#bashing hells with a stick MAKE A DECISION

[shuuenka]

not to bring john mulaney to c3 finale but bells hells are horse in the hospital

[gladiatorcunt]

- LIFE OF THE PARTY | IX.

take a breath, you’re the

cw: kinktober prompt (non con-ish, more of the aftermath), past non con threesome (between 18 year olds) w/ suguru, coercion, mentions of blood and virginity loss, past bully-ish satory, frat boy!satoru + nanami, toji (who’s the same age), sukuna, choso, & suguru, goth & tatted reader who has a vagina, non con voyeurism (?) and video sharing, implied the rest of the boys x reader (choso a little more implied), being attracted to the man who assaulted you and making poor decisions out of a need for survival, ooc!satoru, non linear moments, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

TWO YEARS AGO | ????’s Dorm Bathroom

“I’m the one that stuck around after I got my dick wet.”

He should’ve told you that he loved you, he should’ve shoved Suguru off of you when he had his turn and bashed his head into the tile. He should've cleaned you up and cuddled you in a bubble bath back at his apartment. What he did was wipe up the copious amounts cum and saliva up with your underwear and it wasn’t until he turned around so you could get dressed that he noticed the blood. On the floor, on your panties, dripping off his still hard cock. Satoru didn’t get to care about his heart falling out of his ass and straight into hell, because how absurd is it that this is the moment when he finally understands that his actions have consequences. Toy trains don’t run anymore when you play with them so roughly that their wheels fall off.

“I didn’t go in raw with her, ‘s not like you, I couldn't even stay hard until I looked at the pic of you I have by my bed. I brought it over.”

So why did he look at your limp body and still expect you to move? Didn’t you notice that you weren’t alone? Do you not care? His brain hadn’t caught up with his body when he ruined everything, and he wishes he had your first time in a bed, filled with only him. You weren’t paying attention to him anymore and he couldn’t understand why that made him so angry. He didn’t need you, Gojo Satoru doesn’t need anybody. He made no effort to stop the mean whispers about you from his friend group and he didn’t apologize for the way he “bullied” you in high school for having a stalker-y crush on him when you saw each other at orientation. But you looked so beautiful then, you still did when you were shaking on the cold floor in front of him. Staring all bug eyed up at the flickering artificial light, he wanted to scream when he hovered over you and your eyes didn’t focus on him.

In hindsight, that was a lot of words to use when he only needed three.

Satoru has to belong to everybody, but nothing ever has to belong to him. He has privileges that he earns by simply existing, but it can all be taken away from him with a single order. Is it so bad that he held you so tightly your bones broke and your guts spilled in between his fingers? That he wanted to stick your cells under a microscope so he could know you more intimately than anyone ever could? From the very moment he met you, he could tell that you truly understood him, and who would ever want to give that up?

If being irresponsible with money means splurging on a tattoo to make yourself feel better when you should really be buying groceries? Then you’ll put the shoe on and won’t whine when it fits. You’ve been in a god awful slump lately. Your assignments barely get turned in on time and you go weeks without brushing your teeth because you can’t be bothered to get off your ass for two minutes. So when Choso updated his tattoo shops instagram saying that they’re available for bookings, you jumped on the opportunity.

It’s your favorite place anyway, and you wouldn’t feel as comfortable getting a tattoo from someone that wasn’t working there. Even Sukuna, who makes a big show of acting all tough but will let you get pieces done for free if they’re from him. He’ll drive you home on his bike when a session runs a little late and you’re worried about walking home alone.

You have a lot of fondness for the place and its people, except for a certain gage wearing individual, but you’re trying to repress all that. He definitely doesn’t make it easy for you, he’s somehow always able to know when you’re coming and gets himself in the receptionist’s chair so you have to talk to him. He stares you down with his empty black orbs the entire time during an appointment, and the veins in his arms bulge when you inhale as the needle pierces your skin. He makes “jokes” that he'd be so gentle with you if you let him, and you don’t have the heart to speak up over a stern “Suguru.” He raises his hands in surrender and backs off, because he knows there’s always next time.

You fumble through your bag as you prepare to leave your dorm, making sure you’ve got everything. Sunscreen to re apply over your makeup later? Check. Your phone (with several texts from an unknown number flashing on the screen)? Check. Your wallet stuffed to the brim with old receipts and cards that you probably keep at home? Check.

You get almost five steps out the door before you crash into a solid chest. Your ‘oof’ is muffled by the stranger’s shirt, and when you take a step back you recognize it as a compression shirt that's gotten popular with a lot of the guys on campus. That’s why the muscle you collided with felt particularly…. firm.

“Hi, cutie! Fancy seeing you here.” Satoru chuckles, like he isn’t literally outside your dorm.

And just like that, all the good vibes and hopes you had for your day shrivel up and die.

It’s a shame that Satoru does look good in the shirt, the black sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and he’s been good at knowing which trends will suit him better than the millions of other people buying into them. His eyes stand out in the dark fabric, as blue as you remember them and as terrifying. You gape at him for what must be a solid minute before your features twist up into a scowl and you’re darting around him to walk away.

“I live here, now fuck off or kill yourself, I don’t care.” You shout over your shoulder, praying that he doesn’t take off after you.

“Aw, that’s mean, babe! But I know you’d miss me too much, so I won’t do either of those. Have a good day!” You don’t hear him leave as he responds, but you’re past the point of obsessively cataloging Satoru Gojo’s every movement.

Your roommate let him in, in more ways than one.

“Alright, there we go. You’re all set, i’ll meet you at the counter and we’ll get you out of here.” Choso touch is light as a feather as he does the cleaning on your freshly tattooed skin.

A skeletal pattern over your hand, knuckles and all.

The sound of him snapping his black glove against his wrist makes you jump but he smiles, doing it again with a tender look in his eyes. He wipes down your finished tattoo and you grab your bag, heading to the counter to pay.

