears began making headway down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t—I’m so so sorry.” His words were almost lost against your temple as he held you, each apology a whisper of a kiss against your skin. 

“You weren’t there and Devlon—he—” 

“I know, angel, I know and I’m so sorry. Had I known… Had I listened.” He pulled you back from his chest, crouching down to meet your eye and wiping tears from your cheeks. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you safe. I thought I was doing that. I don’t know what Mor told you—” 

“She told me everything. She told me you’ve been following leads about me and taking on too much. She told me you’re scared.” 

Azriel breathed and it sounded anguished. “I am terrified. We lost Rhysand and now you are in the throes of a society that almost killed me. I—I wake up every morning and everything is good and I am so afraid to lose that. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us. But I almost lost you and—” 

You let out a breathy cry. “You could never lose me, Azriel.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, the wetness of his cheeks now apparent. Azriel’s hands were firm on either side of your head and his fingers laced up into your hair. 

Gods, you missed him. 

You missed him and everything hurt. 

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please—please, don’t leave again. Please come home. Let me fix this.”

The want was overwhelming. It would be so easy to say yes, but it would be just as easy for nothing to change. 

“You can’t do that again, Azriel,” you stressed, shaking your head and causing your mate to draw back. Only a breath was left between you. “You have to tell me what’s going on. You can’t—you can’t leave me in the dark. You can’t make me feel like that.”

Azriel’s head shook in desperation. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.” 

“I need to know I can rely on you—trust you.” 

“You can, angel.” 

“I need to know that you love me.” 

A pained sound escaped Azriel’s throat. He licked his lips and reaffirmed his hold on your face, locking his eyes with yours in a beseeching gaze. 

“I love you more than life itself, angel. I couldn’t breathe when you were gone. I can’t believe I made you think that I don’t. You are my life. Let me show you. Please, let me show you.”

You tracked your eyes between both of his. “Okay, Azriel.” 

“I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I am safe.” 

“I love you.” 

"I know you do, Az. I know."

[sylussys]

GUYS HEAR ME OUT hunger games au with caleb except it all goes downhill from the moment you get reaped for the games

this is such a random post help no because peeta in mockingjay i was like this is so caleb with ever ehhehddh here are just some thoughts :)

caleb, who has to be stopped from volunteering to go into the games alongside you when your name is reaped. in your district, it was almost certainly a death sentence, but at that moment he thinks he would rather die by your side, than live without you.

caleb, who makes you promise him that you will make it back to him. he can’t lose you, not like this. there are too many things unspoken between you, lost to the wind as he watches the train pull away from your district.

caleb, who can’t tear his eyes from the screen for even a single moment as he watches the clock count down. underneath his breath, he’s whispering for you to run — far away from what he knows is an inevitable bloodbath. he holds the necklace you gave him close to his heart, and prays he does not see you amongst the fallen.

caleb, who continues to watch the games closely at every waking minute, utterly unmoving from his spot. it’s as if he took his eyes off you, you would die. he grieves with you, when you are forced to take the life of an ally — but a part of him is relieved, you’re one person closer to victory.

but the path to victory is no easy road. you’re down to the final four — but you’re no extraordinary person, only having made it this far out of sheer luck, and you know you cannot beat any of the remaining three tributes in a fight. caleb thinks, you’re going to need a miracle.

you have only your brains to work with — so you pull a stunt. you take the gamble, and luck just happened to be on your side. you’ve definitely pissed off the capitol though, made them look like fools on live television. they had always craved a bloodied showdown, to showcase the true animalistic nature of the districts. but in that moment you didn’t care, except that you would be going home.

caleb, who finally lets go of the breath he had been holding, when they announce you the victor of the hunger games.

caleb, who is the first person to greet you the moment you step off the train back in your district. there’s no words left that needed to be spoken — you had kissed him right then and there. because everything you had done, was to get back to him.

but you are not able to celebrate for long. the fires of rebellion have been on the rise for the past years, and you’ve all but fanned the flames in your defiant little stunt.

caleb, whose very life is threatened, when the president pays you a visit — to fix what you have started. for the sake of the nation, and all the lives you value. you would not be quick to forget who truly holds all the power in this world.

caleb, who suggests running away with you. somewhere safe, where not a single soul could touch you. he paints a picture of a life found in fairytales and you can only laugh hopelessly — for such a place does not exist in this world. nowhere is safe from the capitol’s grasp, and you would forever have a target upon your back.

because when war descends, you stand with everything to lose. you are yet a lucky survivor again, in the bombed remains of your district, but it is only the beginning of the atrocities the capitol will commit — to destroy you, and everyone else among this rebellion.

they take caleb, pull his dying body from the wreckage before you can, leaving you with nothing but the necklace you had given to him all those years ago. and they’ll kill him over and over, until all you have left is only a memory of him.

you see his face on the grainy television screen back at the base, amongst the war propaganda spread by the capitol. you want to be relieved that he’s alive, but something’s changed. the eyes that stare at you through the screen are so empty, like an abyss that threatens to swallow you whole.

but caleb, who despite everything, holds out for you. his torturers continue to chip away at what remains of his memory and sanity — he’s long forgotten his own birthday, the feeling of the sun against his skin, but he hasn’t forgotten you. not ever. they wouldn’t take you from him again. he makes you his sole fixation.

caleb, who is finally rescued at last — except he is nothing like the caleb you once knew.

[yuwuta]

I HAD TO HAVE THIS TALK WITH YOU, CAUSE I’D HATE TO HAVE TO ACT A FOOL — MEGUMI FUHSIGURO

cw this exists in the same rich kids/boarding school au as this piece, which are slowly forming their own universe, implied (past) drug use/underage drinking, more of megumi being your guard dog everybody cheer

Megumi scowls as yet another phone call goes to voicemail. He’s been standing outside the racetrack for fifteen minutes, watching Yuuji absolutely pummel Aoi in polo, and waiting for you. He huffs, just as Yuuji loudly celebrates another point, thumbing a text to Yuuta, asking if he’s seen you all morning. Yuuji claimed you’d left him all by himself after your shared morning class, Nobara was still in Switzerland, and Tsumiki also seemed to be ignoring his messages. 

He needed answers, and quickly, because this is the free period that Muta and his goons also have free, and he would hate to go back on his promise to stop egging him so soon after you’d asked him so sweetly to knock it off. 

Yuuta (received 12:57pm) — She’s fine, Tsumiki and I are with her. Picnic tables outside of the building 703. — Warning, your least favorite upperclassmen are here too, but don’t make a scene. They’re annoying, but not trouble yet. 

Megumi squints, turning on his heels towards the large building opposite the racetracks. As he rounds the side that opens into a field, formally known as one the many lawns dedicated in the Gojo family’s name, and informally revered as your favorite lunchtime spot, he hears the familiar sound of Tsumiki’s laughter, and the unpleasant squawking of his least favorite upperclassmen. 

Seeing you, Yuuta, and Tsumiki sitting at the picnic bench under the blooming wisteria was business as usual; seeing Hakari and another senior infiltrating the seating arrangement was not. Megumi frowns, strolling up to the table to halt the conversation when he’s noticed by you, and sized up by the upperclassman. 

“Oh, uh—hey, I—good afternoon, Fushiguro!” the other senior has the decency to greet him, stumbling with their overly-chipper tone. Megumi eyes them and blinks. Their face is a familiar shadow to Hakari’s, but he never could recall their name, no matter how many times he had the displeasure of running into the duo.  

“It was,” Megumi drawls. He turns his head to face you again, “You’re late.” 

From this angle, you have to tilt your head up to make eye contact with him. There’s an innocence behind your eyes, genuine warning, weary concern; and still, so beautiful it makes Megumi’s thoughts venture elsewhere—only for a moment; he supposes he should be grateful for Hakari’s presence, just this once, because the interjection of his grating voice pulls Megumi back to reality. 

“Relax, Fushiguro, we were all just talking, having a good time,” Hakari whistles, a dirty grin on his lips, “Ain’t that right, Kirara?” 

Ah, Kirara. That’s their name. Megumi doesn’t have time to mull it over, or pretend to commit it to memory; the majority of his energy is focused on preventing himself from throwing a punch. Briefly, he makes eye-contact with Tsumiki, a silent warning in her eyes to not be violent; so Megumi looks to the other side of the table at Yuuta, whose hollow eyes are apologetic, but cautious. Megumi can tell they’ve both been doing their best to neutralize the conversation before he arrived, without setting off your own alarm bells. 

They’ve been patient, but he won’t be: “Get lost, Hakari.” 

“Whoah, no need to rush things. Come on, I didn’t even get a chance to invite you to our party yet,” Hakari’s grin widens, “I just figured I’d get your owner on board before I pet the puppy, yeah?” 

Tsumiki and Yuuta share a look. Megumi bares teeth to growl, rests his palms on the picnic table and leans over to deliver his message again, “Get lost.” 

“Kin, don’t be so rude!” Megumi can hear Kirara’s teeth chattering beside him, a chittering voice attempting to cut through the tension, “What—what he means is that you’re all invited, really!” 

Megumi turns his head, not to acknowledge Kirara or to back down to Hakari, but to look at you. He knows that you know that there are three options to how this ends, and given that he’s already got a strike in your book for bullying Kokichi, and that Yuuta’s route would cause significantly more drama than his, he’s hoping you’ll settle this yourself. 

He tilts his head just enough, raised eyebrows in warning and wait; and then, you give a conceding blink, a small sigh, part your lips to speak, still looking at Megumi when you say: “Hakari, Kirara, you two should grab lunch. They’re going to stop serving the hot food soon.” 

A command hidden as a suggestion. It makes the upperclassmen scowl, but still Hakari motions across the table to Kirara, and they both gather their belongings. “Whatever,” he scoffs, “You know where to find us when you want to have some real fun.” 

