#and his heart shatters even though he already thought he didn’t have a chance with him

[sejarcus-archive]

Dorothea modern Sejarcus au, in which they were childhood best friends but they fell out of touch, and now Sejanus is a famous dancer traveling across the country, and Marcus watches his success grow from afar, wishing they could still be part of each other’s lives

[ohimsummer]

lovey-dovey, kiss, kiss

— cult leader! suguru x puppy hybrid! reader, fluff :33, lots of kissing, clingy reader, pet names (lovely, darling, (my) angel, sleepyhead)

wc 1.1k

it’s a little past midnight when geto finally arrives home. he didn’t mean to stay so late at the temple, but the workload is above his head at this point and he’s behind. though you might be disappointed, geto is still certain you’ll understand, if you care at all besides just getting to see him again.

he pulls out his keys, cringing at the harsh sound of the jingle which shatters the night’s silence.

“suguru?”

he can’t help but smile at the muffled call of your voice from inside, imagining the alert look on your face, and those perked puppy ears as you tilt your head at the noise. there’s a quick patter of footsteps as geto puts the keys in the lock.

“suguru! suguru, suguru, suguru!”

the gap in the door is barely an inch wide before you’re shoving your way through. geto doesn’t even have the chance to step inside before you’re in his arms, embracing him in a hug as you whine and yip excitedly in his ear.

he tightens an arm around your waist so you don’t fall—muscle memory. you tend to step on geto’s feet if he doesn’t, always so eager to hop up and kiss him everywhere as a welcome home that you don’t even realize.

your legs instinctively coil around his waist. “suguru! how’s your day been, lovely? i missed you! it got so boring here without you.”

“yeah?,” he murmurs, kicking the door closed behind him and finally returning one of the many kisses you pepper him with. it calms you and your wiggling motions if only for a moment, but the wag of your tail never stops. “i missed you too, pretty.” another short peck, this time to your lips and it has you giggling in excitement. “it’s late. have you been up waiting for me?”

“maaaybe!”, you confess immediately. it’s cute. geto knows that you know he doesn’t like you staying up all the time waiting for him to get home, but the thought doesn’t even cross your mind to lie. you’re too busy licking and kissing at his neck, nibbling here and there to smother your beloved owner in the love that’s been brewing all day.

geto whisks you away down the hall, speaking a hushed summary of his day through your barrage puppy love.

“you’re such a busy man.”, you huff at him. “you should stay home more.”

geto smiles at you. despite the downturn of your brows to give him an angry glare, your still-wagging tail gives away your genuine feelings. you would never truly be mad at him.

he places you on the bed in futile hopes that you will stay put while he goes for a shower, but geto can sense you right on his heels the moment his back turns. the smile etched on his face grows wider until his eyes are upturned into little crescent moons—of course you wouldn’t actually stay away from him for a single second. not when geto’s been gone so long already.

you ask about all the more non-work related details of today—about the girls, what he ate today (and was it good? no? you laugh at that, and it makes his heart thump in his chest), did he enjoy the sunlight? because the weather was really nice, today. (he didn’t get a chance to, and you make geto promise to do so with you next time the weather is sunny and cool out). they’re all seemingly frivolous questions at random, but geto knows you just adore hearing him talk.

with the water warming up, he begins shedding his robes. it’s like you’re both in sync, the way you strip down right next to him. geto holds out a hand to slow you, grabbing your waist to help you into the shower so you don’t slip and fall—again. the silly consequence of being too hot on his heels while following him under the steamy stream of water.

it quiets down once you’re in the shower together. he’s tired from the day’s chores, and you’re simply happy to have your dearest suguru in your arms again. geto let’s you pamper him, massaging his scalp as you knead fingers and shampoo through his long mane. he pauses washing himself for a minute, content in watching you take care of him, enjoying your delicate touch beneath the hot water. you take note immediately, because you’re always so focused on suguru and everything he does.

“you’re spoiled.” and he can only laugh at your comment, and the playful pout on your lips.

“lucky me that it’s by my darling angel, then, hm?”, suguru leans down and murmurs, sneaking a quick kiss and smiling at the adorable scrunch of your face.

“mm.” a hum in agreement. “i love you, sugu.”, you tell him once, and press a smooch to his nose. he smells of sage and sandalwood.

“i love you so much.”, suguru whispers against your adoring smile, between your lips so his words may seep into every inner inch of your body. he squeezes your hips, pulling you a bit closer to bury his nose in your neck. it tickles.

with the shower finished, geto engulfs you in a towel first, and then himself. you do your nightly routine with him (or re-do, he would say. because geto knows you do it twice sometimes, intent on never letting him do his own before-bed activities alone.)

he lets you continue tending to his hair—drying it, brushing, and then tying it up, finally slipping a silk bonnet over his head to protect the pretty treasure beneath. you finish it off with yet another kiss to his forehead. and then you drag him along by the wrist, turning back to smile at him, and geto almost trips as you tug him down onto the bed.

“alright, c’mon!”. geto watches you get situated under the plush covers, then pat his usual spot besides you. “into bed, sleepyhead, you’ve been working all day. time for some rest.”

everything about you is perfect. you’re so doting, so loving, and so eager on top of it all. suguru loves you with his whole heart, his whole soul.

he slips beneath the sheets next to you, and you’re cuddled up to his chest immediately. you apparently both have the same idea as he leans down to kiss your forehead and you lean up to kiss his chin, resulting in a sudden peck on the lips. both of you giggle like children at the interaction, before he pulls you in for another kiss on the lips.

“i love you.”, you’re telling him again, and before he can even respond, “i love you so much, sugu.”

and geto let’s you confess your love to him again and again and again—over his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, his knuckles, anywhere you can think to press a gentle kiss to punctuate your love. you will tell him over and over until it’s all he can think about, branded as common knowledge into his brain so he never forgets.

your quiet acts of affection lull him to sleep, but suguru is sure to murmur one last ‘i love you, my angel’ before dozing off.

🐶: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @soraya-daydreams @starlightanyaaa @luvvmae @domainexpansionmypants @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @jumpbackickbackwhiparoundandspin @sataraxia @leilalilox @babytoshiii @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @triviahct @reiluvr @venzlenes @bubblez-blop @lovesickliyue @kisstoru @blindbabycadder @itztamar @blkkizzat @sobbangchan @justkbree1 @notdwenby @sugoroo @hellokittyish @andyramblingstuff @usbrous @heliumshorns @kenmathings @deepenthevoid @risuola @bunnymacaron

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react to you breaking up with them because of their job:

Captain Price:

He’d take the news like a hit to the chest even though he’d nod as if he’d already accepted it.

The words would catch in his throat but he’d steady himself, holding onto every last thread of composure as he listened, eyes cast down on the space between you.

''I can’t blame you.'' He'd murmur, forcing a small, understanding smile. ''Not for this.''

The sadness in his blue eyes would betray him, though, no amount of practice could keep that pain out.

''Just… if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.'' His hand would linger beside yours, close but never quite reaching.

As you walked away, he wouldn’t move, not for a long while.

He would sit in the dark later that night, staring at the door, almost waiting for you to come back but deep down, he knew you wouldn’t.

Later, when he finally got into bed, he’d let the thought of you be his last and the memory of your smile his only comfort. He’d never say it aloud but part of him was already thinking about retiring.

Maybe this was it, a sign to leave it all behind, to make this mission his last and if he made it back? He’d come straight to your door, ready to give it one more try, no matter how slim the chance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

When you told him, his face would twist with disbelief, hurt, anger all colliding into a storm he couldn’t contain.

''You knew who I was..'' He’d say, his hands running through his hair as if trying to release the frustration building inside him.

"So why now? Now when I can’t fucking imagine my life without you?"

He’d demand answers, his voice rising with each one and the hurt too raw to mask, searching your eyes like he could find a reason that made it hurt less.

In the end, when he saw the finality in your face, something inside him would deflate to leave only silence as he drove you home, his grip on the wheel seeming like it hurts and the weight of each passing second sinking deep into his bones like bullets. If not worse.

That night, he’d take out his anger on the punching bag, knuckles bruising until the pain became a welcome numbness.

After every mission, though, he’d still reach for his phone, typing anyway. 'Home safe.' It was always the same and you wouldn’t respond.

Days would pass but he’d still text, still send pictures of things he found that reminded him of you. Small things. Little pieces of you that he couldn’t let go of. He’d call, just to hear your voice even though he knew you weren’t going to pick up.

At night, in the quiet of his apartment, he’d let himself sink into the scent of you that still lingered in his sheets, imagining what it would be like to have you back even if it was just for one night.

John "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny’s heart would shatter into pieces the moment you said it. He'd try to smile but the effort was weak, failing him completely as his chest tightened.

"I get it, lass." He’d say, eyes full of the pain he tried so hard to hide so you wouldn't feel guilty. "I’d go mad if it was you out there." But that didn’t stop the deep pit of panic from swallowing him whole.

How can he wake up or go to sleep without you?

''I just…'' He’d hesitate, tears threatening to fall. ''I can’t blame you.''

But damn it, he wanted to. He wanted to yell, to scream, to tell you not to leave, that he’d do anything, anything to make it work but he couldn’t. Not like this.

So instead, he’d pull you into his arms, letting himself feel the warmth of your body, the one thing he could hold onto even if it was just for a few more minutes. His lips would find yours, slow and desperate, tasting you like it was the last time.

One kiss would turn into two and another until you both found yourselves in bed, clinging to each other with a desperation that made it feel like the world would shatter and burn when you let go.

By morning, he’d be gone, leaving his cross on the nightstand. The only physical thing he could bear to leave behind.

He’d walk out into the early dawn, each step heavier than the last, knowing he’d left his heart back with you, a piece of himself he’d never get back. Not that he wanted to.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

He would expect it. He knew from the start that loving him would only end in pain but even though he saw it coming, nothing prepared him for how it would feel when you finally said the cursed words.

''I always knew it would end like this.'' He’d say, his tone flat but underneath it, there was a world of despair.

He wouldn’t beg nor try to change your mind. He couldn’t, not when he already knew how this story ends. Yet when you asked him to look at you, truly look at you, he’d turn his face and that’s when you’d see the truth in his eyes.

That pain that he’d buried so deep. ''I don’t expect you to wait. I don’t want you to bury me.''

He wouldn’t say anything else after that but you’d feel it in the silence that stretched between you both, that there was so much he wanted to confess to you but wouldn't dare.

He’d drive you to your friend’s place, eyes locked on the road ahead, and when he stopped, he’d glance over, just once and say, ''I’ll pack your things so you don’t have to come back.''

Before you could walk away one last time, his voice would crack just slightly. ''After you… there’s no one else.''

And that would be the last time you’d see him. He’d drive off, the emptiness of his heart trailing behind him and when you were out of sight, he’d finally let the tears fall.

[peppertoastuniverse]

chameleon – geto suguru x reader

contents: geto suguru x gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, lots of internal conflict, suguru calls you love, it's complicated lol summary: still crippled by suguru’s defection 10 years ago, you’re conflicted when he appears out of the blue. after all these years, is he still the love of your life? wc: 1.2k

“so, you don’t get to ask me that question,” you whisper brokenly, resolve crumbling. “i had to leave. I couldn’t just stand by and watch while they –“ you scoff. when was it this hard to talk to him? why was he trying to explain things that you already knew?

you hesitantly swallow the lump in throat. how.. why was he here? he carried himself in the same confident manner, his stride echoing in your empty cavity – a place he once called home, the crime scene of his theft years ago. his smile was different, but in his domineering presence you think that you see something that you’ve forced yourself to forget.  he coos your name as he moves closer to you, emerging from the shadows with a greeting dancing on his lips. the same lips that you memorized.  the sound of your unsteady breathing invading your mind. why was he here? he couldn’t be here.

blinking rapidly, you made a point to avoid looking into his amethyst eyes. if you showed a moment of weakness, if you dared to look into the eye of the storm you knew that there would be no chance for you. you would be swept up in his chaos and you were afraid that you would be tempted to walk in his rain. he easily broke down your walls ten years ago, and deep down you knew that he could carelessly take a sledgehammer to the new ones you’ve build because of his absence.

his cold slender hand finds a way onto your face, gently caressing your chin before using his thumb to force you to look up him.

“ah, have you forgotten about me already?”

he looked so different. his cheeks hollowed out, losing the baby fat that adorned his face when he used to smile down at you under your covers. dark hair once tied up so neatly, now fell in waves behind him. you wondered if he remembered the time where you begged him to braid his hair, suguru giving into you easily as he always has. his frame easily slotting between your legs, your warm fingers combing soothingly through his shattering thoughts, how he’d shyly smile as you’d chatter on about your day. looking at the man in front of you, his frame grew wider, shoulders stronger, body filling out his once lanky height. perhaps his shoulders remembered when you’d cling to them at night, how he would instinctively take you in his arms where you imprinted your heart on top of his.

he looked so different and yet you still recognized him. it’s hard to forget someone when they were once yours.

“hm?” he asks, waiting for an answer, moving to stroke your cheek. suguru always played dirty and with you it was no exception. he flexed his power when he could. the familiar action snaps you back into reality, reminding you of the sound of what was left of your breaking heart.

“you fucking left, geto,” you spit out, slapping his hand away from your face, not missing the way his eyes widen ever so slightly.  geto. he was never geto to you, never. even when you fought, it was always suguru, or baby. he didn’t know a geto when it came from your lips. he frowns in displeasure.

“you left.” lightly shoving his chest with your shaking hands, control dissolving into the night air. “without telling anyone –  even satoru!” moving to beat his firm chest, as if to distract him from the hurt in your voice. “do you even know what you put him though? what you put us through?”

 “all because you left in the middle of the fucking night.” another weighted punch, echoing in suguru’s empty chest. reverberating years of hurt into the dark sky.

“without me.” slap. he has the decency to let his control slip, breathing out a subtle shaky sigh.

“…and you show up, what?” you scoff incredulously, bitterness lacing your words, catching on your tongue, a tough pill to swallow. “ – years later! years. asking if i’ve forgotten about you?” you laugh humourlessly. suguru thinks that the cold sound doesn’t suit you, to him you were his favourite song. the sound of the cicadas in the morning, the sound of mimiko and nanako's laughter, the sound of you confessing your love to him on that night when –

“– like you’re the only thing I think about – that I’ve thought about –  for the past 10 years? even though i’ve tried everything to forget you –“ your voice betrayingly breaks, adding to your frustration. you were breathing heavier now, years of repressed anger running through your veins, possessing you to force out the messy words that you aggressively carved out on your heart every night.

suguru effortlessly catches your shaking hands before they get a chance to land another weak blow to him. holding your smaller hands to rest on his chest, he savours your familiar touch.  ­­­he wasn’t a fool, he knew that you could easily kill him if you wanted to and he would gladly let you – it would have been deserved. “so, you don’t get to ask me that question,” you whisper brokenly, resolve crumbling.