“You took it really well, I should've known you would when you told me you came in for a tattoo on one of the most painful areas of your body on purpose.” Choso teases, punching in your card details at the front.

They run a small parlor and are usually short staffed since most of the employees are also in the biggest frat at school and end up doing most of their appointments in whatever room’s available at a party. The shop’s not the most legal operation in general, but Choso and the others all did their apprenticeships right at 18 so they could have a place of their own as soon as possible. And so they could do their own ink and jewelry for free. Sukuna, Toji, Suguru, all of them got their piercing licenses too. Nanami’s their accountant. Satoru’s really the only one who isn't directly involved with the place.

It’s bad enough that one of your attackers always has a chance of being here, but it’s cheap and you feel a sense of comfort with Choso. That familiarity might be why you end up paying a lot less than you should, but it gives you butterflies to consider that as a possibility.

“Yeah, is it bad that I just thought it was cool? I don’t have any symbolic connection to it or anything.” You joke, thinking about how your mom would always say she’d prefer a tiny one, a flower on your shoulder or something like that for your first tattoo.

You’re a free pieces deep, each one nothing like she would have picked for yourself. You started getting them after the… incident, and it’s incredible how freeing it can be to explore your style and have everything on your body be 100% your decision.

Sukuna, the one with the closest workstation to the counter snorts, “Choso did some nice work on you, kitty.”

You roll your eyes, Choso’s younger brother never fails to hit on you whenever you find your way back into their shop.

Toji, done with his tongue piercing appointment, steadies a hand on his woozy client’s shoulder and looks over to you. “Sure did, must be why Suguru can’t keep his beady orbs off of ya. Not that I blame him.”

You stiffen, feeling said man’s eyes slither up and down your body, leaving a trail of tar and molasses that keeps you from immediately bolting. A fly preserved in amber, encrusted in gnarled old tree bark.

You don’t look back over your shoulder at him but you hear him chuckle and swat Toji upside the head, “Nah, just got a lot on my mind is all. I’m double booked. Your tat’s cool though, wish i could’ve done it in my style.”

The ‘It probably would’ve looked better’ is left unsaid.

Choso raises an eyebrow and reaches out to grab your wrist as he hands back your card, he strokes a line down your pulse point

“I think I did just fine, I'm the one you keep coming back to anyway, no matter how painful it gets.”

He ducks his head down when your heart skips a beat, wrestling with his smug grin.

A stormy look comes over Suguru’s expression but it’s gone in a flash of purple lightning when his client walks in through the door.

It’s when you say a reluctant goodbye to Choso and leave the parlor to head towards the nearest grocery store that your phone goes off.

It’s from an unknown number but you know exactly who it is, you’ve blocked Satoru multiple times and he keeps coming back with a different number.

The message is a single video without an accompanying taunt, and you really shouldn’t, but your morbid curiosity wins out.

You notice your roommate's ankle bracelet slung over his shoulder very quickly, you also see more of her stretched out pussy than you ever wanted to.

Satoru chuckles behind the camera, zooming in on where their bodies are joined, he’s fucking her raw and her folds look startlingly red. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t bullshit through any bad dirty talk or narration for the audience (of one). A blessing, all things considered, he loved to yap your ears off when he took you. Satoru Gojo is rarely ever silent, even when deep down he doesn’t feel much like talking.

But he’s gone quiet as a church mouse, the only sounds coming from your phone are sticky smacks of bare flesh against bare flesh and your roommate’s muffled moans. Anytime she tries to scream, Satoru tightens his grip on her mouth and slaps her tits, which becomes a vicious cycle.

The video shows his torso at an angle, fat pecs and chiseled abs glistening as they clench. He has a fucking smoking hot body, one that you wish you weren’t forced to know more intimately than the girl who in that moment is currently all up on it.

You watch when she cums around him, a car running into a tree, but you click out of the video when Satoru cums inside her, a cargo train crashing through the car AND the tree.

Your mind is as scattered as those bits of debri and human flesh, welded to the tracks but you can feel movement above and around you.

Nanami’s hand cups your shoulder when you’re distracted during your study session later that day, he’s tutoring you in french for free and you’ve taken absolute advantage of the opportunity. It’s just one of those fuzzy days for you, especially since you can’t stop thinking of the video.

“Everything okay?” He murmurs, leaning closer with worry flickering in his warm eyes.

You nod and shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, just a little tired. Been really stressed lately.”

He wishes you would let him help with that.

Sometimes Satoru plops down on his ten thousand dollar leather couch and imagines what it would be like to kill Suguru. It’s what he should’ve done, years ago back in that dingy bathroom with a singular lightbulb that you could never quite tell if it was going to stay lit. He could’ve charged into the other man’s body and smashed his skull into the mirror until clumps of his black hair fell on the floor and blended in with shoddy tile work. All he’d be able to hear is your pitiful hiccups, his blood would be rushing to and fro in his ears. He would’ve

Other times, Satoru imagines what it would be like to kill himself. In front of you of course, because even if he’s doing it as a sacrifice to your shrine, you’d never forget him. Trauma can do funny things to your brain, if he left you alone you might hide him under several layers of heavy fog. If you won’t love him, at least let him be remembered by the only person he thinks he’s ever cared about. You’d be happy if he stayed away, but you wouldn’t be safe with anyone else but him, so he’ll take all the screaming and throwing shit at him that’s to come.

As long as the tiffany blue box tucked away in his nightstand isn’t one of those things.

It’s why he calls his usual people and pays a good chunk of cash to throw your roommate off their shoulders like a sack of potatoes and kill her somewhere private. He has a chemistry class in fifteen minutes, and a fraternity meeting right after. Satoru’s annoyed at having to make that long trek between buildings, but it’d probably be a good way to work the energy off. What’s-her-face was really starting to piss him off, snoring as loud as a vacuum cleaner on the pillow next to him. She couldn’t even make him cum, but that’s to be expected, she’s just not you.