Hakari flashes you a wink over his shoulder before he and Kirara make their way around the building and towards the main dining hall. When they’re out of earshot, you smile, look away from Megumi, and back down to your lunch, grabbing the single, wrapped daifuku and tearing open the packaging, before looking back up to him with a smile, “Well, have a seat, Megumi. Join us.” 

Megumi scoffs, standing up straight again, “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Gojo right now.” 

“I already had Yuuta do my bidding this morning, because he was so sweet to wake up before noon,” you reply, taking the desert out of the plastic, flashing Yuuta a brief smile before looking up to him again, “So I told him lunch was on me, and we ran into Tsumiki on our way. It’s so nice out, isn’t it? Come on, sit with us, enjoy the weather. Yuuta was telling us about the new coup he bought.”

Tsumiki chimes in about her lunch, looking over at Yuuta’s half-eaten tray and wishing she’d got beef instead of chicken. He offers her what’s left of his plate, and she politely declines, before Yuuta insists, pushing his food across the table to her, and you pitch in, putting the remainder of your sauce next to her. The three of you seem to easily pick up where your conversation was presumably before Hakari and Kirara crashed your lunch. 

Megumi’s scowl deepens. He knows that you know that he wants to know why Hakari and Kirara were here in the first place, he knows that you know that their party invitation was just a scheme to get you into trouble and get a rise out of him, he knows that you know he’s going to kick their asses six ways to Sunday unless you tell him not you. 

“Megumi,” you cut through his thoughts, words noticeably heavier, “Sit.” 

He rolls his tongue in his cheek, and you squint a bit, tilting your head to motion to the empty space beside you on the bench. You only spare him a sharp glance, before giving your attention back to Tsumiki, clapping happily as she shows you something she bought on her phone. 

With a huff, Megumi rounds the table, sets his bag down on the soft grass and swings his legs over the bench and next to you. Tsumiki turns her phone to Yuuta, and your attention is back to Megumi, breaking your daifuku in half and offering a piece to him. He puts an elbow on the table, leans his cheek into his palm, a defiant expression on his face you pay no mind to—you scrunch your nose with a deceptive smile, bringing the mochi to his lips, and opening your mouth mockingly for him to follow. He blinks at you, slowly; once, twice, a third time before his head dips every so slightly, mouth a jar, letting you place the dessert between his teeth. Only after he has it in his mouth do you begin to eat your half, sparing a hand to raise your arm and pat the top of his head, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Megumi tilts his head further into his palm. “You didn’t answer my calls.” 

“When you called, I was eating lunch. It’s rude to take calls when you have company,” you defend yourself. 

“Yuuta answered my texts.”

“Yuuta is scared of you,” you chirp, “And unlike you, he cares to not have write-ups on his transcript. He keeps his physical encounters off-campus.” 

“I am not scared of Megumi,” Yuuta scoffs, leaning over to poke at your forehead, “I’m scared of Tsumiki. And I did not want to be scolded for getting blood on her new Chanel skirt.” 

Between the two of them, Yuuta was certainly the more reformed one; it only took one incident of Tsumiki pulling at his ear and scolding him about using his words instead of his fists for him to actually listen to her. Megumi couldn’t blame him, Tsumiki was hellish when she was truly angry, and he feared Tsumiki as much as the next person, but he also knew how she had a soft spot for her younger brother; a mercy that Yuuta, Yuuji, and Nobara were not privy to when their violent streaks got the best of them. 

Besides, when Tsumiki couldn’t get to him, you were there to tug on his leash and reign him in. 

“Wimp,” Tsumiki coughs, “And simp,” she taunts her brother, “We ought to pick new bodyguards in our next life.”

You laugh softly at her teasing, but still, you rest your elbow on the table to mirror Megumi’s position, “You’re right. I call dibs on Yuuji.” 

Your joke makes the others laugh, and Megumi rolls his eyes as you all chuckle. Still, he shifts to lean his head against your shoulder, sly as he knocks his head against your neck and reminds you of a simple fact: “That’s too bad. You’re stuck with me, in this life and the next.”

[little-diable]

I won't share you – James Beaufort (smut)

Y'all voted for this fic, so I hope you'll show it some love. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is Lydia's best friend, but that hasn't stopped her and James from starting their fling–a fling that turns into something more the second his jealousy gets the best of James.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, shower smut, jealousy, best friend's brother

Pairing: James Beaufort x fem!reader (2.6k words)

“I hate this so much, and to think they’re only friends with me because of him.” Lydia kept rambling, words (y/n) barely paid attention to. For the past minutes, Lydia had recited her conversations with other friends, picking up on their crush on her twin brother, James. (Y/n) had tried to show compassion, had tried to tell Lydia that the girls weren’t just around because of James–all while hiding her own secret.

Hours ago she had been pressed against his chest, choking on his name while he buried himself deep inside of her. Her fingernails had left scratch marks on James’ back, barely remembering how they had ended up beneath tangled sheets the first time months ago.

It was a simple deal, they kept fooling around with one another while keeping it a secret from everybody. In the beginning she had felt guilty, knowing that her best friend would detest her for doing this behind her back. But while (y/n) had tried to reason with her guilt, her heart had gained the upper hand, reminding her of the crush she had never been able to shake, ever since they had met years ago. It was pathetic almost, how she crushed on a man who only turned towards her whenever he was in the mood for a quick lay.

“Anyway, you’ll come tonight, right? I need you there especially with this mess going on.” Lydia’s words ripped (y/n) out of her wandering thoughts. For a moment, she pondered over the question, wondering if she wanted to go to another party where she’d cross paths with James who’d find a new girl to flirt with in front of the others. But the pleading gaze Lydia shot her drew a tired sigh from (y/n), forcing her to nod her head.

“Of course I’ll be there, I promise.”

……

She shouldn’t have come. She should have stayed at home where her sheets still smelled of James’ expensive cologne. She should have stayed in her room where her memories allowed her to get lost in another daydream. Anywhere but here would be better for her mind and soul while (y/n) desperately tried to rip her eyes off his frame, away from the unbuttoned shirt that exposed his perfectly chiseled abs. 

Lydia had disappeared from her side a while ago, blending in with the others while greeting those she had whined about only hours ago. (Y/n) had tried to hold onto her best friend–though without any luck, forced to part ways as her gaze was glued to James who hadn’t looked at her once so far. 

Perhaps she should have left, disappearing without another word to make it back to the safety of her room. But her feet didn’t listen to her mind’s commands, guiding her towards the kitchen to find something strong she could use to silence her racing thoughts. 

Music was ringing in her ears, filling her body like a drug that whispered to her, begging her to stay for a little while longer. She sipped on her drink while her eyes wandered around the room filled with people she barely knew, catching the gaze of a guy who was already looking at her. He was handsome, tall enough to stand out, sporting dark hair and bright eyes that surely did their job with wooing girls who crossed paths with him.

(Y/n) could only watch how he pushed past people to find his way towards her, greeting her with a raspy “Hey” she barely picked up on. A soft smile began to widen on her lips as she intently studied him–he was cute, but he was no James Beaufort. 

“Wanna go outside? It’s too loud in here.” The guy didn’t wait for her reply. His warm hand found her wrist to gently guide her through the room and outside to the pool area. For a second, (y/n) thought that she had caught James’ gaze, finding the eyes she had last seen as he had fucked her in the early morning hours. But the moment had passed all too quickly, reminding her that James wouldn’t dare to even look at her at a place like this.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” She internally cringed at the nickname. With another sip of alcohol to guide the words off her lips, (y/n) tired to give herself a push. Perhaps this is what she needed, a nice enough distraction from the man she should finally let go of. Whatever fate was trying to tell her at that moment, she’d listen and follow the call. 

“It’s (y/n), what’s yours? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” The guy stepped closer as she spoke, letting his hands rest on her waist almost as if they were dancing to the loud music. She wasn't uncomfortable, and yet she found herself thinking of ways on how to get out of this situation. If there was one thing she wasn’t interested in it was finding another guy who’d use her for his own distraction. 

“Mark, a friend of mine brought me here and I must say, I’m quite happy he did so.” Mark shot her a bright smile that left (y/n) chuckling. But the sound got stuck in her throat the second his hand wandered from her waist to her cheek. Fuck, she needed to get away from this guy, no matter how sweet he seemed to be, this wasn’t what she needed.

But (y/n) didn’t get far with overthinking her next move. While Mark slowly tilted his head down to cross the distance between them, (y/n) was yanked out of his touch and pulled back against a broad muscular chest. 

“What the fuck man?” Mark’s loud voice managed to break (y/n) out of her dazy state. She had to blink a few times before she allowed her eyes to wander from Mark’s angry features towards an all too familiar face. 

“Fuck off.” James spat the words at the guy before he turned (y/n) around in his grasp. It seemed as if he was making sure that she was alright, that she hadn’t been touched against her will. But while she should have focused on all these details, (y/n) could only focus on the fact that this was the first time James was interacting with her in a setting like this.

“What’s your problem? We were just having a nice time, right, (y/n)?” Mark spoke up once again. She felt his hand on her arm, and the second he began to tug on her, she knew that this situation would end in total chaos. And then everything happened all too quickly. One second she was pulled from James’ grasp, the next she found herself losing her balance and falling into the pool. 

Her clothes clung to her body as she resurfaced, having to brush her wet hair out of her features before she got a clear sight once again. She didn’t hear the loud words the two guys shared, she could only see how they stood all too close–about to escalate into an ugly fight if nobody intervened. From the corner of her eye, she watched Lydia hastily approach with their friends, instantly forcing a sinking feeling to settle in her stomach. 