“i had to leave. I couldn’t just stand by and watch while they –“ you scoff. when was it this hard to talk to him? why was he trying to explain things that you already knew? you didn’t want to hear his thinly veiled excuses –  didn’t he know you anymore? you were the last person who would’ve stopped him from his goals, didn’t he know that? you couldn’t help but be offended by his gross oversight. “it would’ve ruined your life if you came with me. you –”

“you don’t get to make those decisions for me –!” “– you don’t deserve that.” “what and you do?”

“that’s different.” “don’t fucking lie, suguru,” you spit venomously at his audacity. “you can lie to yourself all you want, but not to me.”  

“no,” he breathes, “never to you.” his eyes meet yours for the first time. in his eyes, you see it. you saw every emotion that flickered through his mind, years ago he was easier to read but in the dim moonlight there was a diluted familiarity that made your heart lurch. was he still there? you weren’t strong enough, afraid of making decisions in his presence. afraid of your own thoughts, afraid of betraying yourself. you didn’t know that the boy who kissed you so sweetly in the rain had the capacity to be this cruel.

you feel his thumb brushing away tears that you didn’t know were falling. as his arms wrap around you, you close your eyes, afraid that he’ll remember that he could drown you in his breathing. you sigh as you feel him pushing your body flush to his. a waking memory. you relish in the way he feels around you, a perfect fit then. there was a time in the not so distant past where you hoped and prayed for this very scenario, to be in his arms again. you wondered if the space that you created together remained untouched right where he left it. “i thought about you every day, you know? every fucking day.” he mumbles, more to himself than you,an airing of an admission. your breath hitches. he couldn't do this to you. “i needed to see you.” he says, voice barely above a whisper, thick words hesitant to flow, as if he was weighing them carefully. he was already chastising himself for his greed, but he needed this. he neededyou.

it wasn’t good enough, and part of you thinks it never will be. you were an idiot, this you knew. but you couldn’t help but melt at his words, despite everything, despite all the death and destruction, he came back to you. he found his way back to you.

suguru sighs in relief has he feels your hesitant arms wrap around him in return, gripping his robes tightly, as if to strangle him. you didn’t accept his apology, but you accepted him – just like you always have. you meet his eyes, though physically changed by time, he was still yours. was he? “ I hate you, suguru.” “mhm.. i know, love. i do too.”

a/n: missin' my princess! i feel like im always screaming when i write for suguru lol -- dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[4.5k words]

[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Injury]

Chapter 4 "Brandy Bonbons"

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The abocath in your arm is pumping a translucent fluid in your veins, the medics refused to tell him what it was because he had no clearance. They also refused to put you in a cast in case you woke up and decided to fix your broken bones and displaced limbs yourself.

No matter how much Simon had insisted and yelled, they’d still refused, because apparently someone above him was pulling strings and had them all on a leash. Of course there was a big fish involved, your life was on the line after all and even through your hypothetically final moments they still refused to leave you in peace.

So he was stuck just helplessly lounging next to your bed in the cramped room they’d set you up in, nursing his bruised ribs and glass cuts while you lay there, silent and scarily motionless.

It’s been a week already and he hasn’t moved an inch despite John’s insistence that he at least get some proper sleep. He’d been glued to you since they’d extracted you from the remains of that car, all bent joints and speckles of blood. He’d been right next to you, rushing in with the doctors who tried to wheel you away but couldn’t get him to budge no matter how much they’d plead and tried to apply force. He refused to leave, not after what you’d done for him.

Your life for his.

You’d abandoned your primary mission because of a mistake he’d done, thrown your well-being to the side just to preserve the rotten heart he nurtured. You’d jumped from the roof of a twenty-story building for him, no protection, no plan, no fear, just for him, because it at least gave you a small chance at saving him. You’d selflessly thrown him to safety, thinking of him before yourself as always, and had taken the full fall all by yourself.

He should have been there with you, you should have just perished together and been freed of the limitations of your lives.

Now you were bed-bound, your body was shattered, you couldn’t breathe without a special apparatus they’d wheeled in to try and preserve you. You were blue and black all over, pummeled to a pulp. Simon wanted to touch you, caress your cheek tenderly and whisper in your ear that it’ll all be okay, that he won’t leave until you’re better, but he was scared that even your skull was fractured.

He was scared to breathe in your direction.

Even though you were their best soldier, they still treated you like a dog, didn’t even add any pain suppressants to whatever concoction they were feeding your bloodstream. Whether it was because they didn’t know exactly how to help you or because they knew you’d eventually rise again and couldn’t be bothered was uncertain.

But what about the pain you endured? Did nobody care?

He cared…

All of this because of him. He couldn’t stand the thought.

No matter the lack of expression on your face in the presence of any injury, he knew you still hurt. He’d do anything in his power to make it better, would take you away if he could, somewhere far away where the clutches of your creators couldn’t reach you, somewhere where you could be free to do whatever you wanted.

And if you still wanted him around even after he’d set you free, he’d happily oblige.

But he couldn’t. He had no power here, he was as useless as they came.

All Simon could do was keep you company and renew the cluster of orchids placed on the nightstand by the bed. You’d said they smelled the best, he hadn’t forgotten.

It was a gut-wrenching existence, but one he was willing to soldier for you. He was ready to do anything for you. Just like you were for him. The only difference was that his devotion came from the heart while yours was embedded into you during training and was strictly professional.

But then again, you’d gone against everything you stood for a week ago, just for him. You’d blatantly disobeyed orders in favor of his life. This gave him hope that maybe somewhere deep down, there was still a small flicker of humanity left in you.

It gave him hope that there was still a chance for you… and for him.

He’d never realized just how human he was before he’d met you. He’d thought himself a stone-cold military weapon. Then you’d come along and everything he’d believed in had been wiped off the board.

The more anomalous you were the more human he became so he could bring you back to the world you’d left behind with your augmentations.

He sighs and shifts uncomfortably in the foldable chair that’s too small to hold his large frame properly.

The sun is finally rising, he sees it peeking beyond the window – lazy and unbothered. Another day of sitting around waiting is ahead of him.

Simon rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches the stiffness out of his joints before standing, and even though you can’t hear him, he still mumbles that he’ll be right back.

He’s at the door, holding onto the frame absentmindedly because he has to duck to walk through it.

One last longing glance in your direction before he heads off to grab a cup of coffee and sober up. The staff probably have it prepared already, it’s become a ritual, every day at sunrise he was at the coffee machine waiting his turn for a cup full of a bitter, scalding dose.

But then your eyes shift beneath your lids and he’s frozen in place for half a second before he’s at your bedside. His hands are looming over you, desperate to glide to your shoulders and shake you awake, but he doesn’t dare. Too much is whirring in his head that he wants to say, but he settles for something simple.

“Hound?”

The first signs of awakening begin. You groan, throat most likely parched, then shift slightly, and your breath hitches and he can’t fathom how much discomfort you’re experiencing at that moment.

You barely manage to roll your head on the pillow to face him and when you see it’s him the haze in your eyes starts to dissipate.

“Lieutenant?” The word leaves you as a weak rasp and he reaches for the water bottle sitting on top of your nightstand.

The distinct deaf sound of your bones popping back in their correct order makes him sick, he sees your bent wrist snap back into place, your legs move under the thin white blanket, creaking softly until all damage is repaired completely. It’s amazing as it is cursed to see something so unnatural – regeneration polished to perfection. You roll your neck, cracking it thoroughly before taking the needle out of your vein and the oxygen mask off your face. Supposedly, the black eye, bruises, and cuts were superficial injuries you’d deal with later.

They’d never set up a heart monitor for you because why would they? The odds of you dying were unfathomably low.

“Easy now, luv.” He coos and leans forward, wrapping an arm around your upper back to help you sit up when you begin to fidget restlessly. He has the lid of the water bottle pressed to your lips next and you’re chugging it down so quickly he’s worried it won’t be enough to sate you. “Want more? I can – ”

“ – They’ll move me.” You say between hungry breaths, interrupt him sharply, and look up at him as your cheek comes to rest against his shoulder.

His jaw tightens under the mask and the hand that’s gently kneading your back halts.

“What?” It’s stupid to ask, he already knows the reason, but a part of him refuses to believe it. The same part that dotes over you and doesn’t want to let you go. So he asks anyway in the hopes that the words about to come out of your mouth are different from his expectations.

“They’ll move me from your Squad. I didn’t manage to secure the target. Failure is not an option for me.” You deliver the devastating information as if you’re reading numbers off a chart.

“They won’t. Won’t let ���em.” He twists the now empty plastic bottle and tosses it at the bin with visible malice.

He feels the invisible shrug that rolls off your shoulders. There isn’t a spec of anxiety on your face, you’re at peace with the outcome, having accepted your fate already.

And he’s thrust right back to the start where you don’t care who leads you as long as they do their job right. His absence wouldn’t matter in the slightest to you. It forces the breath out of his lungs, how uncaring you are, how you can just brush him off after risking your life for him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck do you mean it doesn’t ma’er.” Ghost bristles up at your lack of retaliation. The arm that’s been keeping you up retracts and crosses with its twin in front of his chest. “Course it fuckin’ ma’ers.”

“You’re alive.” You say as if that fact would make it all better, that it was a fair trade to lose your position due to his well-being. “I’ll take my consequences.”

He leaves your side, paces back and forth next to your bed and you, the ever-watchful dog, follow him unblinking as he contemplates silently.

The heating system buzzes softly, accompanying his thoughts with pleasant white noise which he doesn’t succumb to. It’s not enough to quell his anger.

His heart bleeds from your words, it shows in his slouched shoulders and jittery steps.

You can’t just say that his life is worth yours, your job, everything. You can’t do this to him and then expect him not to drown on thoughts of you before he goes to sleep every night.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Cadet?” He growls finally, voice like gravel as he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

“Please…please say you did it because you wanted to…”

But you don’t. Because of course, you don’t. I can never be that easy.

“I was told to protect my comrades in combat. That’s what I did.” You answer matter-of-factly, cool and collected even after nearly losing your life. It was irksome, he’d hoped that after such a close call with death, something would have changed in you, but he was as usual wrong.

“Ye? And what about your other orders?” He barks back viciously, pushing desperately for something, anything that would steer away from your typical answers. “Unless the target is within direct eyesight.”

“If you’re worried about being punished, don’t.” You try to sooth him in your own heartless way, but your direction as to his malady couldn’t be more wrong. “They’ll do nothing to you.”

It’s not his hide he’s worried about, but yours. He could care less about what your stuck-up superiors had in store for him. They could try anything, but he was an old dog in this industry and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Tha’s not…” He scoffs, shakes his head in disbelief and clenches his fists to maintain his boiling outburst. “I can’t bloody stand you sometimes.”

Why was it so hard for you to admit that you’d done something based on emotion? Why were you so ashamed of harboring a fondness for him?

“Your feelings toward me mean nothing.” It’s your turn to berate him now and you spare no expense, malevolently beating down on him and reminding him how little he truly mattered to you. Trying to shatter that ignorant cocoon he had encased himself in because you were bored of being his scapegoat. “I need a guide, whether you or someone else it makes no difference to me. I need a leader, not man who cannot separate work from personal interest and misunderstands indifference for acceptance to his advances” He’s staring you down, trying to seal your lips with a searing glare, but it’s ineffective and you spit out one last batch of venom before going quiet. “You've failed me”

Fuck the coffee, he needed a smoke.

He pats his pocket to check if his pack is still there before ripping his eyes off you and turning for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Simon doesn’t answer, just briefly stops before disappearing behind the door. It shuts with a bang behind him, he takes a deep breath of hospital air as soon as it does, lets his lids flutter for a second to compose himself. He gets a few questionable glances, apparently, your argument hadn’t gone unheard, but he didn’t mind. Nobody would approach him, they had no right sticking their noses in his business as much as he didn’t in theirs.

He trudges through the hallway, passing by various medical staff bringing in patients or rushing to deliver tubs of medication. The coat of white paint over everything overwhelms his eyes, makes them sting and dampen and he squints to blink back the moisture. The world feels like it’s speeding around him, passing away while he’s stuck in one place.

A group of suits step by him on the way out, all of them spotless in their attire, suitcases in hand, hair combed to perfection, and slicked back to free their unfriendly faces. They stick out like a sore thumb on the base, even Ghost’s superiors couldn’t match their confident stride – all business. His gaze hardens at the sight of them and he looks back once they’ve walked past him.

They enter the room he’d just left, your room. His pulse speeds up at the inclination and he has half a mind to turn back and come to you for aid because he suspects who the men are.

Your bosses, maybe your makers even. People that didn’t belong on his base and had no business talking to his Cadet without his supervision.

But who was he to intervene when you so desperately wanted to be rid of him?

He sighs and listens to his own boots squeak against the spotless floor as they carry him forward instead of backward. Shadows rush past him, faceless entities he cares little for, a blurred cacophony of voices, some calm, some throwing out rushed orders. The fluorescent lights above his head bade his splotchy shadow, his only companion in this sickening place.

Simon fucking hates hospitals, always has.

The chill of the morning welcomes him when he finally pushes through the entrance doors and comes face to face with the sunrise.

He shoulders the wall and pulls out his cigarettes before tugging down his mask enough to free his mouth and securing one between his lips.

He lights it, takes a long drag and puffs out a breath.

“Fucking ‘ell, Hound…”

He felt like an idiot for having hung around your bed for a week worrying over your condition, thinking that once you woke up you’d cling to him for help, that your leap of faith had meaning behind it besides orders.

But the way you’d spoken had crushed those dreams completely and now he was left questioning everything.

Maybe he was harassing you. Pushing you to your limits and trying to drag you into something you truly didn’t want. Somewhere between wanting to prove that you’re still human, he’d lost himself. His mission was no longer to find out if you still had a heart, but that that heart beat for him as much as his did for you. He’s not sure when his obsession with you evolved into infatuation, when his orders for you to smile became orders to kiss him.