He didn’t hit it raw though, that’s a privilege reserved solely for his (future) baby.

When he graduates, goes to dental school, and becomes a dentist, he thinks it’d be so romantic to be the one you went to. Cleaning your teeth, praising you for how well you’ve been brushing and flossing, leaning down for an upside down spider man kind of kiss when the appointment’s over. If you’re sporting a cute little rounded belly and an angelic glow during one of those appointments, well, don’t tell anybody what he needs to imagine to fall asleep with anything resembling a genuine smile.

Shit, he hopes Choso remembers to re-stock the orange juice and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Nanami’s been pissed ever since Satoru finished them without asking, now they have to share the Captain Crunch Berries. Hiroguma doesn’t mind the turn of events. All Satoru can do is wonder which one you’d like more if you stayed over at the house.

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright, cutie. Just a little longer, this pussy’s so tight I'm gonna cream it in no time, ‘kay?” He whispers into your hair, his dick pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt, hunting you down even as he’s currently inside you.

He tells you these things, because of course Satoru Gojo knows you and your own body better than you do. The only time he’s ever touched it and it’s like this, violating you for his own pleasure and accidentally discovering what fuels yours along the way.

You’re crying, because he’s learned that despite your prickly personality you like soft touches and sweet words, but don’t hold it against him. He’s a horny teenage boy, it’s all trial and error. It could be a lot worse for you, he couldn’t not eaten you out first and just plowed your ass like he was gonna die tomorrow.

You feel like you might, watching your blood drip down onto the dirty bathroom tile, you’re a leaky faucet now. Rusted and having so little left to give but you keep on giving (and taking) because there’s nothing else you can do.

Satoru spills into your guts with no warning, fucking down into you like you’re nothing but a pocket pussy. You’re just so pretty, sobbing and clawing at his shoulders. He’ll wear the red scratch marks with pride, maybe ask Suguru to lick them and tell him what they taste like, share it with him to get the little remnants of your bitten nails down his throat.

He climbs off of you and picks up his phone, his fingers sticky with your juices make the device slip and slide in his grip but he manages to not drop it. You may as well be dead on the floor but Satoru’s too busy texting the video of what you just did to Suguru. He smirks and his cock twitches, imagining the look on his best friend’s face, the envy.

He never tells you if the goal was to make Suguru want to join, you never want to know.

When you come back, black and red rose petals poke out under your door.

You snap, slamming your door open and gawking at the audacity of Satoru Gojo, nestled on the covers of your bed like he was waiting for his baby to get home from a stressful day out in this big scary city.

You don’t remember the questions you ask even as you’re asking them, all you’re retaining is the blush on his face and how pretty his blue eyes are when he’s about to get everything under the sun because it might as well have a ‘Paid for by the Gojo Family’ plague on it.

You’re so fucking tired, and you put up a fight but that’s all out of you now. There are multiple ways to make something go away, like absorbing into your body so at least you’re partially in control.

“I’ll forgive you if you’re good and keep your filthy hands to yourself until I tell you otherwise, okay?”

He obeys and sits perched on the edge of the bed, watching as you hover above a glass dildo purposefully smaller than he is. You bite your lip, lubing it up until your hand is slippery and you keep losing your grip.

Satoru imagines this it at a frat party instead, and the music is pouring from the open windows as people fuck around outside and inside the house, drinking from cheap plastic cups and novelty shot glasses. He’d take your hand and lace his fingers through yours, taking you upstairs to his room.

Your rum and coke would loosen you up, and you’d grind in his bed to the beat bumping through the floor. Satoru would bury his face in your neck and beg you to let him touch you like he really wants to. You’d sigh and he’d grin, skirting his long fingers under the edge of your lace panties and fingering you right there before picking you up and throwing you flat on your back.

He’d promise he’d pull out, he thought he had more condoms in his nightstand, you wouldn’t care and would beg to stay inside no matter what. You’d have a little Toru Jr. a couple semesters later.

But that universe doesn’t exist. You’re riding a small toy to an unsatisfying orgasm and Satoru just has to sit there and watch you, leaving your clit neglected and your mouth unoccupied by his eager kisses. You spit at him that you should just pull the dildo out of you and ram it up his ass without warning, but he’s so desperate to chain you up and tie you down that he’d probably like it. You only want to do something he wouldn’t like right now, a swan song for your dignity and self respect. It’s been a few years since those things were once part of you too.

Your breath hitches and your eyes get teary, Satoru can’t help but to shuffle over to where you’re kneeling on the bed. You moan as his fingertips come into contact with your swollen clit, and laugh deliriously when he perks up like his dad just surprised with a new car to have someone else drive for him.

“So fucking typical.” You whine, bouncing on the dildo and wordlessly begging him to keep playing with your bud. “Can’t ever do something you don’t wanna do, always to be someone else’s job.”

The blinking light in the corner of your bookshelf will come in handy when Satoru’s fast asleep in your bed and you’re sending a video of your own to Suguru.

You’ll both wake up to someone furiously pounding on your door, the world will spin round and round only to end up at the same place.

A frown flickers across his face at the pure death in your tone. He wants to know your favorite colors and what you love to eat and what makes every stressor in life fade away, but all he knows is what you look like when you cry yourself to smithereens while you cum.

“You’re the best at everything, honey.” He softly chuckles, water laps at his hairline, he’s almost drowning.

That isn’t quite true clearly, you’re not the best at stopping yourself from being assaulted, like that’s something you be and therapy’s something you can win.

“Thank you, Toru. so are you.”

That is true, for better or for worse as the saying goes.