Slowly, (y/n) swam towards the edge, allowing the sounds to grow more prominent once again. James didn’t seem to spare his sister a single thought as he turned from Mark to focus on (y/n). Their eyes held contact as he reached his hands out for her to take, pulling her out of the pool and back into his chest. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare meet her friends' gazes as James guided her past the growing group with his arm wrapped around her waist. No words were shared between them as he guided her towards her car. She kept her eyes glued to his features, the tickling jaw muscles that indicated his anger, the bright pupils that were stormy–a sight that robbed all air from her burning lungs. 

James’ hand disappeared in the pocket of her wet jeans to pull her car keys free, wordlessly opening the door for her before he rounded the car and began driving back to her place. She wanted to speak up, wanted to ask him why he had interfered like that, but the anger oozing off him begged (y/n) to stay silent, at least for now. 

Darkness lingered in the car as James broke the speed limit, seemingly desperate to make it to her place to speak about whatever had happened. Her heart was racing in her chest, unable to slow down as she relived the past moments, the clear look of jealousy that had swam in his eyes, and the anger that made heat pool between her thighs. She could only hope that the conversation they’d have any moment now could clear some of the confusion she felt.

But even as they arrived at her home did James stay quiet. All he did was guide her inside, wearily almost as if he hadn’t been there numerous times before. She gave him a few moments to finally break the silence, wanting him to be the first to say whatever he was plagued by, but James kept quiet. 

“I need to get out of these clothes, I’ll take a quick shower.” He nodded at her words, deep in thought. Her heart was aching for him, wanting to reach out and touch him, but her mind lured her away, whispering to her that he had no right to act like that when he had been the one to keep his distance in public. 

Her eyes found her reflection in her bathroom mirror as she stepped out of her wet clothes. The confusion she felt was clear on her face, stretching itself through every part of her. A part of (y/n) had always hoped that he’d finally cross that line and interact with her around others. Something she could cling to with hope simmering if inside of her–hoping that perhaps something could blossom between them, turning them into something more sincere. But now that the lines had begun to blur, (y/n) found herself fearing what was laying ahead of her.

The hot water cascaded down her back as she found shelter in her shower. She didn’t hear James stepping into the room, didn’t hear his clothes dropping to the ground. A soft gasp left (y/n) the second he pressed himself against her back, letting his arms wrap around her from behind. James’ lips kissed the back of her neck, forcing goosebumps to rise on her body even though the water running down their limbs was all too warm by now. 

“I’m sorry.” She could tell that it pained him to apologise, knowing that it was one of the many things his father had never taught him. Her hand found his, interlacing their fingers while she silently begged him to keep on speaking, to explain to her why he had escalated like that. “Seeing you with him switched something inside of me, I got so angry at him but mainly at myself. I have been so fucking stupid.”

“Why?” It was nothing more than a whisper, a sound so small, (y/n) feared the water would swallow it wholly. James free hand began to wander down south, he stroked her soft skin, caressing every inch before finding her heat. Her heart picked up its beat, very well understanding what he was planning on doing. 

“Because you’re mine and it took me until today to understand it. I won’t share you with anybody else.” His slender fingers circled her pulsing bundle, leaving her gasping while tightening her grip on his hand. James’ warm breath teased the spot where her shoulder met her neck, it felt as if he tried to pull himself even closer, needing to feel every part he intended on owning. 

“Do you truly mean it? Because I also don’t want to share you with anybody else.” Her voice trembled, shaking as if she had been chased by him, about to trip over her own two feet. His fingers brushed through her slit, collecting drops of arousal before slowly pushing into her. (Y/n)’s moans filled the bathroom, echoing off the walls that knew their every secret, listening to their whispered conversations whenever they found shelter inside of here. 

“I mean it, you’re mine, (y/n).” Without another warning, he pulled his fingers away to turn her around in his grasp. Their lips met for a breathless kiss, drawing gritty sounds from them while allowing their bodies to guide them. Without breaking apart, James lifted her off her feet to pull her legs around his waist with her back pressed against the shower tiles. 

“Let me fuck you like you deserved to be fucked, baby.” The world could end, could stop in its rotation and be swallowed by darkness. The stars could fall from the sky and let people escalate into an unstoppable chaos. No matter what was about to happen, he wouldn’t let go of her, would only focus on (y/n) and the love growing between them. 

Her moan was all James needed to guide his cock towards her entrance, to disappear deep inside of her like he had done numerous times before. But even though he had fucked her for months now, this moment felt different, more sincere, more loving than anything both had experienced before. 

“I love you so much, James.” She sobbed the words against his lips, chasing them for another clashing kiss that could lure her into her end. James Beaufort was her end and her beginning, a love story she had always longed for. He was everything she needed, fulfilling the unspoken longings she had been too scared to admit. 

“I love you too, fuck, you’re perfect.” His body met hers with every ferocious thrust, set on pushing them closer together–the first time as a proper couple swearing to stick to one another’s side. The moment had something almost cheesy to it, something so loving they struggled to put it into words. 

Her walls fluttered around him, pulling James even closer with her eyes getting lost in his blue ones. It felt as if he kept every secret this world knew hidden in his pupils, harbouring them for whatever reason. She never wanted to stop looking at him, the one who held her heart in his hands as if it was his most prized possession.

With every thrust, he brushed against her swollen spot, making her see black dots in her vision. She was close, would let go all too soon, and yet she didn’t mind it, didn’t mind losing herself to James once again. Their eyes stayed connected as she came around his cock, choking on his name like a prayer leaving her lips. 

James gave it more thrusts to chase his high, forehead pressed against hers, arms flexing to tighten their grip on (y/n). She watched him fall apart with a heavy groan and his cum leaving its stain on her walls. A perfect mess neither of them ever wanted to part from. 

“You’re mine, never forget that, baby.”  

[gibberishfangirl]

JO TOGAME | but if you insist, then the next time she’s mine!

Synopsis ✰ guys don’t like jo togame cause their girlfriends do

Contains ✰ cheating, cocky!togame, reader has a boyfriend, oral (f!receiving), fingering, togame has long fingers, afab reader, doggy style, toga is huge sorry not sorry, recording, reader gets their picture taken, rough, no use of protection (wrap it before u tap irl pls), mix of praise and degradation, name calling, creampie, meanish-dom!togame, submissive!reader, 18+ / nsfw!

“ah-agh jo!” your voice cracked under pressure as togame’s lewd noises echoed across your room. your hips bucked into his face out of instinct as he harshly sucked on your sensitive clit. he’d been teasing you for what felt like forever. teasingly shoving his tongue in and out of you, loudly slurping up all your juices not letting a single drop go to waste. he thought the way you tried to fight back your moans and gasps was cute. he remembered the time when you would reject his offers despite becoming a blushing mess in his presence. now here you were, blushing and moaning as your hips twitched in response to his mouth on your cunt.

he placed a gentle kiss on your sweet pussy before replacing his tongue with his fingers. his giant body hid yours so perfectly as he rose up to meet your face. you felt embarrassed to meet his gaze as the loud wet sounds of your pussy being penetrated by his long fingers started to fill the room. “feel good princess?” he asked you, the gentle look in his eyes could’ve fooled you into believing that he loves you. Jo let out a small tsk sound after you responded with nothing. you couldn’t bring yourself to answer with the truth. if you weren’t going to answer on your own, he might just need to find a way to make you.

he leaned forward to trap your breasts into his mouth, roughly biting and sucking on your nipples. a gasp escaped your lips only to be turned into a yelp by his sudden pace shift. his fingers were pounding in and out of you in such a lewd way that made your pussy scream. a series of ‘squelch squelch’ escaped from your cunt at every motion of his fingers. “agh- yes! yes! feels so good. so good. i promise.” you felt your eyes water at the amount of pure bliss he was able to give you. “better than him?” he asked. him. a rush of heat hit your face. heat that stems from a series of emotions such as anger, frustration, embarrassment, and guilt. “don’t-“ “don’t what? let you finish?” his actions came to a halt.

“stop.” “stop what?” “being mean.” he couldn’t help the small scoff that came out of his mouth. him mean? when you have your legs spread out for the man your boyfriend hates the most. funny. nonetheless, he stopped for your sake. you still liked to think you were a good person and who was he to tell you otherwise. you hated the way a whine escaped your lips as his fingers left your hole. you clenched around nothing, forming a small pout on your face. “don’t be sad. i’ll give you what you want… like always.” Jo spoils you, that’s something you both were fully aware of. your boyfriend never satisfied you or cared much about your needs in the bedroom. being with someone who did made your heart race.

Jo placed a soft kiss on your lips. not too harshly, kissing you as if you were made out of glass. completely different from the way he usually rails you. his hands were so huge against your waist, almost covering up your torso as he turned you over on your hands and knees. “gimme your phone.” he kissed the back of your shoulder as his hand was reaching over to your phone. “hm? why?” you asked sweetly. your sweet eyes looking back at him without a single thought in them. how cute… you were already so lost before he even got the chance to fuck you the way he wants. “gotta record my pretty girl.” he didn’t miss the way your face turned red.

your stomach fluttered, you were unsure of why. if it was because of the way he called you his pretty girl, his, or because of you secretly loved the idea of being recorded. “kay.” you mumbled as you tried to hide your face from him to stop anymore visual shyness. Jo loved this part. he was so glad he finally got to capture his favorite moment. the way his thick cock stretched out your pretty tight pussy. the amount of whines and tears that escaped you as he did so. he loved to tease you by slowly inserting himself inch by inch… spreading you to his liking. pulling himself out as soon as he got half way in just to repeat the process of it all over again.