It was unnerving to think back on his actions if your words rang true and you felt nothing but loyalty to him as your Lieutenant. He was abusing his power over you, he was a fucking menace…

Another drag of his cigarette, a longer one to calm the thundering thoughts that are beating down on him for being just another disgusting man taking advantage of you.

He digs the heel of his shoe in the dirt, kicks out a pebble and stares down at it absentmindedly, he’s not really there, he’s busy giving himself a mental whooping for his actions.

The realization sinks in slowly, like a disease it takes over his every fiber until he’s nothing but self-loathing.

How had you even managed to stand him for so long without an outburst?

Because that’s how you were taught, take everything being thrown at you without a care. Nothing matters but your missions and performance.

He sees Johnny and Kyle pass by in the distance, they notice him and give him a nod, the good lads, too soft of heart to try and pry him out of the infirmary unlike their Captain. He nods back and continues smoking, decides then that maybe he’ll get his coffee from the cafeteria and have breakfast with his Squad. Quit sulking and praying for your reciprocation and finally leave you in peace. You were fine, after all, it had taken you a whole of five minutes to recover after you’d awoken.

You didn’t need him, you never had. If anything, he was a hindrance to you, all of them were, but you ignored that fact and acted as if most missions didn’t fail because of their incompetence compared to yours.

Yeah…

He’d had enough of chasing fairy tales, it was time to come back to the real world.

Ghost feels the wall behind him vibrate with a sudden thud and pushes off it suddenly. His first thought is an earthquake, but the ground beneath him wasn’t shifting or shaking, it was just the wall. The medical bay had shuddered.

It dawns on him and he’s rushing back inside in an instant, his cigarette discarded on the dirt and forgotten. He speedwalks through the hallway, past the shaken-up staff, his large strides take him directly to your door where he’s prepared to barge in. But he sees the damage done through the small round glass and stops dead in his tracks.

A spider web of cracks covers one of the walls, the side of your fist at the center. And your superiors don’t seem to be completely unphased. They stand opposite of your bed in a cluster, a few feet away, briefcases to their chests, papers scattered on the floor. His jaw clenches at the sight of them – contracts for other organizations, they’d given you ample choice now that you’d proven your usefulness.

“Fucking bastards…”

There’s nothing on your face to indicate what had transpired while he was away.

Though your actions speak loud enough to make his hands shake.

You’d refused whatever they’d said. You’d rebelled.

You’d chosen him.

And it wasn’t like these sorts of people to just accept an uprise, but maybe coming from you it was too much to handle at present. Maybe they hadn’t been prepared for the minuscule chance that you were slowly starting to develop a mind of your own. He was almost proud if not for the bubbling malice at the sight of them.

A handful of muffled words are exchanged and you feign a lunge off the bed to which Ghost sees one visibly shudder. Before long they’re out the door, disappearing as mysteriously as they’d appeared. He moves to the side not to bump into them, wants to take a shower after being within such close proximity to them.

You’re pulling your clothes on when he enters, having discarded the lanky hospital robe you’d been adorned with while unconscious. The uniform hasn’t looked worse on you yet, everything hangs, you’ve melted in the week you’ve been asleep. He took a mental note to drag you to the cafeteria after you were done gathering your things.

Your visage is calm, but your eyes are razor-sharp when you lift them to greet him.

“What the bloody hell ‘appened?”

“Classified.” You shoot back almost automatically and straighten up once you’ve tied your boots in place. “I won’t be getting moved though.”

You stand to stretch, roll your wrists and then your ankles and it’s unbelievable that you’re ready for another mission already, but you are. Aside from the lost weight, you were as good as new.

Sometimes he grew jealous of your recovery time and resilience. Here he was with bruised ribs he’d have to take care of for weeks while you’d been near your last breath a few days ago and now you were talking around with nothing ailing you at all.

“So why the long face then?” Ghost watches you shuffle through your discarded duffle bag, pulling out an old rations bar before sinking your teeth into it like a famished mutt.

You don’t answer. Instead, you wolf down the rest of your snack and sling the bag over your shoulder before trying to walk past him. Casual and unbothered, typical for you, but something lingered beneath the surface, he could smell it and he wasn’t about to lose his chance.

He steps in front of you and crosses his arms, puffing out his chest to reestablish his post above yours.

“You’re in my way.”

When he doesn’t move, you sigh and try to squeeze past him but he purposefully takes up the entirety of the doorframe, trapping you in the room with him.

Damn him and his broad frame.

“Cadet.” He begins evenly and cocks his head to the side in mock confusion and it makes you nearly lash out at him for it. “Wha’s wrong?”

After everything he had the audacity to ask you what was wrong as if he didn’t already know. The countless secretive conversations he kept in store in his mind for as long as the memories would stay, to the forced kisses to the lingering glances you knew he wanted returned.

You try to escape, avoid this conversation altogether, because once you started there would be no stopping you and a tiny part of you that you didn’t acknowledge didn’t want to hurt his feelings. You refused to cause him pain be it physical or emotional, you’d rather cut your own tongue off before ever going against your precious Lieutenant.

Because that’s what good dogs did…

But he was a stubborn man, even in the face of pain he wouldn’t stand down.

If only you could understand why he pushed your buttons so fervently…

If only he could understand that this was not the way to your heart because there was no way…

You try again, one last attempt at sparing you both from the hefty conversation to come, but he’s persistent in his search for the truth and you finally snap.

“You’re what’s wrong, LT.” you hiss sharply, breaking the silence filled by the soft buzz of the heating system. You shake off the thoughts screaming in your ears to spare him, be gentle with him because he was gentle with you always. But you can’t anymore. Because all you want is to love him the same way he loves you but you just fucking can’t. “You keep poking and probing me trying to get something out of me that isn’t there!” Your voice falters, the frustration dissolves as quickly as it had erupted and now there is nothing but melancholy. He thought he was dreaming, but no, your eyes truly were wet with restrained tears. “What do you want from me?”

This…

Him…

He was the first and only reason for you to regret your augmentations. Because he just had to come into your calm life and turn everything upside down with his gentle, calloused hands and soothing words. Because he had to take you on a date and bother you constantly with meaningless talks, asking for your opinion, and caring for you. He had to go refill your tray with food when you couldn’t be bothered, he had to push you behind him on missions and be your shield even though that was literally your job.

He had to keep adding fresh orchids to your med bay nightstand that had lingered in your nostrils for the whole duration of your stay. All of this because you’d simply said they smelled nice once.

He was so kind, he was your angel, your reason to work as hard as you did to succeed in every mission and solidify your spot in his team. This way you could protect him, take bullets for him so he could keep being by your side. This was your way of showing that you weren’t indifferent to him, but he just had to push for something you could not give.

And as much as you wanted to give him whatever he wanted you couldn’t because what the hell did it mean to love him?

“Love me.” He says softly, whispers it out, and lets it hang in the already unbearable air that’s choking both of you mercilessly. “I want you t’ love me.”

“I do love you!” You exclaim, desperate to prove that his love wasn’t the only love that existed and even if you couldn’t reciprocate, you could do everything else to salve over the wounds your rejection caused him.

“Not like a dog.” He laughs a bitter laugh that makes your knees weak with pain and your face burn in irritation. “Like a woman.” He swallows thickly and finally lifts his chocolate brown eyes to meet with your crystal white ones. “A wife.”

You bite into your bottom lip so hard you feel the metallic twinge of blood on your tongue, having sucked it inside your mouth instead of letting out the alien sob that was trying to push its way up your throat.

“I can’t…” You whimper out, regretful, mourning what it could have been if you were both just two normal people. “You know I can’t, Simon. I want to… I just can’t.”

But the bliss of civilian life was unreachable, neither of you could escape the jaws of military life, not while you were both still breathing.

You wish so desperately for a new start, another life, a second life where you could just be happy together, where you had boring jobs, and shared meals in the cozy home you’d managed to save up for and purchase together. You wanted to have a family together, but even that had been taken away from you.

You couldn’t have kids.

Not anymore…

Not after the augmentations had burned your organs to a crisp.

Maybe someday you’d be happy…

But not in this life, this one was already spoilt for the both of you and all you could do was push forward until blissful death found you one day and then you would pray that the next chance you got, you’d find Ghost again no matter how long it took you and you’d finally have your happily ever after.

He stares at you so sincerely, there’s so much vulnerability there you have the urge to collapse into his arms and stay there forever sobbing out your woes.

“Then lie to me.” He says and you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your ears to block out the rest.

<<< Chapter 3

Chapter 5 >>>

Masterlist

[valkyrieromanoff]

👻GHOSTLY ENCOUNTER (+18):  GHOST! ANAKIN SKYWALKER X YOU (day 17 of 31)

synopsis: .You move into a house only to discover that the ghost of the former owner may be too charming for a spirit.

warning:  sexual content, dirty talk, masturbation

 a/n: Hello there, so, I had planned to do all the pg oneshots but then I got carried away with this one, hope you like it💖

ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ

ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ

ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ

ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴇʀᴀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

Moving away from your parents’ house had been a whirlwind of emotions. On one hand, it felt like stepping into the independence you’d longed for, but on the other, there was the weight of responsibility—balancing work, studies, bills, and the maintenance of your new space. When you found a quaint little house near the college within your budget, you jumped at the chance. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours, and that was enough.

Your parents helped with the move, spending every last second before nightfall fussing over every detail—whether the fridge was stocked, whether you had enough lightbulbs. By the time they finally left, you found yourself alone in the house for the first time, surrounded by boxes. The silence was both exhilarating and unsettling. You ordered pizza, collapsed onto the couch, and tried to let yourself enjoy the quiet.

But that quiet didn’t last long.

It started with little things: doors creaking in the dead of night, an occasional window rattling without wind, a few misplaced items—your silk nightgown draped across the living room sofa, your lace panties casually hung from the ceiling fan. You laughed it off at first, chalking it up to exhaustion or maybe a vivid dream. But each day, the incidents became harder to ignore. You felt watched, though you couldn’t explain it. The house seemed to have eyes.

Then, one night in the shower, that feeling intensified. The warm water streamed over your body as you hummed, your thoughts drifting, until a prickle of awareness ran down your spine. You weren’t alone. Slowly, cautiously, you turned your head—and there he was. A man, or something like it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and tousled blond hair, wearing what looked like military clothing. His lips curled into a mischievous smile, and though fear gripped you, your pulse quickened for an entirely different reason.

You screamed, grabbing the nearest towel and wrapping it around yourself, while hurling a shampoo bottle at him. It passed straight through his form, shattering the mirror behind him. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised his hands in mock surrender, still smirking.

"First time seeing a ghost?" His voice was low and smooth, with a hint of amusement, the Canadian accent making him sound both charming and dangerous. "I’m Anakin, doll."

Heart racing, you bolted from the bathroom, your wet feet slipping against the floor as you fled to the guest room. You slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some college party trick or a hallucination from too many late-night study sessions. You slapped your face, trying to wake yourself from the nightmare.

“Running away already?” His voice, teasing and intimate, came from the bed. He sat there, casual and confident, his ghostly form stretched out as if he owned the place. “You didn’t even give me a chance to introduce myself properly.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching in your throat. He was more than just a ghost—he was magnetic. His gaze lingered on you, taking in every detail of your expression, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks despite the cool air. How could a ghost feel this… alive?

“What do you want?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Anakin’s smirk deepened as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you want me to leave?”

The way he asked it was playful, but there was a glint in his eye that made your stomach flutter. You hesitated, and he caught it.

“Nah, I’m not going anywhere,” he continued, his voice dropping to a velvety whisper. “I’ve been bored to death, and you… well, you’re a lot more interesting than the last tenants. Maybe you could keep me company?”

You swallowed, pressing yourself further against the door. His words hung in the air, layered with an unspoken invitation. There was something about him—about the way his eyes never left yours, the way his voice seemed to curl around your thoughts. He was dangerous, but not in the way you expected. He was seductive.

“And what does keeping you company entail?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost breathless.

Anakin tilted his head, his smile widening as he stood, slowly crossing the room toward you. You knew you should be scared, that this was absurd. But your heart betrayed you, pounding harder with every step he took. His presence, though immaterial, was overwhelming, like he could wrap you in his energy if he wanted.

“Depends,” he whispered as he stopped inches from you, his eyes locking onto yours. “How much fun are you willing to have with a ghost?”

The air between you seemed to thicken, and despite the fact that he wasn’t solid, you swore you could feel the heat radiating from him. It was intoxicating, the way he stood so close, the scent of him faintly lingering in the air, an odd mix of woodsmoke and something distinctly masculine.

His voice, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very air, sent shivers down your spine. "Why don't you show me just how fun you can be?" Anakin suggested, his smoldering gauze never leaving yours.

You felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment washing over you. Taking a deep breath, you nodded and slowly slid your hand under your skirt, feeling the heat of your body radiate through the fabric of your panties.

"Good girl," he purred, his ghostly fingers trailing along your jawline, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "I want you to imagine me touching you, my hands exploring every inch of your body."

You let out a soft moan, your hips rocking slightly as you began to rub yourself through the thin barrier of your underwear. The sensation was electric, and you could feel the dampness growing as your arousal increased.

"That's it," Anakin encouraged, his voice like honey dripping over your skin. "Imagine me kissing you, my lips tracing the curve of your neck, my tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat."

You tilted your head back, exposing your vulnerable neck to him as you continued to touch yourself. Your breathing grew heavier, and you could feel your heart racing as you lost yourself in the fantasy.

"Now, I want you to picture my hands on your breasts, cupping and kneading them," he said, his voice husky with desire. "Your nipples hardening under my touch, wanting to be sucked."

Your fingers moved faster, the heat building within you as you followed his instructions. You loved the way he was guiding you, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed.

"I'm going to move lower now," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "I want you to imagine my fingers tracing the line of your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties."

You gasped. "That's it, let yourself feel it," Anakin's voice purred in your ear, his ethereal breath ghosting over your neck and sending tingles down your spine. "Imagine my fingers slipping inside you, stroking that sensitive spot that makes your toes curl."

His words painted vivid pictures in your mind, transporting you to a realm of pure pleasure as you obediently followed his lead. Your fingers worked faster, more urgently, slipping beneath the wet fabric to stroke your most intimate places directly.

"You're getting so wet for me already," Anakin groaned, the sound of approval thick in his tone. "I can feel your arousal, taste it in the air. Your body is so responsive, so eager for my touch."

You couldn't hold back the moans spilling from your lips, the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter in your core as Anakin's dirty talk stoked the flames of your desire. Your free hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white, as you rocked your hips into your touch.