[gtwscratch]

Smart Decisions

Summary: Scar's left alone in the zombie apocalypse, having lost everyone he's cared about, but maybe he isn't entirely alone

CW: angst, mentions of death/grief/loss, self-deprecation, minor animal injury, mention of animal death(?? Scar sort of comes to that conclusion)

I promise you guys there's a happy ending

Word count: 1,558 words

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Even before the zombie apocalypse started, Scar had never been known for making smart decisions. He acted before thinking—speaking, too—and was always too enthusiastic to enact plans that would always end in disaster. There was always someone telling him not to do this or that, but when you’re alone in the apocalypse, there’s no one to tell you what you can and can’t do.

So, if Scar wants to talk friendly to the undead like they aren’t trying to kill him? Perfectly fine! He wants to decorate his survival base to look nice? Hell yeah! Scar wants to waste his bullets and go a bit crazy to let off some steam? He’ll waste all the bullets he wants! Scar’s never had more freedom in his life.

That doesn’t distract him from the fact that everyone he once knew is gone, though. Every risky and stupid move he makes, he can almost hear their responses.

You know they’re not going to respond, right, says a dark-haired man with glasses, humor in his tone.

It looks nice, mate, but we should be focusing on fortifying it rather than making it look pretty, says a tall, lanky man with a mustache.

Scar! We need to save those! They’re a limited resource, says a short, blond man with beautiful, colorful wings.

Scar’s heart aches whenever he thinks of them. He misses them dearly. He replays what happened to them again and again, trying to think of what more he could’ve done to keep them alive. Maybe if he had gotten more serious, then he’d still have his brother. If he had been paying more attention, his friend wouldn’t have gotten bitten. If he hadn’t nodded off, his partner would still be with him, in his arms. But no matter how much he thinks, nothing will change. They’re gone, and Scar’s left alone, wondering why he’s the one still alive while the others are dead. He knows they wouldn’t want him to blame himself, but survivor’s guilt is a bitch.

He wanders through one of the empty buildings on a bright day. It’s been a rough morning, Scar having woken up from a night terror that involved pretty wings being torn apart. He just needs to take a good, long breather outside the safety of his home (more of a base than a home at this point, really). He knows the building’s clear, so he wanders freely through the third floor. He tries to ignore the night terror and the memories of that day, he really does. He does some breathing exercises, he tries to shake out the anxiety and bad feelings through his hands, and he tries to think up blueprint plans like when he was an engineer, but he can’t shake it. He’s overwhelmed with grief and panic, and it quickly turns to anger.

That shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. They were all so capable, and they should have survived. 

They would have survived if it wasn’t for me.

Without thinking, Scar kicks over a trash can with an ugly cry. He flips a table. He grabs the baseball bat with nails sticking out of it that’s hanging at his waist and smashes an old computer with it. He breaks old mugs. He bashes and punches holes into the flimsy material of cubicles. He breaks a window. He throws a chair. He hears a yowl. He stomps- wait, he hears a yowl?

Scar is broken out of his sorrow and fury by the sound. He stops, going very quiet and still to hear the noise again. After a few moments, there's another yowl, quieter than the first one. He follows the sound to the overturned table and looks behind it. He blinks when he sees a little gray and white kitten cowering there.

He quickly wipes his eyes. When had he started crying? He kneels down and speaks softly. “Hey there, what’re you doing here all by yourself?” Scar reaches a gloved hand out.

The kitten hisses at him and bats at his hand, her tail fluffing up more than it already was. Scar coos softly to the kitten, trying to calm her. “It’s okay.. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Despite her hissing, he manages to carefully pick her up. Upon doing so, he notices her back left paw was injured. Or was it her right paw? Scar was never good at telling his right from his left.

He feels tears burn his eyes again, and shame fills his chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I cause that? I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see you. I never would have thrown everything. I’m so sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry.” A few tears run down Scar’s face as he continuously apologizes to the small cat, petting her and trying to calm her down. Scar can see the fear in her eyes, and he gently shushes her.

“Here, stay still for a second, yeah?” he sniffles. “I think I’ve got some bandages on me.” 

He lets go of the cat, which, to his surprise, stays in his lap despite her fluffed-up, flicking tail. He pulls out a roll of bandages from his bag, sighing in relief. “Thank god I didn’t forget it this time.” He carefully tries to stretch out the kitten’s leg so he can wrap it, but he realizes his gloves are a little too padded to handle the bandages. He takes them off to work more easily, and he’s surprised at how soft her fur is despite it being matted in some spots. 

Scar takes a moment to gently scratch between her ears to relax her further. “You’re okay, see? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m sorry.” He keeps petting her before carefully moving her leg. He’s careful as he wraps it and is quite impressed with how well-behaved the kitten is. Maybe she’s been just as lonely as him out here and wanted some company. That’s what Scar hoped at least. Not that he hopes she’s been alone! He just couldn’t think of another reason that she’d be so willing to let a stranger pick her up and pet her like this.

It doesn’t take long for him to be finished. “All right, there you go, little lady. How’s that feel?” Scar keeps his hands back. As much as he wants to keep petting her, he doesn’t want to smother her and scare her off. To his surprise, she butts her head against his stomach with a quiet, “mrow.”

Scar exhales shakily, smiling and wiping at his eyes again. He holds his hand out and smiles wider when she rubs her face against it. He scratches under her chin. 

“Well, aren’t you just a little sweetheart? I guess that means you accept the apology, huh?” Scar just sits there, continuing to pet her, and the kitten starts to purr. He stays like that for a long while before glancing out the window and notices the sun setting. Carefully, he picks her up off his lap and sets her on the ground. 

“Welp, I’ve got to get back to my survival shelter before it gets too dark. You see, it’s easier to evade all the undead when it’s light out and I can actually see them,” Scar explains. “I’m not like you with your night-vision eyes.”

She simply meows up at him as he stands. He smiles back at her, a sad smile. “You take care of yourself now, okay? Stay away from those zombie guys, and I hope that leg heals up soon.” He walks over to grab his bat, and the kitten meows again, a little louder. Scar looks over to see her limping towards him.