“jo! st-oh my-stop teasing me—“ you begged impatiently as you arched your back further against him. you looked so cute to him as you searched for more pleasure. after you turned your head to look at him with pleading eyes he couldn’t hold back anymore. he slammed his hips against yours at a harsh speed. your jaw dropped to let out a scream only to be cut off by a kiss. your teeth clashed against his as he hungrily kissed you. you couldn’t concentrate. the sound of skin slapping skin clouded your thoughts mixed with the pleasure and pain that was coming from him penetrating you roughly with no remorse. you had to tore yourself away from the rough kissing in effort to get yourself together. you couldn’t do anything besides moan and scream. not wanting this to ever end.

“this what you wanted? love to get fucked this way. such a sweet looking girl who loves to get fucked like a dirty slut hmm?” his voice mocking you “look at you moaning like a little slut. just for me right?” “yesyes just for you. promise.” you couldn’t stop yourself as you moaned as if you were some kind of animal in heat. Jo ended the recording tossing your phone to the side. wanting to soak in every moment he had with you. soak in every sound you made and the pleasure he received himself as he buried his dick so deeply into you.

your hand instinctively reached behind making contact with his abs. you weakly pushed him away as an effort to get him to calm down his pace. an effort that went to waste as he simply grabbed your hand and intertwined it with his. your strength didn’t even hold a candle to his. tears of pleasure threatened to leak out of your eyes as he shoved your head down. you felt him so deep inside of you, completely different than what you were used to. thank goodness he relaxed his pace but this new position had him hitting your sweet spot so well. his pace might’ve relaxed but his thrusts were as harsh as ever. your eyes rolled back as you felt your pussy gush around him, squeezing him so tightly as you released yourself on him. it happened so fast you couldn’t even realize that you were so close. your legs trembled almost losing all feeling in them. the only thing keeping you up was his strong grip on your waist.

“it’s okay. just relax pretty girl, i can do all the work.” he placed another kiss on your shoulder before working through his own orgasm. he let out a groan as he looked down and noticed the creamy white ring your pussy was leaving on his length. you were so sensitive you felt another orgasm of your own building right up. your tummy felt hot as you felt yourself clenching around him once more. it took one last hard thrust for both you finish at the same time, your whole body was shaking this time around as your toes curled. none of your orgasms ever felt this good… well, it wasn’t like your own boyfriend knew how to make you finish.

Jo let out a whine as he watched his seed spill out of your pussy. it was overflown by both of your juices mixed together. he grabbed a phone, his phone this time, to take a quick picture of the aftermath of your pussy being destroyed. a flushed red color with white creamy substance spilling out of it. you couldn’t even be bothered to scold him for taking a picture of your used pussy like you usually would. you were so worn out that all you could do was lay there and catch your breath. you let out a cry as you felt his long fingers catch the white sticky substance that leaked out of you and shoved it right back into you. his fingers slowly and gently fucking it all right back into your pussy. Jo was mesmerized by the view, somewhat imagining what it would be like to have this view every night. not just on a random occasion.

“sorry. forgot you get so sensitive.” he snapped out of his trance as he felt your hips tremble underneath his touch. he placed soft kisses down your back as he cleaned you up with some tissues from the first drawer of your nightstand. the way he knew your room layout said enough about the random relationship you two had. he fought back as a laugh as he realized he’s probably been in your room more times than your actual boyfriend has. your boyfriend. right, the guy who wasn’t him. he covered you with your blanket and he threw on his shirt getting ready to leave before you grabbed his arm. “where you going? stay.” you whined. you were clearly still tired and sleepy from sex. but you needing him made his heart melt a little. you had never asked him to stay before. did he really fuck you that good to the point where you became deluded? not that he minded.

“you want me to stay?” “duh.” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around his torso laying your head on his chest. before he could say anything else you were sound asleep. he knew this wouldn’t last long but he figured he should enjoy it while he still can. after all, he did have a crush on you for all these years. he hated seeing you at every party with your boyfriend. maybe if things continue to go well for you two you’ll finally leave him. a man can dream can’t he?

[ironunderstands]

These Aventurine, Topaz and Jade comparisons are getting out of hand…

As much as I adore both of them, I think it’s very disingenuous to compare Aventurine and Topaz’s lore and be like “but they are the same!!!! If people like Aventurine and dislike Topaz that’s just misogyny!!! and like… no?

Topaz’s whole thing is that she doesn’t know the extent of the IPC’s evil, and believes that what she’s doing is genuinely the right thing to do. Even if she never had a choice in joining the IPC, she (incorrectly) believes what they did to her and her planet is justified, logical and moral, and for those reasons she stands with them. Part of this is likely IPC brainwashing, as she was probably very young when she became an indentured servant to them, and someone living on a planet on the brink of destruction would likely view anyone who stepped up to save them as heroes (imo the IPC likely waited for the point of no return to establish contact so her people had no other choice to except).

However Topaz got best end of the proverbial stick, her planet and its people were deemed useful by the IPC, and didn’t fight back, even if in the end they were still exploited.

Unfortunately, we have seen through Boothill, Belabog and Aventurine what happens when that isn’t the case.

Boothill’s planet got bombed and people genocided because they had a resource useful to the IPC, but were unwilling to cooperate with them or hand over their home, so the IPC decided to eradicate them.

Belabog had a debt owed to the IPC that was ridiculously high and very unfair to expect them to pay back, and had Topaz not convinced the higher ups to give them some time (which she got demoted for), the IPC would have taken Belabog by force

That leaves us with Aventurine, whose story is in no way on the same level of bad as Topaz’s. Unlike her, he has witnessed and experienced firsthand the truly awful shit the IPC can do.

They took custody of Sigonia and promised to offer the Avgin aid in their fight against the Katacans, at the very least protect them from harm. (Sidenote, since the IPC held control over Sigonia, they should have stopped the fighting in the first place). However, they simply stood by and did nothing, resulting in the deaths of around 6,000 Avgin, with around 3,000 went missing (or injured, I don’t remember, either way it’s bad).

But wait! It gets worse! Aventurine when he was still known as Kakavasha referred to the IPC as “the men in black/the men in black suits”, and his first master says he bought Aventurine from “the men in black/the men in black suits”, likely mocking the way he referred to them. Therefore THE IPC TOOK PART AND LIKELY EVEN CREATED A FUCKING SLAVE TRADE IN SIGONIA

Look being made into an indentured servant isn’t fun, but idk personally I’d take that any day of the week OVER BEING ENSLAVED

That’s not even to mention how horrible of a reputation Sigonian’s have in the galaxy, one likely spread by/resulting from the IPC themselves, as at least on Aventurines planet they do not have the mobility to make a name for themselves. (Honestly it’s a mini theory of mine that Aventurines scam is what partly contributed to this reputation, and his status as a slave is something the IPC conveniently left out in their broadcast about it-)

But, you might be saying, didn’t Aventurine have a choice to join the masked fools and leave the IPC, isn’t he free now? And to that I say, it’s complicated.

Considering the amount of suicidal shit Aventurine has done while being part of the IPC, he clearly hasn’t been having a fun time as a member of one, so why does he stick around, especially with the Fools invite? Even if he was a slave, does that absolve him of the crimes he’s committing now? What could justify his actions?

Revenge, plan and simple.

This is going to delve into some spoiler territory for the end of the Penacony 2.2 quest, something which I didn’t feel like mentioning earlier because I’m sorry but everyone and their mother already knows Boothill’s lore. Now, let’s get into it.

Aventurine accepts Jades offer to join the IPC, and when he becomes a Stoneheart, the first thing he asks about is the fate of the Avgin, to which he then learns that besides him, they are all dead. You see, from birth Kakavasha was pushed onto a pedestal as the savior of the Avgin, but now that there are no more Avgin to save, his primary motivator in becoming a Stoneheart (beyond not being enslaved anymore) is gone.

So what does he do now?

Simple, try to kill the motherfuckers behind it.

That’s why he takes on such risky gambles still, and why he wagers and wants Diamond to promote him to rank p46. The higher Aventurine gets the closer he gets to his goal of taking down the IPC for good.

Which is why his meeting with Boothill is so meaningful. I think Boothill is going to “kidnap” him and together they are gonna take down the wicked bitch that is Oswaldo Schneider for his literal crimes against humanity.

Mark my words, an IPC downfall is going to happen, and I think Topaz, Aventurine, Boothill and Ratio are going to be at the forefront of it.

However, Topaz and Ratio (and by extension the rest of the galaxy) have to learn/realize the true horrors of the IPC (although I can sense Ratio doesn’t really like them, and he’s learned a lot from Aventurine, I doubt he knows the full extent of the situation or is in any way happy about it). Therefore? Topaz mental breakdown arc? Ratio lore? PLEASE??!? The IP3 compliment one another so well and god I can’t wait for that to come to fruition.

I really want to see a Topaz and Ratio centered story leading up to an IPC smackdown, and I think we are gonna learn a lot more about how shitty they are in the later half of 2.2 and in 2.3 when the interlude and Jades release arrive.

As for the aforementioned Jade, she’s gonna need a Aventurine squared amount of trauma or reasoning behind her actions to seem in any way sympathetic, because right now she just seems like an evil bitch (in a semi good way, I will always respect the commitment to the bit) who loves her job and would make Machiavelli weep over how hard her ends are trying to justify her means.

[maruflix]

05: how much i like you ⎯⎯ prev | masterlist

you are a promising new member of the third division who, for some reason, is always given a hard time by your vice-captain. to vent your frustrations you decide to reply to a twitter fanbase’s anonymous confession, only to find out that your post was not so anonymous after all...?!

Soshiro couldn’t believe his eyes.

His trembling hands almost dropped the phone when he hears three sharp knocks on his bedroom door, followed by a voice he knows all too well.

“Vice Captain? Sorry to bother you..”