"That's my good girl," he praised, his voice a seductive rumble. "Imagine me lavishing attention on your clit now, circling and flicking that sensitive nub until you're writhing and begging for release."

Your fingers moved in quick, tight circles, matching the rhythm he dictated with his sultry words. Sparks of pleasure shot through you, building to a crescendo as Anakin worked you higher and higher.

"Don't hold back," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. "Let go and come for me. I want to feel your pleasure, see you fall apart."

With a cry of ecstasy, your body seized up, back arching as the waves of your climax crashed over you. Your walls clenched around your fingers as you rode out the intense sensations, Anakin's voice urging you on through every pulse and aftershock.

As you slowly floated down from your tall, chest heaving, you felt Anakin's presence envelop you, a comforting warmth seeping into your bones. His chuckle was his spirit. "That was quite a performance, my dear. You're quite the eager student."

His spectral hand caressed your cheek, the tingling sensation of his touch still lingering even after he'd withdrawn. The memory of his voice and the connection you'd shared in that moment left you feeling incredibly satisfied and more than a little lightheaded.

[clerc16]

gorgeous lies

summary: is it a gorgeous lie, or is it just a dreadful truth?

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: a little angst, open ending i guess? cursing, mentions of a rocky relationship

Normally, you didn’t think about the concept of soulmates. It didn’t cross your mind. Until you met Charles; and that changed your whole perspective.

He was always there with you, for you; and you were always there for him. That’s just the way it was.

Relaxing days off were a necessity in your relationship. Calm days spent tangled between white, crisp bedsheets while small, sweet nothings were whispered and short stories were shared. Both of your lives seemed to stop once these days occurred - you were only thinking about each other while the world went on with their lives.

Honesty was very important, too. Both of your promises and words were always fulfilled. It was like an unspeakable vow; it was never really officiated but it was known.

Well, that’s what you thought anyway.

That’s what you thought, until the day you mistook Charles’ phone for yours. You tried unlocking it, but you realised that the Face ID didn’t recognise your face until it was too late.

“mate just tell her u should take a break. it’s better than to lead her on when u don’t even portray ur real feelings” read the text message. You didn’t even know who it was from - maybe Pierre, maybe Joris, maybe Arthur or Lorenzo - and frankly, you didn’t care.

You left as soon as you could. No explanation, no reasoning.

“my love, is everything ok? i’m here if u need me” Charles’ text said. You read it over so many times you memorised it. The fact he easily called you my love when he was unsure of his feelings. The way he easily made you believe him even when he didn’t believe himself.

The way you were so unbelievably attracted to him, like two opposite ends of a magnet, and all that just shattered.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days. And Charles’ phone never got a notification that you responded.

Naturally, he came over to your house after two very long days. When you saw him on your doorstep, you wanted to slam the door in his face. But you didn’t. Instead, you ‘invite’ him in.

“Are you here to lie to me again?” You stammer. His eyebrows furrow as his eyes look deep into yours.

“What?”

“Or are you here to tell me we should take a break?” You continue. His face contorts as he finally understands what you’re referring to.

“My love, it wasn’t what it looked like-” he begins, but you cut him off as you laugh.

“Don’t my love me right now. I’m not stupid. I’m not a child. Just... get it over with, Charles. Please, just go.” You respond, your voice cracking.

Hearing the evident pain in your voice as it cracked caused his heart to crack, too.

And without another word, he was gone. Forever? Possibly.

Days dragged on like years. Days were spent crying; out of sadness, out of guilt, out of regret. They blended into one another but each one of them stuck out, sharp as a pin.

The one day that stood out the most, though, was the final day of a devastating week. Friday.

A knock on your door caused you to groan as you forced yourself off the couch.

“Is this Ms... L/N?” The man at the door asked. You hummed shortly.

“I have a delivery for you,” he says with a small smile as he places a huge bouquet of your favourite flower on your front door. You thank him as you drag it inside.

You weren’t stupid. You knew it was Charles.

Attached to the flowers was a note. You sighed as you opened it and began reading.

“Y/N,

I promise, none of this was a lie. Well, maybe some of it. But none of it was negative, I swear. It may seem like it was all a lie, but it wasn’t. Everytime I called you my love or told you I love you wasn’t a lie. None of it was. Please give me a chance to explain. I owe you an explanation, please let me do it.

I love you, I swear.

- Charles.”

You sigh once more as you fold up the note, the decision already clear in your mind.

thank you for reading! i hope this was worth it, please don’t be a ghost reader :)

[ponderingmoonlight]

Should have told her

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Synopsis: While being secretely in love with you since joining Jujutsu High, Nanami never admitted his feelings to you. Only after you nearly die in a fight and are on the brink of death, he begins to realize how much you really mean to him

Warnings: injury, death, language

This is not fair. You are such a talented jujutsu sorcerer, your abilities even surpass his own. But apparently, not even your skills were enough to save you from getting severely injured.

They said it would be a grade 1, a curse you could eat for breakfast. Maybe a few hours and you’d be back. Yes, absolutely no problem for a grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer like yourself, Nanami knew that all too well and trusted you when you smiled with nothing but determination and confidence at him before leaving.

But it wasn’t a grade 1. A special grade curse appeared. You fought back with all your abilities, ready to die on the battlefield in order to exorcise it and safe over a hundred people from certain death. But that was too much for you. Satoru came just in time before you got punctured and ultimately killed. Yes, he saved your usually so efficient ass from certain death. And now you’re laying here, unconscious since exactly 7 days, 3 hours and 18 seconds. Unconscious and severely injured, on the brink of death.

“You need some sleep, Nanami. (y/n) won’t be helped if you collapse next to her bed”, Shoko suggests, her very own tired eyes filled with concern when looking at your lifeless frame.

She thought you’ll die the second she laid eyes on the severe wounds that almost pierced your abdomen in half. You were lucky that Satoru brought you here so fast. One minute more and you’d be dead by now. God, the look on Nanami’s face when he caught a glimpse of you, covered in your own blood and hanging from Satoru’s arms like you already took your last breath. It broke her heart seeing him like this, completely shattered by sighting the woman who everyone knows he secretly loves since joining Jujutsu High like that.

“It was a special curse. How is that possible, Shoko?”, he groans, head hanging in his nape.

“I should have just gone with her.”

“No one but Satoru would have been able to help her out. You know that”, Shoko reminds him.

“It’s like back then. I can only watch and stare in awe”, he mutters through the towel that covers his face.

Shoko’s heart skips a beat. She knows exactly what he’s referring to. They always knew the incident from a few years ago still haunts him. How devastating it must be for him to go through all of this again, to see you in the same situation, not sure if you’ll make it.

“Unlike then, we can save (y/n) now. I’ll do anything to make her survive.”

Back then, Nanami had no chance to protect Haibara from certain death. You were so devastated when you found out your classmate didn’t make it, the two of you were like siblings. Always confident, constantly optimistic and cheerful. And even though Nanami would never admit it, he constantly admired both of you for the ability to stay positive in a world this cruel and unforgiving. Fuck, he should have told you how he felt, that your smile makes his world stand still and that he adores the way you embrace his left arm when walking next to him, the touch sending shivers down his spine since more than 10 years. He should have told you way earlier that he can’t get you out of his head, not even after he ran away in an office job to escape his feelings. You are the light in his life, one of the striking reasons why he returned to be a jujutsu sorcerer. But right now, this light seems to slowly fade away, without him telling you a single word about his true feelings towards you.

“I should have told her!”, he cries out, jumps out of his chair and throws it across the room.

Maybe it’s too late now. Even when you wake up, you may not be able to recognize him. Or maybe you don’t want to see him anymore.

“Let’s eat some cookies when I return, yeah?”

“(y/n), I certainly won’t waste my day eating cookies with you.”

“Too bad, but more for me. See ya!”

Oh, how badly he wants to eat cookies by your side right now. Nanami would give everything to sit with you on an abandoned bench away from the hustle and bustle of Jujutsu High, hold you in his arms and watch you eat, a satisfied grin plastered on your face. And you loved sunsets, the ones that paint the sky blood-colored.

“Looks like apocalypse”, you always commented, completely mesmerized by the play of colors above your head.

What he would give to hear your voice calling his name once again, nobody pronounces it like you do.

“Nanami, there you are!”

Woah, Nanami, that suit makes you look like a snack!”

“Ohh, don’t look at me with those eyes Nanami, I know you are thrilled to see me!”

If you only knew how thrilled he was.  If you only knew how your words make his knees go weak and the tips of his ears heat up in an instant. If you only knew how your sight alone makes his day better, your warm smile following him into his dreams and chasing away his nightmares.

“I bet she already knew for a long time. And that she feels the same”, Shoko rudely interrupts the train of thoughts that rolled over him.

Impossible. How would you know? After all, he did his best to push you away in order to hide his feelings so well that it seemed like he has none. Surely she only says that because she wants to comfort him. Pathetic. Nothing could comfort him expect that you finally open your eyes again.

“She even looks cute when she’s unconscious.”

Satoru’s appearance in the doorframe catches Nanami off guard. What the hell is he doing here? Oh right, he saved you. And you two know each other as long as Nanami knows Gojo himself. Apparently even Satoru cares enough about you to check on you.

“How’s she doin’?”

“Not much changed. Her heartbeat is stable and her wounds are taken care of. It is up to her if and when she wakes up again”, Shoko briefly explains.

“If? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s (y/n) were talking about! She’s always been a pain in the ass with her determination and unshakable confidence!”

“How are you able to joke around when she’s laying right there, fighting for her life? Don’t you care about her at all?”, Nanami snaps at him.

Pure anger crawls up his veins. How can he? How can he come here and tear stupid sayings when you possibly won’t make it? Even Satoru should be sad about what happened. After all, he knows you since more than 10 years, the two of you were always joking around.

“I know (y/n) well enough to be aware of the fact that she won’t let herself die from something like that and you should too, Nanami. Trust her with this one.”

“I already trusted her with this fucking mission and that’s how it turned out”, Nanami barks back.

Gojo positions himself next to the puny figure of Nanami, a small smile creeping up his face. Kento must have thought he hid his feelings from the world when in reality, everyone at Jujutsu High knows that he adores you. Even if this incident was tragic, there is perhaps something good about it. Maybe he’s finally realizing how much he cares about you.

“(y/n) would never die without bugging you one last time. After all, she loves you too much for that.”

Nanami’s eyes widen at the sound of Gojo’s words in his ears. You? Loving him? You have always been the sweetest woman around Jujutsu High, the students of the past years constantly falling for your charm, beauty and brain. Fuck, sure you could even have Satoru if you wanted. So, why him?

“Stop making fun of me and get your ass out, Satoru.”

“Grr, so rude! But okay, I’ll leave you alone with your sweetheart. Tell me when she’s awake. See ya!”

And with that, Satoru disappears behind the door as fast as he came, alongside Shoko. Nanami signs and slaps the rag on his face away without heeding it. His gaze falls upon your peaceful face, chest rising and falling at steady pace. Gojo is right, you really do look cute. Like you’re sleeping and throwing your tired eyes at him any moment, revealing your most striking smile when realizing that it’s him even though he doesn’t deserve it. But you won’t wake up. And probably your pain is too much to smirk over it.

He can’t help but rest his head on the soft mattress beside your body and grab your cold hand. You simply can’t die on him. Not now, not when he didn’t tell you about his true feelings yet. God, he is so dumb for gatekeeping this shit since 10 whole years. Why did he always shut himself up when his happiness was right under his nose? Maybe because he firmly believes that you don’t feel the same way. How could you, though? He is the complete opposite of you, quiet when you are loud, serious when you are goofy, negative when you are positive. Yes, the two of you are the definition of contraries. And apart from that, a simple man like him doesn’t deserve a striking woman like you.

His grip around your hand tightens, tears start to pool his eyes. Why did all of this happen? You promised everything would be fine, he even bought you a pack of your favorite double chocolate chip cookies. And now you’re laying here, holding onto for dear life. Nanami is no man of tears or sadness, but when it comes to you…You truly hold the most special place in his soul. If you leave, a part of his heart will die too. Maybe he should quit being a jujutsu sorcerer. Working in an office might suck, but at least he won’t have to go through pain like this.

“Where are my cookies?”

He is immediately pulled back to earth, heart beating out of his chest while gazing at you wide-eyed. You are awake. You just said something. Your beautiful but tired orbs are directed towards him, a small grin creeping up your face.

It’s like Nanami forgets how to breathe for a moment when reality kicks in.

“(y/n)?”, he breathes out.

“I told you you’d eat cookies with me. Knew you couldn’t resist a date night with me”, you mumble with unusual weak voice.

There it is. His name out of your sweet mouth, just like usual. As if nothing ever happened.

He can no longer hold back. Before his head tells him to back up, his hands cup your face and his lips crush into yours. Fuck his thoughts, fuck the others. He will never forgive himself if he never did that, never got to taste the sweetness of your mouth, never held your face like that. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut while sparks fly around you. God, how often you whished he did that. For years you loved him in silence, accepted the fact that he might not be interested in you romantically. But even though pain seems to eat you alive and your weak senses are still trying to process that you are awake, you are probably the happiest woman on earth right now.

“Don’t ever do something like that to me again”, he hisses into your lips.

“Not planning to.”

“But if it makes you do this…maybe it’s worth another shot.”

God, your breathtaking smile. Nanami can’t remember a single moment in his life that made him happier than this one, tears rolling down his face carelessly. You are awake. You didn’t forget him. You’ll survive. And you want him too. A striking woman like you really wants a man like Nanami.

“Wish you did this sooner. Or maybe when I don’t feel like dying, y’know?”

“Could have done a move yourself”, he mutters into your neck, arms embracing you gently.

“Oh no, I’m way too shy.”

You melt into his touch. It feels so good to finally feel his arms around you and his body against you apart from rough training sessions. Even though you have no idea why exactly your frame feels like it’s on fire or how you’ve ended up in Shoko’s hospital room in the first place, you aren’t able to question it at the moment. You loved Nanami since meeting him all these years ago, attracted by his abilities, brain, sense of humor and looks.

“How are you feeling? The pain must be really bad”, he comments, eyes scanning your body like a professional.

“Can’t say I ever felt worse. My tummy feels like it’s falling apart”, you reply, a hiss escaping your mouth when he pulls the blanket that covers your body down a little.

“Well, it literally almost fell apart. You were sent to a mission, should have been a grade 1. It was a special, though. Satoru came just in time to safe you. If he had come just a minute later, then…”

A closer look at his face reveals that he hasn’t slept for days. Your heart sinks into your chest. He shouldn’t feel this bad because of you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You lift your weak fingers to caress his face gently, tired eyes gazing over you.