“No, no, you’ve got to stay here. I’m sure you’re mama will be here to get you soon,” he says as he hooks the bat to his belt again. “I’m sure she won’t be too happy to see you missing from where she left you.” He starts to walk to the stairwell, but her meows become louder and longer, like she’s demanding him to take her with him. He stops and looks over to her, the sight tugging at his heartstrings.

This poor little cat, so small in the middle of the torn-up office space, is limping towards him as quickly as she can. Scar wonders how long she’s been up here. How long she’s been without food. How long she’s been alone with no one to take care of her because surely, if she had a mother, her coat wouldn’t be so unkept and messy. 

Scar had never been known for making smart decisions, and maybe this wasn’t the smartest decision, but he knew that if he left this kitten here by herself, it would be the absolute dumbest thing he’s done in his entire life.

He walks over and scoops her up in one hand, holding her carefully to his chest. “Okay, okay, you win,” he says with a soft smile. “So pushy. Don’t expect to get your way like this all the time, your highness.” She simply meows at him and butts her head against his chest, purring once again, and Scar instantly knows that he’s going to spoil this cat as much as he can.

The two leave the building, and Scar’s heart is a little less broken than when he entered it.

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This has been on my mind for literal MONTHS, and I'm so incredibly proud of the outcome. I hope you guys liked it as well!

I have another TDC idea where Scar is taken from that world and brought into Hermitcraft, but I have to do quite a bit more thinking on it, and that will have multiple parts to it :)

[heatwayve]

NAOMI: CASA AMOR DAY 4

what are you most looking forward to about reuniting with the other villa? what are you dreading the most?

“ i know it’s going to be hard to see dylan again. clearly a lot of things have changed since we saw each other last. so, that’s going to be a really hard conversation. it’s been easy to try to assume i know where his head is at, since i feel like i know him, but at the end of the day – i don’t know. maybe i don’t really know at all, ” she frowns. “ but i literally can’t wait to catch up with marcus. i hadn’t realized how much i talked to him every day i was in here until he wasn’t in here. it’s probably been good for us to get some space after what happened and we can get right back to our usual bullshit. i have so much to tell him, ” naomi smiles fondly. “ and, yeah, i know, ” she rolls her eyes, a deadpan look at the camera, “ josh. ” she leans back, “ at this point, i don’t even know whether to be excited or whether to be dreading it. maybe both. definitely both. i’ll figure it out when i see him. ” 

if you were to stick, why would you? why would you consider switching?

“ with everything that’s been going on with me, it’s made the most sense to just . . . keep that to myself, not mix anyone else up in the shitstorm i have to deal with when everyone returns, ” she grimaces. “ the postcard definitely seemed to indicate that i should be exploring other potential, but i started doing that so late that i still don’t really know if there’s anything there. ” 

is there a bombshell that’s at the top of you ‘list’? who would you bring back?

“ charlene’s made a real effort with me since yesterday, which is nice. i’m still figuring out if we’d really click or . . . how genuine it is, honestly, ” this is hilarious when naomi is fake as hell but i digress, “ but maybe i’d know more if i hadn’t spend the past few days closed off while the guys were cracking on, ” she points out. “ just wish i knew how things were going to go tonight, because bringing someone back could be the right choice or it could be a massive mistake. i do like her, and i don’t want to hurt anyone else. ” 

if none of the bombshells could come back, who would you miss most?

“ angel, for sure. i’m feeling pretty good about it, though, because i think callie would be a complete idiot not to bring him back and she totally knows it. ” naomi shrugs, “ but yeah, i’m really glad we became friends. ” and they have such different lives, naomi doesn’t think they’ll ever really get the chance to chill on the outside like they can now. 

what conversations do you need to have most when you reunite?

“ i think everyone’s sick of me talking about josh, but i really need to talk to josh. i don’t even know if he deserves it or if it’s all been total bullshit, but i need to know where his head’s at more than anything – i think it’s been pretty clear that it’s driving me fucking crazy. i can’t stop thinking about the other night. but seeing that photo just gave me this sinking feeling he hasn’t changed, so, ” naomi flashes the camera a tight-lipped smile. “ and i need to talk to dylan. it feels like make or break for us, really, which is hard . . . even before we got together, he always had my back or went out of his way to check on me. he made every day easier for me, and i feel like i’ve just made things harder on him by, well, only communicating half of what i was feeling all the time. ” 

what are you feeling about the decisions of the other islanders? who do you think has made the best connection?

“ i think it’ll be kind of crazy. like, seb and rhys totally want each other, but it could go either way – they seem like the type to friendship couple with the bombshells to ‘give them a chance’ or whatever. either way, i think it’s gonna be a shock for poor bash, ” naomi is curious to see how everyone from the other villa takes it, considering rhys and seb will be totally new to all of them. however, this is the drama that she’s most excited to watch pan out, because she’s pretty confident it’s going to work out for everyone involved anyway. “ i think . . . dante makes romi happy, ” naomi smiles placidly, not offering anything more than that. “ and honestly, jenny and jude seem kind of suited ? except for the fact that she’d fully drop him if josh decided to give her the time of day again, ” she suggests this matter-of-factly, like two plus two equals four. “ and, yeah, like i’ve told callie, i think her and angel seem really good together. he’s so into her, and i think they’re kind of on the same page about everything. i’m just not sure how much frankie coming back is going to shake that up, but . . . i like them. ” 

[ink-beneath-her-fingernails]

reach your hand through the everglass (the boat to nowhere gets there fast)

read it on ao3   |   masterlist

Fandom: Hades (video game)

TWs: major character death (canon-typical), graphic depictions of violence, mentions of unhealthy parent-child relationships. please let me know if there are any other warnings that should be added.