Your voice is muffled slightly as he scrambles to his door, heart thundering against his ribcage, the realization finally dawning upon him. You’re actually here to see him.

You. The person he spent months pining, daydreaming— it’s not fair, you invade all his dreams, you won’t even let him sleep in peace.

“Vice Captain, are you there? Huh, I guess he’s asleep..”

Soshiro immediately slams his bedroom door open, revealing you, standing in front of his door with a shocked expression. “Uh— ’m still awake. Hi, Y/N.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, blushing scarlet.

“So...” you start, glancing up to sneak a peek at him. “you weren’t kidding, huh? You really l-like me?”

Soshiro raises his head and shifts his weight on one leg. You make him feel so self-conscious. He wonders if he looks okay with just a shirt and his uniform pants on. His hair is already messy— why did you have to come at such an hour?

“If you want to hear me make a fool of myself, come inside. I’ll be glad to tell you just how much I like you.”

You blink furiously, cheeks warm at the invitation.

The answer is obvious: you step inside his room, greeted by the warm air of his heater. Stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books litter his desk, papers folded neatly. His uniform jacket is splayed over his chair.

Soshiro closes the door with a click and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that it’s just the two of you together in one small room.

“I’ve been... quite childish, I admit.” Soshiro is oblivious to your flustered state, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have been such an intolerable pain in the ass. Looking back, I guess it wasn’t the best way to get your attention in the way I intended...”

His apology seems so clumsy and yet so well thought out, like he’s practiced it several times. You can’t believe that the great Hoshina Soshiro is actually fidgeting nervously in front of you.

“I’ve already forgiven you.” Smiling, you bravely reach for his hand, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Soshiro’s eyes shot up to meet yours, gleaming in surprise.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t also have a tiny crush on you, because I do.” You ramble on, ”Okay, it’s actually a pretty huge crush. I have a huge crush on you.”

Soshiro couldn’t believe his ears. His hands tremble once more, squeezing yours with equal ferocity, rubbing circles on the base of your thumb. “You do?”

You giggle and nod. “Mhm.”

He pulls you into a hug, engulfing you in the scent of his cologne. He’s breathless when he buries his blushing face in your hair. “You do.”

Gently, his hands rest on your waist as he looks down at your smiling face.

You inch yourself higher, inviting him for a kiss.

And he kisses you on the lips, deeply, backing you to his bed to push you down. His hands are tangled up in your locks, bringing you closer to him. He tastes sweet, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth.

Your own hands make their way to his hair, tugging on them playfully. He groans, pulling away to give you a wolfish grin. Smiling, you peck his cheek. “So.. how much do you really like me? Because Narumi Gen told me you’re absolutely lovesick.”

Soshiro raised an eyebrow before biting your neck playfully, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. “Don’t say another guy’s name in my presence. As for how much I like you...” his hands wander further down, eyes twinkling up to you mischievously, “how about I show you?”

note: thank you for reading my first smau series! it’s been a good run, see you in the next one 🫡

taglist: @o-sachi, @iamjellyfish, @vashyuu, @yuudofu, @moon-cakiie, @17020 @nyxypoo @kichiyosh1 @lunavixia @ryescapades @er1kaaaaa @swivi @lumiambrose @equkki @kaoiyeva @tsubaki3192 @riceballsandanime @hibiscy @theauthorunicorn @4acoffee @sunarins @lxkeeeee @kimsangie @queencybow

←　wrong account　╱　hoshina soshiro

[gohyemi]

My Ex, the Baby Chicky

"I would really love to meet Baby Chicky in real life, Uncle."

Nabi batted her eyes cutely at her uncle, fully aware that this was his weakness. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted, and using her irresistible charm was her ultimate weapon.

Lee Seokmin chuckled nervously, already hesitating at her request. He could practically hear his sister’s warning echoing in his head.

"Remember, Seokmin, don’t spoil her too much, or else—"

"Yes, Noona, I will. Don’t worry and just go," he had reassured her before she left for her business trip.

It wasn’t that his sister didn’t trust him, but she knew all too well how much he tended to indulge Nabi. And when Nabi got too used to being spoiled, she became a little rebel when she didn’t get her way at home.

"How can you meet Baby Cheeks, Nabi-ah? She’s just a cartoon on TV," Seokmin said, ruffling her hair.

Nabi huffed, swatting his big hand away.

"Uncle, it’s Baby Chicky, not Baby Cheeks!" she corrected him, tugging at his sweater to make him lean down. "If you get me Baby Chicky, I won’t tell Eomma that you broke her vase yesterday."

Seokmin’s eyes widened in horror. She saw that?! He had been so sure she wasn’t in the room when it happened.

"No way… You wouldn’t—"

"I want Baby Chicky!" she demanded, crossing her arms.

Seokmin groaned. He was doomed.

Meanwhile, across town…

"Y/N, just this once, please help me!"

Y/N stared at her friend, already on the verge of breaking down. People begging was her ultimate weakness, and her friend knew it.

"So… you want me to wear that costume and go entertain some kids?" she asked, eyeing the large, fluffy Baby Chicky mascot suit with visible suspicion.

Her friend nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing in excitement.

"What if it’s some creepy old man with a weird costume kink or something?!" Y/N blurted out.

"Eiiihh, why would you even think that?!"

"Because he's paying way too much just for someone to prance around his house in a costume!"

Her friend blinked at her innocently before resuming the relentless begging.

"Please, please, please! I promise you’ll get six-fifths of the pay!"

"That’s not even how fractions work—"

"Pleaaaaase!"

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. She had a bad feeling about this.

————————

Ding dong!

Seokmin’s face lit up with excitement as he scooped Nabi into his arms.

"Nabi-ah, your surprise is here! Let’s go greet it at the door!"

Nabi squealed happily, grabbing onto her uncle’s hand and dragging him toward the entrance.

After Seokmin carried her in his arms, Seokmin checked the door monitor to see who was outside. He grinned as he spotted the familiar mascot costume on the screen.

"Who is it?" he asked playfully, giggling along with Nabi.

From the other side of the door, a muffled voice cheerfully announced,

"It’s your Baby Cheeks!"

Nabi gasped, her tiny brows furrowing. "Baby Chicky! How could you say your own name wrong?" she pointed out, sounding almost offended.

Y/N’s POV

"Damn it!"

Y/N was already sweating under the suffocating costume, her heart racing as she forced out a nervous chuckle.

"W-Well, my baby," she said, trying to recover, "I just wanted to see if you really know me!"

End POV

She could only pray that the little girl would buy her excuse.

Just as she let out a sigh of relief, she heard the door unlock. Straightening up, she prepared to greet the excited child—only to freeze the moment her eyes met a face she never expected to see again.

Lee Seokmin.

He stood there, giggling, completely unaware of who was inside the costume. With a bright smile, he encouraged the little girl to run forward and hug her.

Y/N suddenly felt exposed, as if the ridiculous mascot suit wasn’t even there, like she was completely bare under his gaze.

How fool she is to not ask information about this client. And now she need to spend the day here in his EX house.

"Baby Chicky!" Nabi’s excited shout snapped her back to reality.

This was going to be a long day.

———————————————

After spending half the day playing with the child in this damn costume, she could now fully admit—she was swimmingin sweat.

The suit felt like a personal sauna, and every movement made it worse.

Nabi, on the other hand, was exhausted but still stubbornly refusing to stop playing. Her growing frustration soon turned into full-blown tantrums.

Seokmin sighed before gently yet firmly cradling her in his arms. After a few moments of rocking her, he excused himself to take her to her room for a nap.

This was her chance.

With Seokmin gone, she attempted to sneak out of the house. But there was just one problem.

The costume was too heavy. And she was too tired.

The best she could manage was crawling toward the door like a defeated soldier retreating from battle.

Just as she reached the entrance, she heard footsteps behind her.

"I'm so sorry about that. She's just—"

Seokmin’s voice suddenly paused.

She froze.

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

"What… are you doing?" Seokmin asked, his voice laced with confusion and amusement.

She slowly looked up to see him staring down at her, his brows raised and a chuckle escaping his lips.

Busted.

"Hehehe, you know... the costume is too heavy for me to stand up," she said, still using the high-pitched Baby Chicky voice.

Seokmin giggled at the ridiculousness of it all before reaching out to help her stand. He even dusted off her legs for her since she can’t reach it.

"You can talk normally, you know. And you should take that thing off—it must be heavy after wearing it all day. Nabi’s asleep now, and seriously, thank you for today. You must be exhausted."

This. This was what she hated about him. Even in front of strangers, he always worried too much.

"I-It’s okay!" she blurted out. "I think I need to leave. My boss might want me to write a report about this!"

She was so close to escaping, but just as she took a step forward, Seokmin’s hand shot out and grabbed her wings (the costume), stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait, you have to write a report about entertaining kids?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"No! I just really want to leave!" she admitted, trying once again to make her grand exit.

"Wait—your payment! I haven’t given it to you yet!"

Seokmin instinctively reached out to stop her, but her wrist was already out of reach. In a desperate attempt, he grabbed the nearest object—

The mascot’s big Baby Chicky head.

And that was his mistake.

The sudden pull made her stumble backward, completely off balance. At the same time, Seokmin tripped over absolutely nothing.

And like a slow motion the scene goes, the oversized head flew off dramatically through the air.

Time seemed to pause.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact.

But… nothing happened.

Instead, she felt something warm and solid beneath her.

Slowly, she realized—Seokmin had caught her.

One of his arms was wrapped protectively around her waist, while the other cradled the back of her head, shielding her from hitting the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Seokmin’s eyes fluttered open, his expression shifting from dazed confusion to pure shock as he took in the face beneath the costume.

His lips parted slightly. "Jagiya…?"

Oh no.