“I feel like shit but I’m fine.”

“I thought you’d die. I-I thought that I’ll…never get to tell you that I love you.”

“I would never die without telling you that I love you too. And without another kiss.”

Nanami can’t help but smile down at you. Down to the woman he loves, the woman who never loses her optimism, to the woman who is so fucking strong that she seems to survive anything. He admires and adores you more than his heart can take. And the fact that you love him too…Is this real? Is he dreaming again? He just has to lean down, lips only inches apart from yours. He needs to taste you again, to make sure that this is real.

“You cryin’, Nanami?”

Both pairs of eyes dart up immediately, your eyes light up when realizing Satoru is standing in the doorframe.

“I’ll kill you, Gojo”, Nanami hisses threatening, cheeks redder than ever.

“Hey shawty”, you greet him, completely mesmerized by the pack of cookies he carries under his arm.

“Please tell me those are for me.”

“Shoko actually forbid me to feed this to you. Something about a hole in your stomach or so. Why are you so irritated, Nanami? Did I steal you the show? He’s your boyfriend now, (y/n)? It really took you 10 years to finally kiss the girl you love, Nanami?”

“He’s my husband”, you explain proudly.

“Get your ass out Satoru”, Nanami moans.

You grab his hand and press it mildly, gazing at the man above you with stars in your eyes. Yes, he is yours now. And you’ll do the devil to let him go again.

[gay-dorito-dust]

*The story would be like *Unter the red hood* where Jason sees the reader when he fights Bruce and Dick… I don't know what to add srry

This song got me into the headspace whilst writing this along with Mr Loverman. 🦦also I’m adding the fact that reader knows Jason during his time as Robin cuz I can.

Jason had taken many things into account with his plan but the one thing he didn’t however was seeing you again, and god were you still as beautiful and or handsome as the least time he saw you, a little worn and tired and yet you were still you; Fierce, powerful, kind, sweet, loving, generous, you.

His Achilles heel, now and forever.

He still remembers the times where he would always go to you whenever he got himself injured from crime fighting with Bruce and was too stubborn to accept medical treatment. He always did prefer your approach to patching him up, scolding him for his sheer recklessness whilst still being tender with his wounds, telling him with sarcasm that you much prefer to have him alive rather then dead at your fire escape.

To which he laughed despite it hurting his fractured ribs. ‘You worry too much about me, buttercup. If I didn’t know any better I would start to think that you care for me more than a friend.’ He teased, nudging you in the side with his good arm. You scoffed but you neither denied nor confirmed that you did in fact care for him more than a friend because you genuinely thought at the time that you would have enough time to tell him.

You were wrong…Jason died not long after.

You grieved hard and for so long afterwards, always sitting on rooftops by yourself whenever you missed him more then most days, only to feel your heart break even harder and before you knew it you were crying, crying your heart out in pain, anger and loss at the very city that ruthlessly took him from you until your throat went hoarse or your eyes had no more tears to shed. You didn’t want to believe that Jason was gone, never to come back and greet you on the fire escape with that cheeky smile despite being conceded in cuts and bruises.

Even now you still look out towards the fire escape whenever you heard a peculiar noise coming from there, thinking that this was the one, this was the moment where everything went back to normal, that you would see Jason again and that everyone was lying to you. Only to be disappointed every single time.

So to be stood here now, across from the man known as RedHood, something about him strikes familiarity in you but yet felt forgein at the same time.

‘Buttercup?’ RedHood asked in disbelief and your eyes widened. Only Jason called you that nickname and when he did, it felt like home. So when RedHood said it, it made you feel the exact same way. ‘Jason?’ You whispered tentatively, almost as though you were expecting for that small glimmer of hope that you desperately held onto to be shattered into a million pieces. ‘You’re alive?’ You added.

‘Came just as a surprise to me too.’ He replied strongly, only for his voice to grow soft when he then said, ‘I’m sorry that we never got enough time…I just thought-‘

‘That we would have enough time?’ You interrupted, smiling at him bitter sweetly, already having had similar enough thoughts yourself. There wasn’t a single moment in your life after his death did you think about whether or not things would’ve played out differently had you told him, or how his death would hurt you even more then it already did had you told him that night.

Now that he was right in front of you, it felt as though far was giving you that chance to find out but you were frozen to the spot. You knew this man was Jason, he was practically telling you with his body that he was but he was too different from everything that had happened to him, he’s been through things that you could only being to imagine.

He was your Jason but he also wasn’t.

‘Yeah.’ Jason said defeatedly, wishing to go back to the night where you first met, two young and naive kids who had no clue of what the future held for them and how it would tear them apart in the worst ways, only to bring them back together in the most unlikely circumstance but this time on opposing sides.

Silence befell you both, allowing for everything to sink in but it didn’t prove in making anything that happened before your fated reunion any better, it didn’t take away the hurt and the grief you felt nor did it take away the pain and the anguish that Jason felt. Seeing each other again didn’t magically heal either of you, if anything it made you incredibly numb to anything and everything that could possibly come next.

‘Nightshade, any visual on the RedHood?’ Bruce asked through the intercom and just like that the peace was shattered and the reason why you were here in the first place was revitalised. ‘Negative Batman. I lost him after he blindsided me.’ You replied, eyes still locked onto to Jason as you headed Bruce’s next chain of command before switching off your intercom, consequences be damned, you’ll deal with what’s to come later; As for now all you wanted to do was ingrained this version of Jason to memory before you were destined to part ways once again.

‘You should go, I’ve given you a brief window to escape but it won’t be long before he figures out somethings amiss.’ You told the vigilante, just about getting ready to leave when he desperately grabbed at your arm. ‘That’s it? You’re just going to leave after finding out I’m alive? Do you even care?!’ Jason roared and it was enough for you to snap because how dare he think that you didn’t care about him when he was all you ever thought about after his untimely death. ‘I always fucking care about you Jason!’ You exclaimed. ‘No! I fucking loved you but you died! You fucking died. I told you that you’d get killed one day and but you didn’t listen! You never listen! Do you know how much i grieved for you, mourned for you!? I became a vigilante IN YOUR MEMORY! So go ahead and claim that I don’t care for you when all I ever done was care for you, you stupid boy because I was stupid enough to fall first!’

Jason froze. You loved him? Since when and why didn’t he know? Why did you tell him? But most importantly, why him? He’s broken, he wasn’t worth your time.

You smiled weakly at his silence and quietly slipped from his grasp and left to meet up with Bruce and Dick, knowing it was for the better. Silently hoping that you would get to see him again but you weren’t exactly holding onto any form of hope.

[formulapookie]

💛💛

Under the cut to read on Tumblr, here to read on Ao3 ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4; ch5; ch6

Les fleurs du mal ch7 rosquez, 3,2k words

The flight is not worth any kind of notice, the air inside the plane feels heavy, as if someone just put tons and tons more worth of weight on Vale’s shoulder just to keep him anchored to the floor and not let him fly away.

The hostess passes by a few times, asking if he wants anything, Vale barely acknowledges her presence, shaking his head and saying he’s ok.

It’s still half an hour to Barcelona. From there it’s less than an hour drive to Cervera.

God he’s really doing this. He’s- what the fuck is he even doing?

They won’t let him near the body, or the fucking funeral for that matter, let alone close to his grave.

But he needs to see him.

Even if it won’t be sunny, happy Marc he’ll look at, but this strange version of him.

Still in his selfishness Vale wants. He thinks he’s owed that. To see Marc. To look at what he did, because he thinks it’s a suitable way to pay for his actions.

He wants to be the one in the front row saying his last goodbye, wants to be the one carrying the casket, it should be him.

Not Lorenzo, not Dovi, not Pedrosa, not Alex.

If he could, if he only could, he would carry him into the church and from there to the graveyard all alone.

He’d cry. Beg for Marc to come back probably. But at least he’d be close.

Unbeating heart next to warm skin.

Vale doesn’t cry often, before this the last time he cried was for Marco.

God how much had he cried for him.

Uccio and his parents tried to get him out of his room for days, he refused to eat, or drink for that matter. He thought about staying locked in there until the same fate that got Sic got him too, so that they could still ride together in the clouds, like he said Marco to be doing.

Only Luca had managed to get him out, shake him from the dark and rotten place he caved himself a shelter in, and bring him back out, but it was a long and difficult task.

Marco, he. He never fully agreed to the version for which he died before. The one saying that the moment he fell and slid on the track without his helmet he was already dead.

No.

He barely agreed to the one publicly accepted, which is that Marco was there, 50/50 with a chance of never recovering and he just sped up the process.

The fact is he believed and still secretly believes to this day that he killed him. Ran him over, snapped his neck, and killed his best friend. Because maybe he would’ve survived, maybe he could’ve gotten better, maybe they’d have raced again.

For what concerns Marc there aren't even alternatives or sets of opinions about what happened, or whose fault it is, or if it could’ve ended in a different way.

He killed him.

And even if he did it unintentionally he feels like he did it on purpose. Revenge, what a sick fucking felling.

It makes you think and act in ways you didn’t think were yours.

He feels his skin itching, cutting into his muscle and he wants to tear it off, but doesn’t move in the slightest, he wants this to hurt.

Pain is a way to punish himself, though not slightly comparable to the one Marc felt, but it keeps him there, tied to reality and unable to escape the fact he hurt so many people just by being an asshole.

He thinks about the night after Sepang. It’s not a good idea.

He gets up and runs to throw up in the toilet, the alcohol and the few bites of food he’s digested are now out of his system, and he cannot think about eating anything right now.

The image of Marc standing before him, pleading and begging for a chance to be them again.

He remembers the almost-tears in the boy’s eyes, those same eyes looking at his souls trying to get a hold of it.

The image of them two makes its way in Vale’s mind.

If someone had walked in, he would’ve seen a 20 something kid getting his heart shattered, trying to pick the pieces up from the ground as Vale kicked them around, smirking with that sick fun he proved that night.

How could he treat the person who loved him the most like that? Leave him to the wolves as if it had always been like this.

Then a memory from Valencia comes up.

The one moment who revealed to him what Marc was going through.

“You like helping him uh? You sucked his dick too? Did you go to him and let him fuck you as a thank you for letting him win? Did he fuck you well Marc? I bet you enjoyed his dick so much given how you ran to me immediately after to suck me off”

“Stop it Vale please”

“Ah stop what? I’m having fun here aren’t you? Does he know how you like to be treated like the whore you are?”

Then Marc had thrown up. Those petals, horribly yellow and blue.

“I’m sorry”

But sorry doesn’t fix anything, doesn’t fix the hole in his heart shaped like a shot wound.

Sorry doesn’t bring Marc magically back and places him onto his plane, sorry doesn’t give him the chance to tell Marc he loved him still.

Sorry doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t even make him feel better. The only thing that could brighten his day is Marc’s smile.

Or a kiss from him, a hug, holding hands. An action that told Vale “I’m here, I’m here with you”

The only noise is the signal that tells him to fasten his seatbelt because they’re landing. No laugh, no “Vale you want me to hold your hand? I know you’re scared of flying”, no little yelp Marc did when they started taking off.

Vale never liked flying. Not private, not commercial. He doesn’t like lots of factors, height, pressure, danger, noise.

He hates taking off and landing most of all.

And when he’s alone he always grips the seat so fucking tight he had to replace armrests more than once. The jet company had told him he should be sure if he wants to have something so fancy he’s so scared of.

He hadn’t cared.

“Vale? Are you ok? You look a bit - a bit pale. Have you eaten? Do you want me to take you something from the bag?”

Vale shook his head, put on a reassuring smile and sat in his seat, Marc beside him smiling so much Vale though it had to hurt.

“Are you excited? For our holiday?”

Vale had gone overboard that time, something he never did for his past girlfriends, not for anyone but Marc. Marc. A shooting star that came into his life to stay.

He planned a 12 day holiday in the Philippines, just the two of them, in this apartment far from the rest of the world, where they could be just themselves without the fear of being discovered.

“I already told you amore no? Really excited, we’re gonna be in this very beautiful house surrounded by nature and near the sea for twelve days, and most importantly I get to have you all to myself for twelve days. I have already planned a few things I’d like to do once there, you know?”

Marc had blushed, looked away.

Of course he “planned” a few things as well, they were completely alone for more than a week, having sex is the most expected thing there.

And he really wants to spend at least two days straight without getting out of bed. Vale’s tension hadn’t worn down during their small chat, Marc could see how he kept on looking outside the window, and how the armrest of the seat Vale was on looked like a wild cat attacked it.

“Vale, are you nervous?” “Uh? No no I’m ok don’t worry baby” “You look strange” “No no I just am really excited about going there with you”

Marc had watched him again, until a particularly sharp noise came from the plane’s engine.

At that, Vale had shut his eyes and his mouth morphed into a thin closed line, even with his eyes closed Marc could feel the fear.

“Vale, are you scared of flying?” “No” “Amor I won’t judge you, but are you?” Vale opened his eyes, the plane was ready to take off. “Yes. I don’t like it” “Ok then uhm I can maybe hold your hand? To make you feel more secure?”

Vale also doesn’t like to ask for help, or make it obvious he needs it, but the way Marc was looking at him moved something in his chest, it made him vulnerable, but in a pleasant way. A sweet kind of it.

“Ok. Yeah yeah ok you can just-“ “Yeah I solemnly swear I will never tell Valentino Rossi wanted me to hold his hand because he’s scared of flying”

They had laughed, and Marc had brought him a kind of warmth and comfort he hadn’t felt in any other moment of his life.

Right now he’s alone. There’s an enormous emptiness beside him. An obvious lack of warmth and doe eyes looking at him with love.

Those eyes, God. How many times has he looked at them, how many times has he seen them open at the first lights of the morning in creamy white sheets they shared, how many times has he fell in love with them.

The memories are almost enough to distract him from the impending touch with the ground.

Maybe the plane will break, or crash. Save the others and leave him a carcass twisted below tons of metal sheets, unrecognizable at the sight.

Maybe this would be the right way to pay back Marc. Maybe just this could be enough. Dying of a horribly painful death, like Marc did. Alone. Cold.

The plane lands, and there’s no explosion or collision. Valentino is alive, and painfully so.

He never understood people who said they wanted to die until now. Because there’s something about thinking that it can all be over, that he can get away with it without having to face the others.

Lorenzo, Dani, Dovi.