Wordcount: 1,748

Originally Published: January 27, 2023

Summary: here is what they do not tell you: running through every level of hell, being reborn in a river of your own blood, experiencing every thousands of ways to die, failing and failing and failing and yet persisting—you will change.

here is what you are scared to ask yourself: how much?

Notes: whoops i thought too much about this game!! idek what the title on this one is. originally it was "persist in the fathomless depths" bc i couldn't find any of the dialogue that inspired this story in the first place, and none of the other stuff was jumping out, but then this just. kinda happened. and now i'm attached to it so.

Transfer Notes: n/a

here is what they do not tell you: running through every level of hell, being reborn in a river of your own blood, experiencing every thousands of ways to die, failing and failing and failing and yet persisting—you will change.

here is what you are scared to ask yourself: how much?

*

here is what you learn:

how to die (stabbed through the heart, body seizing, skin frizzing with magical energy, choking on blood and bile and poison, bleeding out in a quiet corner, crushed by falling debris, at the hands of one of your oldest friends),

never to meet your heroes (of any sort; every olympian you've ever talked to is fickle and proud and angry beyond measure; it takes you three meetings to even realize who patroclus is and he is nothing like any story, tired and drowning in sorrow and apathy and having given up in every way; you tell theseus that fighting him would be an honor and he calls you a fiend, a blackguard, and a coward, tells you he will show you no mercy, relishes more in the crowd and glory than anything else above or below the earth),

how to talk to people (you've always been alright at it but you need it now more than ever before—new people, not the ones you've grown up knowing, ones who will talk back and stick around for longer than their sentencing; you talk and you talk and you give and you give and sometimes you take and this you are forced to realize before anything else: everyone here is your ally, and everyone here is your enemy. they are bound to this house just like you are, want you to escape because they never could, want you to fail because it's their job, want you to die because they'd rather swallow you whole and let your ever-lit feet scorch their insides until they learn not to burn than let you leave them.

you learn to toe a fine line, never show too much of your hand at once, look for double meanings, take nothing at face value; line thin smiles with sharp teeth and honeyed words, and you hate it and you hate it and you hate it and—),

people change (sisyphus tends your wounds, gives you spare obols he's picked up on his perpetual path, slips you gemstones of darkness incarnate that make your blood sing, always offers you an ear to listen and a kind set of words. you ask nyx where his pact might be so you can void it, and she asks if you think that is a wise decision. you tell her you don't know, so she sends you to her son. you cannot look sisyphus in the eye when next you meet, taking his gifts sets something roiling in your gut. he has been here for so very long. you cannot even imagine what he was like living, cannot possibly reconcile the crafty king you've been told of with the bashful, friendly man who offers you encouragement on your runs. you still do not know if you should free him. you wish you'd never thought of it.

your father is a shadow over your entire life, you have learned nothing from him except every painful part of the words blood and darkness. he has tried to teach you how to hate and despite all his wishes, you have not let him. (you still love him, you still love him, why do you still love him, how can you still love him?) you have given him the benefit of the doubt at every turn and still he surprises you, still it shocks you to the core of something you didn't know you had to hear him uncertain, to hear him loving, or trying, to hear him attempting to make the right choice in a way that matters differently from the rulings of the universe and politics and mortality.

achilles tells you he tore the world asunder once but will not say how. try as you might, you cannot picture it.

the shades milling outside the stadium in elysium murmur about how, in life, theseus killed the minotaur with his bare hands, and you spend long minutes wondering if you'd misheard, trying to understand when presented with the information for the first time since you'd actually met the pair how that makes any sense, when they're a team, when theseus bargained asterius out of erebus just to fight by his side. they tell you, again and again, that you could never understand the bond they have, and you believe it every time),

how to use each of the infernal arms (that have found their way crawling from the darkness where they were always meant to be forgotten, that fit your palms like they were always meant for you to wield them, that make your hair stand on end and your blood pump and your muscles pulse and the need for something great and terrible and violent to spring forth from you frying the very air you breathe.

you collect bounties, and they're something awful, something old, something you shouldn't be seeing, holding, using—titan blood. each weapon, without fail, reacts when you do. they shiver, and quake, and whisper, and you think you finally know what achilles must've meant when he told you that they'd hunger for it before long.

you carefully pocket a vial of the ancient ichor, and the trembling of aegis brings you pause. its open mouth is gaping, and you wonder, if it had a tongue, would it be licking its chops, and is it just you, or are its fangs longer now than they were before? you feed them eventually, because of course you do, you're running out of options, and you wonder if, in several hundred slices of agony throughout the depths, your forefathers' forefathers can feel it).

here is what you don't: who actually hired skelly? who was he before?

why do the gods of olympus, who all quietly hate each other so, bother to put up with one another for all this time? (is there perhaps more than one reason lord ares has been kept so very busy on earth recently? is it nothing but a desperate hope that he will not have time to turn eyes to their mountaintop, considering?)

why did your mother come here, and why did she leave?

why does the river phlegethon keep flooding?

why, when you are so very frustrated after a ruined escape attempt that ended slowly and painfully, when meg refuses to even talk to you, when everyone at the house has stonewalled every question you've asked in the hours since, and you throw something—was it a pot? a book? a statuette?—across your room in a fit of rage, does the mirror nyx once gifted you shatter like it never, never should? why does nyx not instantly storm in, having felt it?

why don't you feel any different when it does?

(nyx tells you the mirror will make you stronger, and by her grace, it does.)