Mentally, she facepalmed so hard she could practically hear it.

The could not get any better sudden storm burst outside and the sound of the rain hit the ground could be heard. 

‘Of course, when the day I dont bring my car’ she monologue -------------------------------------------------------------------

was inspired when watching eunwoo from The Return of Superman

[hazelira]

yours, finally

As Sunghoon held you in his arms, his body finally beginning to relax after days of restless guilt, he felt a faint, almost imperceptible movement. Your hand, weak and trembling, rested against his chest before you softly patted him in your sleep.

It was such a small gesture, yet it carried an unexpected weight. Sunghoon’s breath hitched, his heart constricting painfully at the realization. Even in your sleep, even after everything you had endured, you still sought to comfort him.

A surge of emotion swept through him—guilt, love, regret, and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. His arms tightened ever so slightly around you, his hand resting on the small of your back, careful not to hurt you.

He dipped his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. The act was tender, almost hesitant, as if he feared you might vanish if he allowed himself this moment of vulnerability.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, your breathing remaining soft and steady against him. Sunghoon closed his eyes, his lips still lingering on your head as he promised himself, once again, that he would make things right.

No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do—he would ensure you were never hurt again. And maybe, just maybe, he could earn the love you had always shown him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

For now, though, he allowed himself to simply hold you, the sound of your steady heartbeat against his chest a quiet reminder that you were still here—with him. And that was enough.

As the hours passed and the night deepened, Sunghoon found himself unable to fully sleep. He stayed there, holding you in his arms, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. His thoughts swirled like a storm, but for the first time in years, it wasn’t about his family, his responsibilities, or the ghost of a love he had clung to for far too long.

It was about you.

He thought back to the moments he had dismissed, the glances he had ignored, and the warmth you had tried to give him despite the walls he had built between you. He had spent so long convinced that you were nothing more than a pawn in a game neither of you had chosen to play.

But now, with you lying in his arms, fragile yet still trying to comfort him, he saw it clearly.

It was you.

It had always been you.

You were the one who had stayed, even when he gave you nothing in return. You were the one who protected him and his family, even at the cost of your own safety. You were the one who cared for him, who saw the man beneath the cold exterior he’d worked so hard to maintain.

His past lover—someone he once thought was his entire world—faded into the background of his mind like a distant, unimportant memory. What he had with her was gone, a fleeting chapter in a book he no longer cared to read.

Because you were the one standing at the center of his life now.

Sunghoon shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, and gazed at your peaceful face. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek, his touch impossibly soft. His chest tightened as he thought of everything you had endured, how blind he had been to your pain.

“I’m such a fool,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of the realization. “You’ve been here all along, and I was too blind to see it.”

His fingers gently traced the faint bruise on your temple, his heart aching at the thought of how much you had suffered, all while he had ignored the love and loyalty you had quietly offered him.

“I love you,” he admitted, the words escaping before he could stop them. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t grand—it was a quiet confession, spoken to the darkness of the room and the fragile soul resting in his arms. “I love you so much, and I didn’t even realize it until now.”

For the first time in years, Sunghoon felt something shift in him, as if a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying had been lifted. The love he thought he’d lost had been right here, all along, waiting for him to wake up and see it.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer to him, and Sunghoon tightened his hold on you, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead.

You were his person.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that to you, no matter what it took.

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry

[am-i-interrupting]

Making Self Deprecating Jokes Around Them

For @aliceneedsphalis

Alastor

Before you got together, he’d chuckle at the jokes but as he started to care about you the laughter would begin to fade.

He’d begin to ask the question, “Who made you think of yourself this way?”

If you could give him the name of people, expect them to be gone when he “crosses paths” with them.

It’s completely unrelated to what you revealed, he promises.

No, no, he just happened to stumble upon them acting a fool and decided to set them straight is all.

It wasn’t until you got together that he started to refute your “jokes.”

The first time he gave a gentle flick to the back of your head, you turned to him gobsmacked.

“Why did you do that?!” “I have rules, my dear, and one of those is to not let the object of my affections talk bad about themselves.”

At some point, you just expect it.

On occasion, you’ll say something and expect it only to not get it.

“What are you doing?” “I’m waiting on you to flick the back of my head.” “Why is that? I do have a sense of humor.”

He’ll wait until you let your guard down and then flick your head as he walks by. It’s no fun if you know it’s coming.

He does try to build your confidence though.

Randomly he’ll pop into your room with a list, a list of all the negative things you’ve said about yourself.

He’ll hold you in front of a mirror and make you look at both yourself and him as he praises what you’ve unconsciously revealed you dislike.

He doesn’t hold back his amusement as he watches you squirm.

Husk

He lets you make the jokes even if he doesn’t like them.

He’s not going to laugh. He barely even reacts.

One day though, he’ll let slip how he feels.

“Do you really think it’s funny, hating yourself? Because I don’t. You cope however you need to. I’m not going to blame you for that but it hurts to see someone I care about so much treat themself so badly.”

He might team up with Charlie or Hell, even Rosie to try to figure out a way to change your coping though.

It’s not overt but more so an offering of different ways for you to cope instead. Giving you more options than the one you have even if you still fall to the crutch.

He’s not one who’s too much of a fan of PDA, much less words of affirmation in public.

In private though, he’s constantly building you up.

He whispers how beautiful, funny, insightful, and strong he thinks you are.

He’ll be half asleep and playing with your hair, watching it weave through his claws, as he looks at you with pupils so blown they take over all the color and go on about how lucky he is to have you.

Rosie

“Now why would ya say that about yourself, hon?” is what she asks the first time you make a joke of that kind.

She wants to help you get to the root of your problems.

She’s going to subtly break into your walls and get the damn to break that holds all the secrets to why you feel this way.

She may or may not give Alastor some names if she hears them.

She might get some kind of positivity train going.

One day you just get a bunch of letters and gifts from friends that explain how much they appreciate and care for you. When you wonder aloud if there’s any special occasion you missed, Rosie just shrugs.

She is a bragger by nature, I believe, but she’d take care to make sure you were in ear shot if she could when she starts bragging about you.

She wants you to know how much she truly cares and appreciates you.

She’ll let everyone else know in the process though.

Vox

This man did not give a single flying fuck about how you saw yourself until he started caring about you in an intimate way.

It’s not that it didn’t bother him before but it didn’t bother him enough for him to make time to do something about it.

He’s a busy man and he’s used to being surrounded by people (*cough cough* Valentino *cough cough*) who will talk his ears off about their problems that he doesn’t actually care about.

He’s not just going to make you spill why you see yourself the way you do without a good enough reason.

He might even laugh at some.

He is a nervous/uncomfortable laughs though so just because he laughs doesn’t mean he finds it funny.

Even when you start dating, he’s not going to ask you why. He’s just going to listen to you ramble about your life and death and out pieces together.

Certain people he looks for on his camera and they disappear.

Aside from singing your praises and showering you with gifts though, he doesn’t really know what to do.

[lvrgurlblobbu]

a date it is!

college!zayne x fem!reader

⤿ CW: pure fluff!

⤿ word count: 3.3k

⤿ third part of code love series | previous part > next

ao3.

You barely had any sleep last night, it’s not that you spent the whole night talking to Zayne. He made sure that the both of you gets plenty amount of rest. So when the clock struck at 10:00 pm, he bid his goodnight to you. You also bid yours as well but you’re awake until 1:00 in the morning.

You’re not sure why sleep wouldn’t come. Maybe it was the lingering warmth of the conversation, the way Zayne’s voice still echoed in your mind, or maybe it was just one of those nights where rest felt impossible. You tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the night outside your window.

Even after saying goodnight, your thoughts refused to quiet down. It was comforting, but at the same time, it made you feel a little restless.

When sleep finally pulled you under, it was shallow and fleeting. By the time morning arrived, you felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. Your body ached for more rest, but your mind was already wide awake.

Your phone buzzes beside you. Squinting against the brightness of the screen, you see a message from Zayne.

Zayne: Morning. Did you sleep well?

You immediately sat up which made your head throb a bit. You bit your lip as you hovered you thumb at your phone to type a reply.

You: Good Morning! Yes I did : )

Even though you know damn well you didn’t, then after a few seconds your phone received another message from him.

Zayne: That’s good. I shall get going now, I’ll see you later around campus, take care.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as you typed your reply. As you hit the “send” button, you threw your phone at your bed and screamed at your pillow as you kicked your feet.

Then as you began to calm down, your heart races so fast as you stared at the ceiling. Well, today is going to be a good one because of two main reasons: one is that Zayne greeted you good morning and he wished you well, second is that you’re looking forward to meet him again.

“How’s it going?” Simone nudged your shoulder as the three of you make your way towards your classroom.

“Well, we talked last night.” You replied, biting your lip to suppress your smile and clutched tighter on the books you’re holding. Tara seemed to notice and she began to tease you.

“Oh?” Tara smirked, leaning in closer. “And by talked, do you mean actual words, or was it just you giggling at your phone like a lovesick fool?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “It was just a normal conversation,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Simone chuckled, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Sure, sure. And let me guess—after he told you to sleep, you stayed up thinking about him, didn’t you?”

Your lips parted in protest, but the way both of them were staring at you—knowing, amused—made it clear there was no point in denying it. Instead, you let out a dramatic sigh. “You guys are impossible.”

Tara giggled. “We’re impossible? Please. You’re the one walking around like a main character in a romance novel.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you pushed open the door to your classroom. “Can we talk about something else?”

Simone and Tara shared a glance before grinning. “No promises,” they said in unison.

You huffed, but despite your complaints, you couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on your lips. Because, if you were being honest, you didn’t really mind.