They will be at the funeral. They will be on track. And they will know it was him.

The hostess comes up to him, tells him they’re securely landed and he can climb off the plane.

He gets up, a hoodie and a pair of du glasses on. Phone in pocket and some cash in the other.

He doesn’t need anything more, he reserved a car during the flight, it’s already there waiting for him.

He gets off the plane and in the car as fast as humanly possible, fingers tapping uncomfortably on the steering wheel, a tightening sensation in his throat.

He’s crying once again, at this point he’s surprised there’s even tears left inside him.

He stays there for ten whole minutes, then convinces himself he has to do this. He has to go.

He starts the car and gets out the airport, he doesn’t need a navigator, he knows the route by heart, him and Marc made it lots of times.

Once he’s twenty minutes away from destination he feels worse and worse about what he’s doing.

How will he even hide himself? Cervera is not a big town, and he’s not sure Marc’s family chose to have an open doors funeral.

He’s going there blindly, in the vague hope he’ll get to cast a glance at his body.

The graveyard won’t be as much of a problem, he can confuse himself with people who will want to say their goodbye. He’s sure he’ll find a way to sneak in, stay far from the family as he too mourns with them.

The town is packed, as he expected, tons of people gathered there to give their last farewell to Marc.

There’s flags,  cardboard signs, sheets, all in his honor. In the honor of the rider he was. They are mourning the icon, the sportsman he was. Not the man, the wonderful person he actually was.

And it hurts.

To them it’s an idol that died, an inspiration. To him and his family it’s a person, a brother, a son, a friend, a lover.

The square before the Church is barely noticeable, a sea of orange and red combing it whole.

Then he sees it, the side entrance Dovizioso in suing to get in. He can do it. He can get in somehow.

He squishes himself through the myriads of people waiting for Marc to come out, waiting for the men dressed in deep black to carry him out in a coffin.

But Vake knows they’ll never come out from the front door, no they’ll come out the side one, take another car with the corpse and go to the graveyard.

And he’ll find a way to follow.

He doesn’t manage to surpass the barriers tho, he has to just wait, wait until the function is over and he can follow them to the place where his love will be buried forever.

Once he notices the funeral procession, he’s the fastest he’s ever been, running back to his car and quietly following the one with Marc in it.

It feels shady, and it is, but that’s all he can do.

He parks fairly far from the spot where he knows they’ll place Marc, climbs down the car and makes the rest of the way by foot, quietly in the December freezing cold.

He’s lucky, he knows he is, he could’ve arrived too early, or too late, or be recognised and probably publicly executed.

The graveyard is gray, gloomy and unsettling. He can see Alex from this distance, and a priest reciting something.

He wants to be there.

He’s hidden behind a tree, a bit closer now, he can hear the sobs coming from the people there and the incomprehensible words said by the priest.

Alex is holding their mother, their father is just a few centimeters to the left, heavy eyes filled with tears.

Other family members gathered around the coffin crying as well.

Their colleagues stand a bit further, crying as quietly as they can, Dani especially seems broken, hiding his face in Lorenzo’s chest, while he strokes his back gently, Dovi has marks on his knuckles, red and blotchy.

He must’ve punched something at the news.

Once the person Vale supposes to be Marc’s grandmother moves out of the way he can see him.

Soft, pale and pure skin. Frozen, unable to move. Restrained in this position for eternity, It’s a sickening view, it’s unnatural for Marc to be like that.

He wants to come out of his hiding spot, under the soft and cold light of the December sun.

Walk to the coffin, say goodbye, say sorry, cry, beg for him to come back, then accept the truth.

He can’t think of leaving a flower, not with the way Marc died.

And now that he pays more attention he can see little flowers growing out of his mouth.

He’s heard of people whose ribcage got broken by roots and flowers growing out of it, and he’s glad Marc’s situation is not like that.

The unmistakably bright yellow being the only thing of his still attached to Marc.

He makes a small mistake, a little movement and Roser turns around.

He got caught.

Roser just saw him at Marc’s funeral and now he truly is doomed.

Vale begins walking away, wants to run between the graves and go back to his car. Once he’s almost out he feels a hand on his back. He stops and turns around, ready to face a blood thirsty Alex.

But he just sees Roser, eyes red and glassy.

And he feels even worse for it, feels like a fucking cancer once again. There’s hatred in her eyes, rightfully so, and anger, and so much pain. “Take the glasses off”

He doesn’t expect that, but it’s not a punch in the guts, so he takes them off. Icy blue eyes matching with the surrounding atmosphere, eyes Roser notices to be filled with so much more than she thought.

“Why are you here?”

Her English is tentative, broken, but it can transmit all her emotions well enough. Vale can’t answer, he wants to burn a hole into the ground and fucking disappear inside it.

Words are dying inside his throat, he just looks up at Marc’s mother to feel something close to that hate he has for himself.

And there is a lot of it. But there’s also - compassion?

Or at least something that is not just pure pain and anger.

“Rossi. My son loved you” “I know” “You not” “I did. I do now too. I came here to see him I - I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry”

The last part he speaks Catalan, which shocks Roser.

Valentino Rossi, the rider, the legend, the man who hurt her son so much is now crying in front of her, knees against the icy-cold soil of a graveyard, speaking her language, saying he’s sorry.

She would want to be strong enough to just leave him there. But this man is crying like a kid lost in the woods looking for someone to help him.

There’s anger in her heart, obviously, lots of it. There’s hate. But she will never not have compassion in her heart too.

The tears, the eyes, the words, they all seem genuine to her.

“estimaves el meu fill?” (did you love my son?)

“sì. no tant com es mereixia” (yes. not as much as he deserved)

“però ara ets aquí” (but you’re here now)

“ja és massa tard. ell és mort”  (now it’s too late. he’s dead)

“ell mai va deixar de pensar que hauries tornat per ell” (he never stopped thinking you would’ve come back for him)

“ho sento” (I’m sorry)

And vale just stays there, crying, but without a sound, Roser standing in front of him. And he wants her to do something, maybe call for Marc’s father, or for Alex, or the other riders.

Instead he receives pity. And a hand on his shoulder.

“Go away before they see you, if you want to speak to my boy you should go to Church, ask for forgiveness, ask for him to be well”

And then she leaves. The mother of the boy he killed leaves. Lets him go, as if he didn’t commit the most atrocious and horrible act towards Marc.

He gets up from the ground, dirt and grass staining his jeans, the cold has made its way inside his bones, under his skin, pointy, stingy. He puts the glasses back on, tears don’t stop falling when he does, the sensation of being observed doesn’t fade.

The ride back is monotone, gray, and silent. The radio doesn’t work, and if it did Vale would turn it off anyway.

He gets to a lay-by and stops, he can’t hold it anymore, he gets out the car and vomits, it's almost just bile, maybe some alcohol still, no food. The image of Marc laying like that is too much.

It accompanies him until he reaches the airport again, leaving the car where he found it, it accompanies him while he climbs on the plane and when it takes off.

It fucking follows him to the bedroom door once he's home.

[scekrex]

Adam X Male Reader. Who's been cheated on, in the past and is slowly starting to trust Adam more as time goes on.

Okay okay okay hear me the fuck out: they both struggle bc both Lilith and Eve left him and they both had something with Lucifer (Eve presumably cheated - in this fic it's implied that both cheated on Adam to spice things up a lil)

There's a darkness at the heart of my love, that runs cold, runs deep

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt, cheating (mentioned)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

When Adam decided to play a role in your silly little afterlife and you realized that you wanted him in a way that you’ve only ever wanted one person before, the sweet taste of your platonic relationship soured. You had developed feelings for the first man, that you couldn’t deny any longer, but you hated yourself for it - because who were to promise you that he wouldn’t fuck with someone else while dating you like your ex partner had done? The only person who could do so was Adam, yet you had learned the hard way that many promises people made - winner or human didn’t matter - were empty.

They told you what they thought you wanted to hear to simply get their way and while you wanted to trust Adam, and maybe your heart already did trust his sugar coated words, your mind strongly disagreed and doubted every little promise spoken by him - not just by him though, your mind told you that every promise was just a bunch of empty words, that way you were keeping yourself safe, you protected yourself from getting hurt again.

Adam, on the other hand, felt similar. He had been cheated on twice, back in his early days as a human, back when he had blindly trusted Lucifer’s and Lilith’s words, back in Eden when Eve had promised him that she and Lucifer were just friends. But they had been so much more than just that - just friends weren’t fucking each other. The two women that had been created for him and only him had turned against him and chosen someone else, why shouldn’t you do the same? God had never truly intended for Adam to date guys, hadn’t he? Yet you were there and Adam wanted nothing more than to call you his. But surely a person who wasn’t even meant for him would leave him just like the women did that God had created for him. They had been meant to love and desire him, but they hadn't done so. They had crushed Adam’s heart, shattered it into pieces and stepped on the shards until it had been nothing but dust. And then you had been so quick to glue the tiny pieces back together, you had fixed something deep inside of him without even knowing it but there was the risk of losing you again - he told himself that if he’d keep himself distanced, it wouldn’t hurt as much. That was bullshit though and deep down he knew that.

And then there was Lute, she was not only Adam’s lieutenant and best friend, she was also the self claimed couple therapist Adam and you desperately needed. So when the three of you sat in the living room of the house you and Adam shared, and Lute waited for one of you to begin talking, you took that chance, “What if his promises of staying forever and not fucking someone else are empty?” You felt a little bad, voicing your thoughts so harshly with Adam sitting right next to you and you noticed how he flinched a little at your words, how his wings rose a little to hide himself behind them. Lute tilted her head a little, “Why would they?” And to that you had no answer so you remained silent while Adam’s curious eyes were watching you carefully from the side. “I’ve known Adam for a long while now,” Lute continued, she gently placed a hand on your knee and your eyes met hers. There was honesty in those golden orbs of hers, honesty and made your concerns seem so unwarranted. “He has never looked at someone the way he looks at you,” you turned your head towards the first man, the man mumbled something inaudible but nodded - he was not used to being so vulnerable, to talk about his fears openly. “What if he fucking finds someone like Lucifer and decides to fucking drop me like those whores of ex-wives did?” Lute sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Look at him, he’s seen your crybaby tantrums and yet decided to stay - he’s not gonna leave Adam.” And while Lute’s words were true and both of you logically knew that the other wouldn’t cheat because they know what it’s like to be on the other end of it, it wasn’t that easy to change an entire mindset.

It would take a lot of time and work, even more energy to fix the both of you. But you and Adam were willing to work this through. Together, side by side and hand in hand. And maybe one day the both of you wouldn’t have to struggle with that fear anymore, today was not that day though.

[blaisenova]

a little drabble i shat out teehee. super experimental, super angsty, super shorter than usual. i wouldn't have it any other way.

as always, ao3 link is in the reblogs.

no warnings for this one other than the usual messed up relationship bs i don't think, but let me know if i missed anything and i'll tack it on

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

A heaving breath disturbs the dust that has gathered on the bright red scarf that hangs on a bent nail sticking out of the wall. Once, perhaps, it would have reminded you of someone else, but all you can see now is a warped version of yourself that clung to both it and all of the memories that it held despite how much it hurt him. 

And, that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

That he was too much like you, only broken in different ways. Like looking in a mirror that had been shattered, seeing a distorted reflection that might have been you if the light had shone at another angle, or if the ones that had broken you both had done so more similarly; if there weren’t parts that had been removed; replaced; rearranged. You were imperfect echoes of one another, simultaneously too alike and too different; warped by the way your sound bounced off of the walls.

In the end, it hadn’t really mattered that you both wanted the same thing; to be seen, and to be loved despite how ugly the view was.

You had always known that you weren’t something worth seeing – weren’t convinced that you could be seen – and he’d been convinced that not seeing every part of him all at once, all the time, meant that you didn’t see him at all. 

You’d feared him just as much as you’d adored him; he’d hated you almost as much as he’d loved you.

And, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You both had held on to things that would only ever hurt you, and neither of you had known how to let it go until you were already so thoroughly intertwined with one another that you had to rip and tear at the thorns that bound you so that you just might have a chance at escaping. You’d thought, at some point, the bleeding might stop – now that his binds weren’t tearing open your body just to be certain that you’d still bleed at his command – but, even though your soul is no longer connected to his, the thorns remain, and you are an open wound; a bleeding heart; a walking haemorrhage.

Nightmare wouldn’t like that you were staining his carpets so.

You weren’t sure you could bring yourself to care.

Gently, you rub his scarf between your fingers. It’s thin and threadbare, and some part of you finds kinship in that fact. The feeling is rough – unpleasant – but familiar.

Does familiarity have to be a good thing?

“I miss you,” you confess to no one, because something about the admission makes you feel filthy. Thick tar falls from your sockets and stains your cheeks, and terror lances through you as you realise that maybe you never will be anything more than this ever again. 

Your breathing comes quick, and you hold your breath so as to not disturb his dusty remains any further than you already have; and, you wonder why you treat him with a reverence that he would never return.

You wonder if he could ever understand just how terrified he made you – of being nothing more than this; wonder why it matters so much to you that he understands; know he can’t possibly, when he is the one making you so afraid.

What were you, before? What are you, now?

Pieces and parts of yourself: removed, replaced, and rearranged. 

You think of a story you read, once, long ago. The books you managed to get your hands on before were worse for wear – yellowing pages that were putrid and warped from the journey they’d taken when they were discarded and forgotten; nothing like the pristine, well taken care of books that you had access to now, though something about that made them mean less – but you absorbed what they had to offer you with an appreciation you were sure they’d never been granted before. They spoke of gods, and humans, and monsters, and they wondered in ways you’d never wondered before; ways you wonder now.

You think of the story of the Ship of Theseus.

Pieces and parts: removed, replaced, rearranged.

Is it the same ship? Are you the same you? Now that you’ve been rebuilt – removed, replaced, and rearranged – are you still the person you once were? Can you be rebuilt again? Or, are you stuck like this, now that the one that was constructing you is no longer around to restore your weathered parts? Are you trapped, half-finished and without a purpose? A boat built with perforated wood? 

Water rushes in the gaps, and, through the same rifts, your blood pours out. Because, despite being free of his ties – the thorns are gone; you ripped them out; you tore out their roots, so they can’t possibly grow back, right? – you still tear yourself open just to be certain that you can still bleed, should he command it.

He’s not around to command you anymore.

Somehow, you feel you still need to be prepared for it.