(so why is it, when you kneel amongst the shards, trying to figure out how you're going to fix your own impulsive stupidity, that it doesn't feel dangerous? it did, before, even when it was whole, when you first used it. now, you handle the pieces, and don't even make an effort to handle them carefully because some part of you knows they would never dream of cutting you open.

when you press them together, the darkness sings, and where it once made you feel small, like prey, maybe, now it is a comfortable hum in your chest, in your heart, in your soul if you were to have one, and you act without thinking, letting the music of the cosmos you should not hear or feel or taste guide your hands without thought, and suddenly you have one larger piece instead of two smaller ones, and one pair less of jagged edges. you keep on, like it's your purpose, because maybe now it is, and shard by shard, edge by edge, you build something, and the darkness sings ever louder with each joining, until you could swear the whole house is shaking in its foundations. eventually, you press an entire, jagged panel into the frame and what's stayed there, and it's like nothing ever happened. slowly, the music fades.

when you ask nyx if she heard the singing later, she just blinks at you, says she's not sure what you mean, and orpheus still hasn't been much for playing lately.

you don't bring it up again.)

*

this is what it seems everyone has forgotten except you: how gods become.

young gods are a rare commodity these days. they always have been.

more often than not, gods come into existence fully formed for their purpose, or nearly there. gods that are created more than born often have it given to them, even.

their powers are not uncovered through a slow process of trial and error, or by accident. rarely are they a surprise.

people tend to forget that it wasn't always this way. people forget that once, the world wasn't split in three, that the infernal arms exist for a reason, that gods can be made as much as they can be born, and sometimes, they can be both. they forget that gods can die, just not forever; forget that there are things older than them that still watch.

but you don't. you can't. you're living in it.

we're gods, boy. killing one another is our lot.

you wonder, then.

you think that maybe that is how divinity is forged—if it is through resentment, and spite, and battles to the death again and again, and running and fighting and learning and falling into places you aren't supposed to and seeing things from beyond your realm.

the darkness sings, and your blood roars in time with it, and you let it, feeling a sort of whole you didn't know was possible.

make things more interesting, indeed, the being that is beyond time and world and reason murmurs when next you meet. a smile curls upon your face, and you wonder when you stopped finding things like that ominous and threatening.

well.

perhaps it was when you started making your life a little more interesting, after all. or, perhaps, it was when life started making you a little more interesting.

it's hard to say, really.

[jjngkook7]

Choices (1) *Currently Editing*

Werewolf Au! Jungkook x Reader / Enemies to Lovers [Angst and mature content. Not smut but almost smut.] Summary: Jungkook finally found her. His mate. His lifelong partner. But she's a human. Does he have to stay with her or can he stick it to whatever and whoever binds mates together and make his own decision?

______________________________________________________________

The last two months were fairly interesting. First, you finally started a new job. Second, your best friend threw a massive birthday party out of the blue where she met her long time boyfriend and the rest of his group for the first time. And third, you learned that mythical creatures, werewolves specifically, are in fact real.

Your best friend, Jennie, threw a massive birthday bash inviting what seemed like half the city they resided in. This came as a surprise because together you were pretty sure that between you and Jennie, you guys only knew about 5 people including each other. When questioned about the extravagant decision, Jennie grinned from ear to ear barely able to contain her excitement. The party was planned by Taehyung and all the people invited were people Taehyung knew. Which then proceeded your second question, who is Taehyung? Where did this man come from? And why is he willing to throw such a grand birthday party for Jennie? To your nth surprise, Taehyung and Jennie had been dating for almost a year and a half. Whiplash after whiplash was what you received on what was supposed to be a chill catch up with your best friend of almost a decade. You asked and pressed Jennie about why you were only learning about Taehyung now but Jennie would only shrug or try to change the topic. After an hour of interrogation, you finally gave up trying to get an answer out of Jennie instead, choosing to live with the gut wrenching feeling of betrayal and disappointment that your best friend would hide something so important for a year and a half.

Leading up to Jennie’s birthday, you were a bit avoidant and extremely passive aggressive. Who hides a significant other for that long from their very best friend? You didn’t know if this feeling of betrayal would go away anytime soon and if you’d recover from all the shock Jennie put you through before her birthday happened.

And then her fucking birthday happened.

It started off with a teary hug at Jennie’s place with a stream of apologies from the birthday girl and you guys were beginning to make amends. Then Taehyung and his group came by to predrink. You remember thinking you had just met a whole classroom of people but to your surprise (again), one person was missing-he was sick according to the tall guy, Namjoon. There wasn’t a lot of time for you to process a single thing before everyone was rushed out the door and pushed into a limo. In the short time you were able to think, you knew only two things: One, Taehyung and his friends were fine as hell and two, there was something different about them that you couldn’t quite figure out.

The night continued with a bunch of dancing, drinking and Taehyung’s eyes glowing a bright amber color complimented by the most terrifying growl that pierced through the loud music playing before breaking someone’s nose and splitting his eyebrow open because he groped Jennie’s ass on the dancefloor.

As chaos broke loose, all you could remember were Taehyung’s friends pushing and screaming at people to leave the club and Jennie trying to talk you out of the very obvious anxiety attack you were having but all you could stream together from Jennie were “full moon” and “it’s okay”. Once the crowd dissipated and all that was left were Jennie, Taehyung, his friends and your fragmented mind that was when Jennie revealed why she kept Taehyung hidden for so long.

Because he and the rest of his friends were werewolves and humans aren’t really supposed to know.

______________________

“Goodnight guys!” you chimed as you entered the elevator.

Jealous faces of your coworkers waved back halfheartedly before the doors closed signalling the start of your holiday break. You leaned against the cool metal walls and let out a heavy sigh. This new job was fun and you was learning a lot but you days can be so hectic that sometimes all you’re able to eat during lunch are two cups of coffee and pen caps that you had a habit of biting when deep in thought. Your department had finished what was needed before the entire company got to go on a two week break for the holidays on time and as much as you were ready to enjoy holiday festivities, all you wanted to do was go home and take the biggest nap of your life.