It’s 4 o’clock, and your classes are now finished. Now, you’ve already tidied your desks and placed your things inside your bag. You sat on your desk as you fished your phone from your pocket, checking if there are notifications — specifically from a certain someone.

You also unwrapped a lollipop and popped it in your mouth as you scrolled through your phone. Then, someone called you.

“(Name)! Someone’s looking for you?” Your classmate called, then you met Tara and Simone’s gaze, both of them looking teasingly at you. You rolled your eyes as you slung your bag on your shoulder before walking towards them.

“I gotta go.” You told them, but they both got up from their seats and grabbed your arm on each side.

“We’re walking with you until you reach the classroom door.” Tara giggled, then Simone added “You should formally introduce us.”

You shook your head as you giggled at the two of them, so you made your way outside. There you saw Zayne, leaning at the wall typing something on his phone. When he seemed to notice your presence, he immediately looked up from his phone, placed it inside his pocket before offering you a light smile.

“Hey,” he said as he approached you, Tara and Simone were trying their best to contain their giggles as Zayne approached.

“Hello.” You replied as you looked at him, “Oh by the way, these are my friends and I guess you already met them yesterday.” You formally introduced Tara and Simone to Zayne.

“Oh yes I did, I actually saw them at the lounge yesterday and they introduced themselves as your friends. Though I wondered where you are and they told me you got home early.” He said as you nodded slightly, his gaze began to flicker at Tara and Simone who’s currently tightening their grip on your arms.

“Shall we go?” you offered, Tara and Simone immediately let go of your arms and pushed you slightly at Zayne. He immediately caught you, his hands steadying you as you stumbled slightly against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your sleeves.

“You alright?” Zayne asked, his voice softer this time as you looked up at him. His hazel-green eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

“Yes, I’m alright,” you replied, offering a small smile before turning to shoot a sharp glare at Tara and Simone. They only grinned, clearly enjoying themselves.

Zayne chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s go?” he asked, tilting his head toward the path ahead.

You let out a small sigh before smiling at him. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As the two of you began walking, Tara and Simone’s voices rang out behind you.

“Take care of her!” Tara called.

“Make sure she gets home safe!” Simone added with a teasing lilt in her voice.

You groaned, spinning around to glare at them one last time, but they only giggled, waving you off.

Zayne glanced back at them before turning to you, his smirk softening just a little. “I will,” he assured them before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Not that I needed the reminder.”

A sudden warmth spread through your chest at his words, but you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Good,” you muttered, quickening your pace to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Zayne easily caught up, his smirk still lingering. “I think your friends really like me,” he teased.

You scoffed. “More like they enjoy embarrassing me.”

He chuckled, hands in his pockets as he walked beside you. “Well, I don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to stick around.”

You glanced at him, meeting his gaze once more. This time, there was no teasing—just something softer, something almost genuine.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind that either.

You went to the same cafeteria, the barista immediately greeted the both of you as you entered. Zayne led you towards your spot, pulled out a chair for you before sitting infront of you.

Then, a waitress approached the both of you. “Good afternoon! What can I get for you today?” She smiled at the both of you.

“I’ll have the chocolate lava cake, a slice of cheesecake and a couple of macarons as well.” He ordered as he gave the menu back at the waitress, “Oh and a cup of cappuccino.”

“That is noted sir, and what about you miss?”

“Well uh, I think I’ll have the pesto alfredo, a side of fries and an iced mocha.” nd an iced mocha,” you said, glancing at the menu one last time before looking back at the waitress with a smile. “That should be all for now, thank you.”

The waitress nodded, writing everything down with a friendly smile. “Got it! I’ll bring your orders right out!” She turned and walked away, leaving the two of you to settle into the comfortable silence.

“So, an informant told me that you were looking for me yesterday.” Zayne mentioned which made your face warmer as you felt yourself blushing.

“Who told you?” You asked, trying your best not to stutter. A small chuckle left his lips as he answered you.

“It’s from Greyson, told me that someone came looking for me yesterday but he didn’t mention any names. Then when I saw your friends at the lounge and approached me, that’s when I had a hunch that it was you.” He took a sip of his water, before looking back at you.

“I don’t know a single thing about you, so we thought that the best course of action was to look for you yesterday.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” he extended his hand towards you, his expression soft yet confident. “Zayne Li, sophomore. BS Biology, Major in Medical Biology.” A small smile played on his lips, one that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You took his hand, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “(Name), freshman. Journalism major.”

His grip was firm but gentle, lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ms. (Name),” he said, his voice smooth and undeniably warm.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you replied, holding his gaze a second longer than necessary.

Soon enough, your orders arrived, and as you both settled in to eat, the conversation between you and Zayne naturally deepened. Between bites of food and sips of your drinks, you took the opportunity to learn more about each other—your interests, your goals, and the little things that made you both who you were.

Laughter slipped easily into the conversation, and with every shared story, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity. It was as if, for this moment, the world outside didn’t matter—just the two of you, the warmth of good food, and the quiet excitement of newfound connection.

"A what?!" you tried to hold back your laughter as you questioned him once more. You finished your date at the cafe almost an hour ago. Now, Zayne offered to stroll around the park nearby, but the mention of his monkey adoption had completely thrown you off.

He gave you an exaggerated look, clearly enjoying the reaction. “I said my parents adopted a monkey, okay?” He chuckled for a bit.

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Zayne… you’re serious?”

He let out a small giggle upon hearing your amused reaction, clearly loving how hard you were trying to process what he was saying. “Yeah, I’m serious. His name’s Sweet Potato.”

You blinked. “Wait, hold on. Sweet Potato?” You burst into laughter before you could stop yourself. “You’re telling me your family adopted a monkey named Sweet Potato? And that’s his name?”

He nodded, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. Sweet Potato. And before you ask, yes, it's a he.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “My mom picked the name. Don’t ask me why.”

You were struggling to contain your giggles. “This has got to be the most random thing I’ve ever heard. How does one go about adopting a monkey, especially one with a name like that?”

Zayne shrugged casually, still grinning. “Well, they were looking to adopt through a rescue group, and Sweet Potato was just the one who clicked.”

You were practically doubled over now, laughing so hard it was starting to hurt, and sooner later he began to join your laughter as well. The two of you stood there in the park, barely able to catch your breath, as you tried to picture a tiny monkey running around with a name like Sweet Potato.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped between laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. “We need to breathe and calm down.”

Zayne, still grinning, leaned back against a tree, his hand brushing through his hair as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were warm, the kind of warm that made you feel like the world had just slowed down around the two of you.

You both stood there for a moment, the sound of your laughter slowly fading into the peaceful quiet of the park. The sky was a soft shade of purple, the air cool but not too chilly. There was something simple, easy, and perfect about this moment, and you couldn't help but feel a little lighter, as if the world outside of this park didn’t matter for a while.

Zayne shifted slightly and looked over at you, his expression softening as his smile turned just a little shy. “You know, I really like this. Just… hanging out with you like this.”

Your heart fluttered at the way his words lingered, his eyes meeting yours with an openness that made everything else seem distant. You smiled back, not sure what to say for a second, but then the words just slipped out, quiet and sincere. “I like it too. This… feels nice.”

Then, Zayne’s gaze shifted at the bench nearby, “Let’s have a seat?” he suggested as he offered his hand. You nodded gently before placing your hand above his as you let him lead your way towards the bench.

When you reached it, Zayne let go of your hand just briefly, but his smile lingered. You both settled down, the air around you still and calm. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds were the only sounds, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly still. You could feel the space between you, but it wasn’t awkward—just peaceful.

Then, after a while a soft meowing broke the silence between the both of you. You both looked at each other with eyes wide open, then you began searching.

“Found it.” Zayne said as he picked up the tiny kitten. You gently grabbed the kitten from his grasp and gently placed the kitten on your lap.

“Hey there little one…” you cooed as you gently petted the kitten, “It’s okay, you’re safe..” you whispered as your hand made contact with its shivering form.

The kitten let out a tiny, pitiful meow, curling into the warmth of your lap. Its fur was damp and matted, its small body trembling from either fear or the cold. You exchanged a glance with Zayne, concern evident in his eyes.

“I’ll take her home..” you mumbled as you wrapped a handkerchief around the kitten.

“Do you wish to go right now?” Zayne asked and you nodded at him, “Alright, give me your bag and I’ll walk you home.”

You carefully adjusted the kitten in your arms, making sure it was snug in the makeshift blanket. Its tiny body still trembled, but as you held it close, its shivers began to ease ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Zayne,” you murmured, handing him your bag.

He slung it over his shoulder without hesitation. “No problem,” he said, offering you a small smile before turning serious again. “Let’s get going before it gets colder.”

The two of you walked side by side through the quiet streets, the distant hum of the city blending with the soft rustling of the trees. The kitten let out another faint meow, pressing further into your warmth. You gently stroked its head, whispering soothing words.

Zayne glanced at you. “Think you’ll keep her?”

You hesitated, looking down at the tiny life cradled in your arms. “I don’t know… But I’ll make sure she’s safe, no matter what.”

Zayne nodded in approval. “Just let me know if you need help with anything, I know a few vet because of my parents being doctors.”

A warm feeling settled in your chest. No matter what, you’d make sure this kitten never had to feel alone again.

Your walk with Zayne was quiet but it’s calming and peaceful. He made sure to assist you as he placed his hand on your lower back, with your consent of course.

The warmth of his hand was gentle yet reassuring, a silent promise that he was there if you needed him. You glanced up at him briefly, catching the soft expression on his face as he focused on the path ahead.

“Thank you, Zayne,” you murmured, feeling a little shy but grateful nonetheless.

He gave you a small, lopsided smile. “Of course. Just want to make sure you and the little one get home safe.”

You looked down at the kitten, its tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. It seemed more at ease now, its earlier trembling having lessened with the warmth of your embrace.