“I miss you,” you confess to yourself, and something about the admission makes you feel vile. Thick tar falls from your sockets and drowns you, and you’re horrified because, even now, you’re still exactly how he reconstructed you – removed, replaced, rearranged. You fear you’ll never be anything more than this.

Can you be anything more than this?

You weren’t rebuilt to be a person. You weren’t remade to have desires or needs. You’re not sure he knew how you were meant to function, when his hands were deep within your very mind; your very soul. You’re not sure he knew how thoroughly he was stripping you of the programming that kept you alive. You’re not sure it matters whether he knew, when the result is the same.

His hands left you, coated in oil, or tar, or blood – whatever it was that flowed through you – and he’d wiped sweat from his brow – smeared you across his forehead – after a job well done.

Pieces and parts of you: removed, replaced, rearranged.

Refashioned to please a person that can no longer reap the rewards.

The fabric between your fingers grates on your bone and wears you away. The feeling is rough – unpleasant – but familiar.

You wonder if familiarity is ever a good thing.

“Killer,” a voice calls, and you numbly raise your head to meet a bright cyan eye with your own two empty ones. His sockets are half-lidded, and his expression is tight. When he speaks, his tone is harsh. “You serve no purpose, serving someone that no longer exists. Come back to me. Let him go.”

Again, your gaze falls back down to the red on your hands, and you wither at the sight. You feel light and heavy, all at the same time. “How?”

He sighs, and the sound makes you flinch; apologies taste bitter as you swallow them back down like bile. In a way that is certainly contrary, he kneels before you – pulls your chin up with his hand in a way you know is uncharacteristically gentle – and smiles; wider, when you smile back. His hand outstretches towards you, open and empty. “Let me help you.”

You stare at the offer, gripping your grief in closed fists, and, carefully, you allow your fingers to fall open. Uncertainty shakes you as you reach for his hand, and you’re careful not to make contact when you deposit your soul – heart-shaped; unstable; ugly – within his grasp. Your fingers dart away from the construct before you can change your mind.

“Good,” Nightmare praises, but you wince as he draws your soul up and away, right before his face. His eye watches its shifting form in fascination, and, this time, his smile almost feels real. He looks back at you, and you already feel the oncoming sting. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll fix you.”

“I miss him,” you confess, and the admission makes you mortified. Thick tar falls from your sockets, and you can’t breathe.

“I know,” he says, “but you won’t.”

He brings your soul to his teeth, and a choked sound of agony catches in your throat as he bites down and consumes you. For a moment, panic locks you in place – punctuated by the way your breath stutters with each excruciating soulbeat – but the feeling disappears as quickly as the rest, and you’re left with nothing but the pain that serves as the cost of numbness.

As you barrel towards apathy, laughter pouring from your chest – you’re not sure why you’re laughing. It’s not funny – you think that you can never be more than this.

Pieces and parts of yourself: removed, replaced, rearranged, always in someone else’s name.

[zyxwvutbackwards]

I wanna write down some initial thoughts about it, so Day 3 Mushroom Oasis spoilers under the cut!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GODDDDDD/POS

It was so good!!! And Mycheal got so much scarier 😭 Maybe it’s just because I was watching horror last night, but I felt like he was actually gonna hurt us at one point!!! His attitude change totally makes sense given that he thinks he’s having the one thing he wants in the world, companionship, taken away, but GOD it got to me!! If I was Mc I’d have thought he was starting to hate us given how much we asked of him - and for what in exchange? Fortunately I have the power of Access to Meta Knowledge, so I know what that is, but I really feel for Mc lmaoo!

Genuinely, though, I didn’t expect him to get so irritable 👀 for some reason I’d expected him to just get sad, but tbh it makes sense! He’s been trying so hard to get Mc to stay, so, SO hard just to prove to himself that they were different, and to show them that they should stay - plus constantly having to work to maintain that image and it failing regardless! I can’t imagine he’d internalize it healthily either - “they’re leaving because I did something wrong/because I’m not good enough/because I’m a monster.” That image is only set aside when Mc makes plans to visit! Even then, though, it can’t be fully shattered - unless something miraculous happens or they reject him, I can’t imagine he’s going to stop feeling that pressure anytime soon.

Also, I was genuinely shocked I got the good ending on the first try! Usually when playing through VNs, I do what I think I’d actually do irl and see how it plays out - which means that, in this case, I made the Mc stay suspicious. Which usually means that I get a bad (or good depending on how you look at it) ending - I can’t believe Mycheal puts up with so much distrust from someone he barely knows 😭 The kitchen scene was so awkward!!! And so was the forest scene!!! The walking in silence turning into arguing was 😭😭 my heart hurt - yet for some reason he was relatively chill about it later on?? I guess it showcases his desperation for connection, poor guy :( It does make me wonder what sort of behavior or person would push him past his limit, though. So far the only real line he’s drawn is that we have to not insult him and/or be terrified of him? His self-esteem is really low and he’s really lonely, so I think it’d have to be something he perceives as really bad for him to decide that A. He’s too good for this person and/or B. Being alone is better than keeping them around. Or, perhaps, C. The person actually doesn’t like him because their action was so atrocious that they couldn’t have possibly done it if they even tolerated him. Maybe this action has to do with his privacy - like, if Mc went through his box while he slept? Even then I have my doubts. All this said, I think it would be much easier for him to decide that he didn’t want someone around if they were never kind in the first place - so my speculating is all about once he’d already grown attached. Given he likes the Mc because of their kindness, maybe blatant cruelty would be enough? Especially towards people he’d already grown attached to. Probably, actually! I could totally see him kicking someone out who was cruel to his chickens - who wouldn’t kick someone like that to the curb? They’re his chickens! Who couldn’t love them? I digress.

The bad ending hurt ngl 😭 I hated calling him those names and I hated making him react that way. It was really hard to do, especially when we didn’t have a chance to take it back. And even after all of that he gave us gifts? His love language?? He still cares about Mc???😭 Rubbing salt in the wound there!! I wonder if he understands that Mc rejected him because of his actions not because of who or what he is. I wonder if he thinks there’s a difference at that point! He clearly feels guilty

Also!!! Several mysteries!!! A. The box?? First of all, he decorated it with mushroom stickers, that’s adorable, but second of all!! Very very curious about what was in it!! And B. The not mushrooms?? What are they??? Very curious about them and their origins.

Finally, other stuff!!! When it wasn’t awkward because he was upset about/with Mc, it was adorable 😭 we got to hear him talk in his language in two of the routes, and that was amazing!!! I want to hear what he sounds like irl so bad! It just reads like it would sound really unique and beautiful. Ough I love him so much!

Also - Vida reminds me so much of Alma, I genuinely thought it was them for a minute lowkey still wouldn’t be surprised if it was, but I’m gonna feel really embarrassed if I come out all confident that they’re the same person and find out I’m wrong so I’m keeping this in the margins 😭 They kinda look like them, and they even said “lift your spirits” at one point! Also their dog was adorable 🥹

Speaking of - THE ANIMATION??? LORD I didn’t expect it!!! When Mycheal grabbed Mc’s hand I was so taken aback!! It was so smooth!!! And so good!!! And the dog wagging its tail was so cute!!! The art was amazing as always, very comfy cozy, and the new backgrounds were gorgeous!! Plus the new sprites!! He’s so cute when he isn’t scary! And still so caring when he is!! Well, he’s caring when he isn’t trying to manipulate Mc into staying, that is. This wouldn’t be a yandere blog if I didn’t love that side of him as well though :D He’s so awesome

Anyways, I’m sorry if you read all this brain vomit, it doesn’t have any sort of nuanced thought or overall conclusion other than that I’m obsessed with MO, I just needed to ramble about the game for a bit 😭 Mycheal is such a well written character and I am so so so excited to learn more about him. I loved this update and I’m so grateful for the creator for their work. Thanks for reading if you took the time to and have a lovely day!! 💞

[mynameisjag]

Jean and Scott being alive and investigating the rumors of a familiar face running around, it leads them to an apartment with a person they had only dreamed of seeing again.

“Didn’t take the X-men to be ghost hunters.”

The voice was the same…

“Because that’s what your doing, right now.”

He looked…younger…

“You're hunting a ghost of a memory.”

Logan was standing in front of him, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and frowning…looking just like the picture that Scott had framed back home.

Jean was gripping his arm, he could feel the slight tremors in her hands as she clutched onto him, her eyes wide, “Logan?”

“I’m not him, I'm not…I’m not your Logan.”

Course he wasn’t…not when Scott himself had came across the dug up remains, shattered and scattered around.

They hadn’t moved…the body…when they had found it…out of respect…thought it would be safer there…

They were wrong…

Scott cried…Jean…Jean was a fury…if she ever found out who was responsible…

Speaking of Jean, she had finally released his arm to take a step toward the man in the apartment doorway, steps were slow, measured, eyes trained on the other as though if she even chanced a glance away, he would disappear.

She was less then a foot away now but she had stopped, just to stare at him, “There were rumors that…you…were here…we had to see, to know…”

They wanted desperately their friend…their Logan back…and it had felt like there was a slim chance that maybe, just maybe the universe would be kind…only for it to pour more misery in their already overflowing cup.

He can see the way his wife’s hands twitch, wanting to reach out and touch, to make sure the person in front of them was real and not another hallucination brought about by grief.

“We missed you…”

“No, you miss him, not me. You miss what could have been and then regret the should have taken chances you’ve thrown away…I know…because I’m the same way too.”

Logan looks…sad…broken hearted as he stares at them…

They could fix that now that they have a new chance.

“Can we come in?”

“Not my place to invite you into.”

“Logan.”

“Jean.”

The smirk sent her way was almost the same, almost…it fades away into a gentle sad smile, “We are strangers with familiar faces, we share bits and pieces of history but our memories do not match. You are looking for someone you know is gone and I’ve…I’ve lived every day haunted by ghosts that were almost you.”

There is a noise from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder, a sigh escaping him as he waves whoever he is looking at away.

He is not alone…but they already knew that…this was his new beginning, a new life…it hurts they may not be part of it.

They want to be part of it…

Scott takes the chance to move forward, next to Jean, closer to Logan, “You can stop by the mansion at anytime, we’d love to have you…we’d love to get to know you, this you.”

Logan glanced back again, eyes taking in whatever scene is going on behind him, he looks…soft...

When he turns back towards them, there is gentleness to him only tainted by the sadness their presence brings, “We’ll see…”

[jjtheresidentbaby]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Night In ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| mike schmidt x vanessa shelly

warnings: little!vanessa, cg!mike, established mike/vanessa both romantic & regrssor/caregiver, they live together, slight angst, vanessa’s insecure about her regression, nicknames

Mike chews the inside of his cheek as he drives down the long stretch of empty road back towards the Schmidt house, it’s far too quiet in the car, and while the car is usually a little quieter without Abby in the backseat, this is almost eerie. They’re driving forty minutes home from the hotel Abby is staying with Ness at- he’s become a trusted babysitter and had offered to take the girl to an upcoming convention for some show they both watch - Mike honestly doesn’t know how a nine year old and a twenty something year old waiter can be this excited about the same show but he was happy to get the alone time with Vanessa.

After everything that’s happened it’s been hard to find time for just them, Mike’s working a new job, Vanessa’s been doing double time since getting out of the hospital, they’ve all been going to therapy- life has been busy. Thankfully much more settled, but some time for tlc is always appreciated, and the longer this car ride goes on the more Mike thinks Vanessa really needs it.

She’s been shifting in her seat every five seconds with a twisted up look on her face as though she can’t get comfortable and her eyes have been looking anywhere but at Mike. It’s worrying him to the point he contemplates pulling over to figure out what’s wrong- but he’ll hold off and start with just asking, trying to remind himself that jumping to conclusions only leads to him getting anxious which is the last thing he needs if Vanessa’s already having a bad time.

“Nessa? You okay?” He drops his voice soft and caring, glancing at the blonde girl only to be turned away from.

“I’m fine.” The response is quick and pitchy, almost nervous sounding, she’s chewing on her thumb nail and staring out the window like she’s never seen anything more interesting in the whole world.

“Are you….feeling small?” Mike hesitates as he asks it. While he’s always eager to take care of Vanessa when she’s little and he loves to be able to help her heal from her horrid childhood; he knows Vanessa isn’t always keen on going small or even admitting she may need to/already is.

“I’m sorry…” The girl mumbles back and Mike swears his heart shatters to nothing. Screw it- he’s pulling over.

“Mike? What are you doing?” A surprised squeak leaves Vanessa when Mike swerves over to the side of the road, a little more chaotically than he thought it’d be.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But, Nessa, you don’t have to apologize for going small.” A saddened look falls to Vanessa’s face as Mike turns in his seat to face her, reaching to take her hand carefully.

“We’re supposed to be having a romantic night to ourselves, not-.” Her eye flick away from Mike, a wetness to her lashes and her teeth dug into her bottom lip as if she’s keeping back sobs.

They have reservations for a nicer restaurant that’s a few towns over, Mike ironed his dress shirt before they left and he knows Vanessa was going to wear one of her dresses, but none of that is more important than her being comfortable. Not to Mike anyways.

“That’s not true, we’re having a night to ourselves, romantic or not. We could go home and clean the entire house if we wanted to, or drive around until I run out of gas, or hell- we could go running through the woods in the pitch black if we really wanted to. The only thing that matters is that we’re together, okay?”

“And I’d hate to miss a chance to see my best girl.” Mike moves his free hand to brush his thumb against Vanessa’s cheek, smiling when she blushes and giggles at the touch. The nickname ‘best girl’ started after Abby realized Vanessa didn’t have a version of her own nickname ‘sweet girl’ that Mike’s been calling her since she was still a baby.

“You sure? Don’t wanna ruin the night.”

“You’d never ruin the night, ever.”

-

Eventually the two make it home in much better spirits, Vanessa had started to sing along to the radio loudly while Mike was driving and she’s still humming as she bounces up the walkway to the front door. Mike’s more than relieved that Vanessa seems to be enjoying her regression, he always hates to see when she’s upset and small, it’s a different type of hurt.

“What do you want for dinner? We just went shopping so we still have options.” A grin breaks over Mikes lips when Vanessa comes to wrap around his waist where he’s bent to look into the fridge. There’s still leftovers from last nights dinner but there’s still plenty of fresh ingredients for Mikes to cook something new.

“Pizza!”

“Pizza? That’s the one thing I can’t make!” Vanessa giggles as Mike comes to scoop her into his arms, placing her on his hip with a playful squint when she pokes at his nose with her pointer finger.

“Pizza. With pepperoni.” He pretends to think it over for a moment- they both know he’ll cave- but he still likes to watch Vanessa’s eyes go big and puppy dog like as she waits.

“Okay, okay, enough with the eyes. We can get pizza.” Both Vanessa and Abby know giving Mike puppy dog eyes will get them just about anything they want, and judging by the smug smile on Vanessa’s face she definitely knew it’d work with this.

“With pepperoni.”

“With pepperoni.” He confirms with a kiss to the side of Vanessa’s head.

A night of pizza and cartoons honestly sounds better than going to some fancy restaurant where he’d have to wear uncomfortable clothes and eat overpriced food while pretending he didn’t feel completely out of place in the restaurant. Holding Vanessa to his chest as she steadily chews on her hoodie strings is also better than seeing her wearing a tight dress - which she looks absolutely stunning in- but he knows bothers her with how stiff it is. They don’t need some expensive dinner or anything like that, they just need each other.

[sinnamonrolle]

[the little moments] ♡ Barbatos

9 - That moment when Barbatos froze time

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

“Thank you for inviting me. I really needed this.”

The sound of crystallization twinkled around you, gently melding with the waves from the lake. It almost resembled music, if not for the organic pacing. There was no rhythm or beat, just the creation and breaking of crystals according to the laws of nature. They would form in clusters, then, as if pushed over an edge, they would shatter and fall into the water, yet moments later, a new bud would grow, undeterred by its flexible and flimsy surface.

“Of course, I’m glad I could provide you with a chance to rest. It isn’t easy to live with the brothers.”

The gazebo was small, neat and tight against the edge of the lake, but it was beautifully designed and sculpted with elegant frames curving upwards to support the glass roof. If it weren’t for Barbatos telling you about it, you wouldn’t even have known there was a roof to begin with. Although it looked like it came straight from a fairytale, you felt a little out of place, like you were too mundane, too simple for such an elegant place that held so much history. 

Looking up, the eternal Devildom sky and its many stars winked back at you. You felt like some sort of royalty sitting at this expensive table, sipping your drink like you owned everything in this garden, despite the true owner sitting across from you at this very moment.

“Your drink is delicious too,” you said, looking at the round, lowball glass in your hands. Your eyes traveled up a little further, past the snow globe sitting at the center, and then reaching Barbatos’ hands—empty.

He smiled at you when you met his eyes.

“Where is your drink?” you asked, realizing how empty it was on his side of the table. Even though he carted over a whole tray of various sweets that, after taking a closer look, you found were all your favorites, he merely interlocked his fingers and watched you.

“I’ve already tasted it,” he said simply. His expression unchanging, he reached over to set one of the sweets next to you. “I believe this dessert goes extremely well with this drink. Why don’t you try it?”

You refused to look at it. “That’s not the point, Barbatos.”

“Oh?” Barbatos, who was in the middle of leaning back into his seat, paused, and turned to you, making such intense eye contact despite how mild his expression was that you forgot to breathe for just a second. So mild, so unreadable, you could only begin to guess at his thoughts. “That’s not the point?”

“No, no it isn’t,” you said firmly. “The point is that I can’t be the only one eating and drinking here, especially since you are the host. You’ve already done so much for me.”

Even if you felt just a smidge like royalty, that didn’t mean you let it get to your head.

As you began to push some of the sweets towards him, he laughed—a deep, warm sound that made your heart flutter more than it should have, and what made it worse was the gloved hand that covered yours as he stopped you. Even through the fabric, you felt the heat seeping through, and you stilled, now focused entirely on the shape of his hand.

“While I did invite you so that you could have a break, I actually had something to ask of you as well,” Barbatos said, again with that same smile you’ve seen so many times before. You bit your lips, eyes flitting between his hand on top of yours and his dark olive eyes. “It’s nothing serious, just a curiosity of mine.”

“What is it?”

With his free hand, he took the snow globe sitting at the center of the table and pressed it into yours, clasping your hands along with the snow globe.

Barbatos… his hands… holding? Mine??

Pulling away with a soft squeeze, as if he could sense how distracted you were, he chuckled and called your name. “Do you know what this is?”

Yes, this is called “holding hands!” you almost blurted out, but if you did, not only would he be disappointed in your intelligence, he probably would never hold a meeting with you again, much less your hands. Whatever remained of your rationality kept your mouth tightly shut. 

You peered into the transparent globe. This snow globe was relatively simple in terms of decoration, having only a small pink sheep curled up in the middle that slept peacefully among the snow. But because it had been picked up earlier, some of the snow flew up and was now settling down again, covering the sheep with sprinkles of white.

It was such an adorable snow globe, you couldn’t help thinking. You wondered where Barbatos got it from, and if you could get one as well to put on your desk. 

“It’s just a snow globe,” you said, handing it back to him. “Why do you ask? These are pretty common.”

When he accepted the globe, the warm fabric of his gloves skimmed across your skin. You froze. The itchy sensation tickled your heart, as if urging you to act on whatever thoughts you had in your mind. You doused it with a big sip of your drink, letting the fruity taste distract you from the thoughts bouncing in your head. 

If you keep touching me, I’m going to go insane! This is worse than the brothers!

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said, again with that same smile that seemed to never leave his face. You looked away to start cutting the sweets on your plate, putting maybe just a little too much force on the fork than you should have. “I’ve always found them intriguing.”

Tilting your head, your eyebrows furrowed. “What’s so interesting about them? They’re just snow globes.”

“It’s just amazing how humans, the majority of which are unable to use magic, invent their own form of magic,” Barbatos said, slowly spinning the globe around with his long, slender fingers. The agitated snow flew up again, covering everything inside in a flurry of white. Yet despite the commotion, the sheep slept ever so peacefully. “Demons may be powerful with all sorts of magic at our disposal, but we cannot compare to humans’ creativity.”

You watched the storm rage around the small sheep, as if the blizzard was a sort of barrier, or protection against the world beyond it. But to the sheep, that was its world. Was it trapped in this small glass? Or would it be better that this small world was all it had ever known, this paradise of eternal snow?

“We’re just desperate,” you said slowly. Your gaze landed on the lake beside you, just in time to see a cluster of crystalized magic fracture and fall apart, returning back to where it started, only to repeat the same process all over again. Unhurried, it bloomed at its own pace, as if time did not exist. “We spend our lifetime wishing for things. Those who want it bad enough just take matters into their own hands, and some end up more successful than others.”

Barbatos hummed, the low timbre of his voice tickling your ears. “It’s not so bad to be desperate,” he said. “As a result, you managed to create something so beautiful, similar to our time magic. It’s wonderful to see.”

He tapped on the snow globe, the muffled sound catching your attention. His eyes were narrowed with a playful smile that had you nervous but also surprised. It was rare for Barbatos to display anything other than an unreadable expression, smile included, on his face.

“Would you like to learn?” he asked, and of course you could never refuse when he’s the one asking you. How could you when he’s asking so nicely? Even though he was busy with his duties, he still offered his time and attention—this meet up, too. You could barely grasp how long the desserts he’s been stuffing you all this time took him to make.

The stuffy feeling in your chest curled up just like the edges of your lips. “Of course, I would love to.”

For a moment, he seemed satisfied. His lips were set softly, and his eyes were warm, gentle, indulging, as if the moment you asked for anything, he would do it for you without hesitation. As if you asked for the moon, he would also give you the stars, and he probably wouldn’t even sweat doing it.

“Perfect,” he said, getting up from his seat. He offered a hand to you, pulling you up when you accepted it. “Why don’t we save it for our next meeting? For now, shall I demonstrate?”

It wasn’t a question, because then, a wind blew, ruffling your clothes, and the temperature dropped, evident in the puff of fog that left your lips when you exhaled. It was currently summer in the devildom, so you were nowhere near prepared for the sudden temperature change. 

But of course, Barbatos, ever so thoughtful, set a hand, the same one that had helped you up earlier, on your arm. It fought away the chill biting away at your flesh, but it also increased your heart rate way too much for it to be healthy or normal. Not like you let it show.

He was just casting a spell, you told yourself, mentally smacking your face. Just casting a spell. 

“What do you think?” Barbatos said. Despite the magic being applied, he didn’t take away his hand, which slid down to cradle your elbow. Even through the spell, the warmth of his palm stood out, like it was burning wherever he touched.

Distracted, you almost missed his question. It took you an embarrassingly long time to gather the words scattered in your mind. He probably thought you were an idiot, but you didn’t let that stop you from answering.

Taking a look around you, you saw how the previously green leaves of the tree had now turned a deep red, tinging into purple at the edges. They slowly fell off with the wind blowing by, blanketing the ground with their regal crimson. Some even drifted onto the walkway. Although, at a certain point along the path, the autumn leaves stopped entirely, as if there was an invisible wall preventing them from going any further.

“How does this work exactly?” you asked, turning to Barbatos. “You didn’t only change the season, right?”

He regarded you softly with a smile that you had never seen on him before. It was a small smile, not unlike his normally polite ones, but it reached his eyes in that they crinkled so gently at the edges, the love bands underneath his eyes scrunching up in fondness, and if you squinted, there seemed to be a hint of pride lining his eyebrows. 

“You’re so observant, my dear,” he praised, and you felt your heart soar in your chest, expanding and expanding until something that you could only describe as a mess of warmth and gooey tenderness was the sole thing you felt coursing through your body. Nothing could beat compliments. Especially when it came from someone that you cared about. “Your observations are exactly right.”

He gestured at the scenery before you with his free hand, his white glove a stark contrast against the vibrant vegetation. “Although time magic has varied applications, this type is the most common in art. If it makes it easier to understand, the closest analogy is precisely the snowglobe.”

As if someone pressed the two times speed button, the leaves coating the ground withered and dried into scratchy piles of dead greys and muted oranges. Dark clouds soon rolled in after, followed by a gust of wind that, thankfully because of the spell, skimmed right over your skin. You looked up through the glass roof. Breathing out a cloud of fog, you saw that it had begun to snow.

“This technique isolates space,” Barbatos continued. “The isolated space has a separate flow of time decided by the caster. It could be sped up, slowed down, or completely stopped. Anything goes, which makes the art created with this technique so interesting.”

“I can see why,” you said, laughing. “I never knew the garden looked so pretty in winter.” 

With the snowfall came a sort of quiet that only a dark winter night could bring, a kind of chilling hush that fell over the land and slept softly against the white expanse of snow. It was something you didn’t know you missed until this moment. How long had it been since things were this peaceful? 

Barbatos’ grasp on your arm tightened. “You should visit more frequently,” he said in a light voice, watching the snowflakes flutter down. “I don’t see you very often.”

Nothing changed, but something felt different from before.

You reached out a hand. As if it had been summoned, a single, tiny snowflake, one among the indistinctive many, arrived and landed on your palm. In a second, or maybe even less, it melted as quickly as it came. It barely left anything behind, like it had just simply vanished, disappeared into the darkness from where it came. 

There was an itch of guilt in your chest.

“I should,” you finally responded. “I’m sorry, Barbatos.”

He drew nearer. If he was close before, he was closer now, to the point where he could wrap his arms around you in a hug if he just extended his arms. It was such a fragile distance. 

“What is there for you to apologize for?” he asked, his other hand coming up to softly clasp yours, the one the snowflake fell on. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You attempted a smile, but you didn’t think it was particularly convincing. “Maybe I’ll move into the castle. That way I can see you more,” you joked, but you knew it would likely never happen. Diavolo probably wouldn’t mind, but then what about the brothers? What about the rest of the Devildom, the ones that saw you as nothing more than some human? 

What right did you have?

Barbatos leaned towards you, his head just shy of touching yours. He looked intently at you. “My dear,” he said slowly, softly, as if he was afraid that you would miss his words if he went any faster. “You can have anything you want. As long as it is what you truly desire.”

“...Anything?” you whispered.

“Anything,” he promised, and that was enough.

There was something in your throat, something sour that stuck around and refused to come out, and you didn’t know whether to cry or smile, so you did an odd combination of both where it came out more like a wince with your furrowed eyebrows and curled lips, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Your vision blurred, and you guessed that your body chose to cry after all.

You tried a laugh. “You’re so silly, you know,” you said with a trembling voice. “Promising me ‘anything.’ You can’t go back on your words, okay?”

“What kind of demon would I be to go back on my words?” Barbatos said, but you’re pretty sure he was joking. He smiled, and you found that you couldn’t really say anything back when he smiled like that. “Let me give you a gift.”

When he looked down at your hand, you followed his gaze only to see a snowflake in your palm. You thought another one had landed until it melted and crystallized and melted again, all within the span of a couple seconds.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “It’s your snowflake now. It’ll be with you until the end of time.”

You almost couldn’t believe his words. Who could lay claim on a singular snowflake? Yet he had clearly done so just now, so nonchalantly, so casually as if it was something normal that anyone could accomplish and give as a gift.

“What if I lose it?” you choked out, staring worryingly at the timeless, ever transforming droplet of water. “It’s so tiny.”

Barbatos chuckled quietly, drawing your attention back to him. Fondly, he said, “You won’t, my dear. Why don’t you take a closer look?”

Following his words, you studied the snowflake closer, tilting your hand this way and that, when suddenly, the light caught against something around the snowflake. You tried again. A sparkle glinted back at you, and you realized it was from a thin layer of something resembling a plastic film wrapped around the snowflake, encasing it, isolating it from the outside world. A notch stuck out at the top, like it was meant to hook onto something.

It had become… a pendant.

You looked at Barbatos, incredulous at how he came up with an idea like this. He met your exasperated look with a calm smile and gentle, olive green eyes. But at that moment, you fully realized the weight of his words, that he had already begun to fulfill his promise, that his gift meant more than a mere gift.

Anything, he said. Anything. 

If you wanted the moon, he would even give you the stars.

“Barbatos,” you said, and he responded with an attentive hum. “If you ever go back on your words, I think I’ll cry.”

Finally, finally, his forehead rested against yours, as if he had finally allowed himself to do so. The fragile distance between you two had closed. But even though he was so close that you could see the bright green specks in his eyes, you still couldn’t figure out what was going through his mind. Would you ever?

Maybe, the day you find out would be the day you would be able to give him anything he wanted. 

“Please, don’t cry,” he said, and suddenly his voice was so loud, so firm against the swaying snow. His hands were so warm. “I may be a demon, but I’ll always be your demon.”

A cozy feeling tickled your heart.

-------

im sorry this is so late OTL

but don't worry, this series will eventually be finished!

Masterlist!