The night air was crisp but not too cold, and the soft glow of the streetlights cast a golden hue over the quiet neighborhood. There was something comforting about walking like this—side by side, in peaceful silence, with the occasional glance exchanged between you and Zayne.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house. Zayne shifted your bag on his shoulder before turning to you. “You got everything?”

You nodded, adjusting the kitten carefully. “Yeah, I think so.”

“If you need anything, just text me,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.

You met his gaze and smiled. “I will. Thank you, Zayne.”

Zayne shifted slightly as he met your gaze, “I really enjoyed hanging out with you today, more than I expected, honestly.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as he spoke, “I did too, it was honestly nice getting to know you more.”

Zayne smiled at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that sent a gentle flutter through your chest. “Well,” he started, shifting slightly as if gathering his thoughts, “I guess we should do this again sometime?” His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity beneath it.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. The thought of spending more time with him, of sharing more moments like this, made warmth bloom inside you. A soft smile formed on your lips as you met his gaze.

“Of course,” you said, your voice gentle but certain. “I’d love that.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the night air cool but comfortable, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a golden hue over his features. He seemed to take in your response, his smile growing a little wider, a little more genuine.

“Good,” he said, almost as if he’d been hoping for that answer. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You chuckled softly, hugging the tiny kitten closer to your chest as it let out a sleepy sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Zayne’s expression softened, and for a brief second, it felt like neither of you wanted to end the moment. But finally, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he took a small step back.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Get some rest. And let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” you promised.

He gave you one last lingering smile before turning to leave, his footsteps quiet against the pavement. You watched him disappear down the street, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

That’s when you knew deep down that maybe bumping into him at the cafeteria might not have been random at all. It felt like the start of something… something that you were starting to look forward to.

dividers by: @enchanthings

[ixequte]

SIXTEEN | geto suguru x reader

"You're forever sixteen"

and he never made it out of seventeen.

You're forever sixteen.

And in his memories, you're always laughing.

But not the kind of laugh that fills rooms or turns heads.

No. Yours was quieter.

A soft, broken thing.

A laugh like rain bleeding down cracked glass.

The kind of sound that only exists if someone needs to hear it.

And he did.

God, he did.

You laughed through pain.

Not because it was funny.

But because it was the only thing you had left.

When your lungs stopped filling right.

When your vision slipped in and out like a dying signal.

When you gripped his hand and whispered, “Oops. Forgot to breathe again.”

He laughed with you.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

Cry?

Scream?

Beg the universe to pick on someone else?

He didn’t.

Not in front of you.

So he laughed with you.

Held your hand like that was ever going to be enough.

Like grip strength could replace godhood.

And you died.

And he—

He couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t do anything.

He was a sorcerer.

He was a weapon.

He was a curse given flesh.

But he couldn’t keep your heart beating.

You're forever sixteen.

And he’s been seventeen ever since.

trapped and rotting.

Stuck in a world that forgot you, even when he never did.

Satoru tried to help, once.

"Would they want to see you like this?"

Suguru didn’t answer.

Because yes. You would.

You’d want to see him wrecked.

You’d want to be grieved.

You’d cup his face in your too-small hands and whisper, “It’s okay. It means you loved me.”

You did say that.

Right before blood painted your lips.

Right before you slumped against him like your soul was too tired to stay.

He held you.

Like a goddamn fool.

As if holding you tighter would scare death away.

It didn’t.

You're forever sixteen.

And he can’t look at teenagers anymore.

They laugh like time isn’t real.

They smile like the sun will never set.

They run. They dance. They breathe.

You couldn’t even do that.

He hates them.

He hates them for living.

No one gets it.

Not even Satoru.

“They were strong." He said once.

But you weren’t.

You were fragile.

You were scared.

You were sixteen and terrified of the dark.

Sixteen and begging, “Will you still love me when I’m bald?”

Sixteen and scribbling “I love you” into notebook margins because saying it made your voice shake.

Sixteen and seeing your own death in every mirror.

Sixteen and whispering, “Will you be okay when I’m gone?”

He said yes.

He lied.

At twenty-two, he curses God.

At twenty-three, he curses himself.

At twenty-four, he forgets what your voice sounded like and claws at his skull trying to pull it back.

At twenty-five, he wonders what your funeral would’ve looked like if you’d had time to plan it.

If you’d wanted lilies or sunflowers.

If you’d wanted to be cremated or buried.

If you’d wanted to be forgotten.

He thinks about following you.

About taking the elevator down and never hitting the brakes.

But he waits.

Because he promised.

You made him promise.

“Make it to twenty...” You said.

Then, “Okay, twenty-five.”

“Then keep going… if it doesn’t hurt too much.”

It always hurt.

He’s twenty-six now.

And every year since you died has felt like being flayed alive in slow motion.

You're still sixteen.

He dreams of you.

But dreams are liars.

They give him the version of you that never existed.

The healthy you.

The whole you.

The alive you.

You’re barefoot in the sun, smiling like your lungs never gave out.

You call his name like it’s nothing. Like it never became a tombstone.

“You’re late, Suguru.”

And it breaks him.

Every fucking time.

Because in dreams, you never died.

In dreams, you never left.

In dreams, you lived.

You never got to be seventeen.

Never kissed him with your whole heart.

Never got to fight beside him.

Never got to say “I love you” and mean it with the weight it deserved.

You never got to be older.

You never got to live.

You're forever sixteen.

He dies at twenty-six.

As a villain they called it.

He sees you before the end.

The real you.

Or maybe just the version his heart made up to soften the blow.

No tubes.

No sickness.

No apology behind your eyes.

You smiled like time never touched you.

Like death never stole you.

Like this was how it was always supposed to be.

“You’re late, Suguru.”

And for the first time in ten years,

he didn’t flinch.

He took your hand.

Because you were still sixteen.

Still waiting.

And finally—

finally—

he wasn’t seventeen anymore.

He was yours again.

[winterblues]

fool’s fate is such an immensely long and wild ride, it’s no wonder reviews are like “this is some of the most gutwrenching-doomed-by-the-narrative shit you’ll ever experience.” i feel like i’ve aged like five years since i first picked up fool’s errand. i mean so much happened, like, too much happened? how does one even go back to seeing fitz and the fool as friends? friends seems like a reductive word for the sheer intensity of what they’ve been through together, for one another. i won’t make assumptions about what i think hobb’s intent was (the intent of the creator of a piece of media is rarely as important as the audience’s interpretation of it). HAVING SAID THAT, i for one think it’s very telling (for a queer narrative) that fitz has always “compartmentalised” the fool as someone separate from everyone else that’s important to him. his dearest friend and yet the extent of his relationship with him is a secret kept close to his chest throughout the books, with chade probably being the only one with even half a true inkling about their connection, almost like he’s subconsciously protecting it. he leaves all the ‘intimate details’ out when reporting to the coterie, but this isn’t the first time he’s avoided speaking of things they have expressed to one another in confidence. he’s different around the fool, and holds little back from him save for his avoidance of the depth of his own feelings. i mean, you don’t risk your own death to breathe life back into someone’s broken & bleeding & decaying body because you’re okay with the idea of them no longer being a part of your life. this is doubly tragic because the fool loves and respects fitz’s boundaries so much that he would rather withdraw than risk ‘making a mistake’, (and it’s obvious he’s trying so hard not to be selfish, trying so hard not to be heartbroken that fitz didn’t come back, especially after fitz astounds him by asking to follow him) but i am truly convinced that if the fool had chosen differently, fitz would’ve slowly started to come to terms instead of reverting to dismissal and avoidance. but he more or less acknowledges it in the parting words of his epilogue, that he traded everything he had with the fool for the life he sought with molly as a boy because ‘a horse can’t wear two saddles.’ and the most important woman in his life will go years without knowing about the depth of fitz and the fool’s friendship, but her children will play with the toys he carved for them, and a prized horse named malta will graze in their stables, and her son will wear an earring the fool had in his safekeeping for years and only parted with in order to keep a promise to a boy they both loved from forever ago. and so fitz goes from being adamant that he’d find a way to change the fool’s mind to letting him go just like that, because he finally has his life back, after so many years of deprivation. it’s only it’s own kind of tragedy that while he is content and surrounded by the people he loves, he’s still avoiding the deeper issues at the core of his being; still in many ways a tool for the throne, and giving his daughter up to the same fate. meanwhile, the fool, who was instrumental in buckkeep achieving peace and the reversal of fitz’s partial forging, is just hanging on by the bare thread of knowing that fitz is finally ‘free’ of him, and living well

[tojisun]

WIP: still your passenger (re: deftones)

simon ghost riley x gn reader

!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)

there’s a new medic in the base – a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. she’s beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves. 

you’ve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, there’s really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that you’ve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you can’t really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.

it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.

her name’s erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family she’s got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics. 

“they’re a family of smart nuts,” johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. “can you believe it? she’s pretty and wise.”

you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.

“of course i’ll keep it in!” johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. “i don’t want to anger LT, y’know?”

cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like you’ve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart. 

“oh?” you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. “why would he be angry now?” your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead. 

johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. “why else?”

the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes. 

you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.

because of course.

of course. 

you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered ‘i’m glad you’re safe’ pressed onto each other’s cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break. 

everything with him was just physical – chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches. 

sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning. 

“y’ready to go back to the base?” johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.

—————

ignoring simon was easy. it’s not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like she’s got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache. 

the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didn’t know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin. 

he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.

and it’s not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?

erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyone’s troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isn’t strong, anyway.

erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.

so, again, could you really blame him?

you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences – he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to. 

he’s told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of. 

one you thought you would have shared with him.

but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.

it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.

but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?