The drive home from work was completely unmemorable, in fact, you were pretty much on autopilot the whole time. Your brain felt like tv static and you were more than sure that a two maybe three hour nap would bring some life back to you. It wasn’t until you were pulling into the driveway that something suddenly woke up you up. Despite making it home, you sat in her car frozen, unable to move. With it being winter time, it was already dark at 5pm and the only source of lights were from your car headlights and dim street lamps in your neighbourhood. Something didn’t feel right and you couldn’t figure out where this sudden source of anxiety was flaring from. You had also never felt this feeling before. It felt like sparks of electricity were dancing on your arms as waves of warmth kept pulsating throughout your body. This foreign feeling sent your brain into a fight or flight mindset but all you could do was freeze. As the minutes ticked by, she mustered up the courage to reach for her keys to turn her car off but just as she reached for her keys, she saw a quick burst of movement and a then large shadow.

“Holy shit!” she gasped, jerking back into her seat.

That electric feeling was now surging throughout her entire body and hot flashes radiated through her chest at full force. Standing in front of her car was a man with amber eyes; the lights from her headlights made his eyes glow even more so. Though she was now in full panic mode, her mind was completely hypnotized by him. He had broad shoulders and long dark hair that rested on his shoulders. The white shirt he had on clung onto his body allowing her to see the definitions of his torso. She was able to make out a small scar on his cheek as well. As much of a human as he looked, she knew she had seen those amber eyes before. Werewolf. Despite his intimidating looks and the nature of his being, he seemed just as shocked as she was. They stayed still, staring at each other for what felt like hours. That foreign feeling from just minutes ago now amplified. The sound of a group of people talking as they were walking down the streets broke their trance. She turned her neck instinctively to see who the group of strangers were and when she turned back, he was gone. She sat in her car, breathing laboured and eyes completely wide open. Once the situation finally dawned on her, something snapped and a strew of “holy fuck” and “what the fuck” spewed out of her mouth as she scrambled to shove everything in her bag before running into the safety of her home. Her brain was going a million miles an hour and the nap she was so excited to take earlier was completely out of the question.

Jungkook ran and ran, the ice cold air of winter slicing his arms. He was nearing home but had to stop and pant. For the first time in his life, he was panting. It felt like he was suffocating and the deep gulps of air he was taking wasn’t helping. He leaned up against a tree placing his hands on his thighs and crouching over to catch his breath.

He smelled her the moment Jennie came over to their house.

Jennie’s arrival was expected as she practically lived at the pack's house. They were wary of having a human in their territory but seeing as she was Taehyung’s mate, they grew fond of her rather quickly. Jennie had been trying to convince the entire pack to meet her best friend but plenty of excuses were made to avoid allowing an unknown person crossing into their territory. Jungkook didn’t think twice about it and frankly he didn’t care. As long as his pack was happy and healthy, he’d let the rest of them figure out what to do with Jennie’s best friend. When it was Jennie’s birthday, it was a unanimous agreement to throw her a big party and finally meet this person in Jennie’s life. If they weren't partying in their territory, everything was fair game. Unfortunately, Jungkook was going through heat that week and had to be locked up at home just in case his primal instincts took over and he was an uncontrollable beast to control. Going through heat without a mate was a painful thing to endure and werewolves are the most sensitive during this time. Their temper was unpredictable and their inhibition gone.

Today went on like a regular day. Jungkook stayed home with the rest of his brothers planning what to do for winter. When Jennie arrived, Taehyung complimented her new sweater to which Jennie replied that it wasn’t her sweater but her best friends. Jennie had borrowed her sweater over the weekend and meant to return it but it was so comfy, she didn’t want to. Her scent was faint due to Jennie but it was enough to encompass all of Jungkook’s senses. Something new unlocked in his body and all he needed at the moment was to find her.

“Jungkook?” Namjoon suddenly called out, stopping Jungkook in his tracks.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook, he had suddenly gotten up in the middle of a group conversation and was making his way to the door. When he turned around to face all of the curious eyes looking at him, he realized that his movements were made by instinct not choice.

“What?” Jungkook answered.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asked slowly, taking note of the sudden color change in Jungkook’s eyes.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed not knowing why his pack seemed to be tiptoeing around him and why they were keeping him away from her.

“I’m fine. Just going for a run.” Jungkook answered again before hastily leaving.

Jungkook had no idea where he was going but he was running at full speed. He allowed his body to go wherever it was pulling him towards. He knew his destination was near when her scent grew stronger until he was standing in front of her car staring into her wide doe eyes through her windshield.

They stared at each other, neither of them moving a muscle. This feeling he felt only meant one thing.

He found his mate. And his mate is a fucking human.

__________________________

“Are you okay?” Namjoon’s voice pulling Jungkook out of his nth trance.

“If someone asks me that one more time I am going to lose it.” Jungkook groans, shoving his face into his hands and pulling his hair.

Namjoon raises his hands and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay let me try again,” Namjoon starts, “what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, his voice muffled by his hands.

Namjoon leans back in his chair and drums his fingers against the armrest. He was usually a man with great patience accompanied by a gentle demeanour. The pack appointed him as their leader and he took that title very seriously. Namjoon never made choices impulsively and considered each and everyone of his pack members. His outlook on life and hours spent studying their ancient roots made Namjoon the go-to person whenever any of the members had an issue they needed to resolve. But when the youngest member suddenly gets up to “go for a run” in the middle of a discussion and storms through the front door upon his return, demanding to speak to Namjoon in private and then proceeding to ignore all of Namjoon’s questions, he was beginning to get a little impatient.

Namjoon stares at the candle flickering on his desk trying to figure out how to navigate Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes then start to scan his study before landing on his bookshelves lined with ancient knowledge and information regarding all mythical creatures dead or alive. He was hoping he could find a title that helped deal with a young brat pack member with a sudden attitude of a teenager going through the worst emo phase of their life. Namjoon allowed more silence to fall between him and Jungkook before speaking.

“Jungkook, I can’t help you unless you talk to me.” Namjoon says, his voice calm and soothing.

“I don’t need help.” Jungkook’s muffled voice responds.

Jungkook knew he was being difficult but there were so many emotions bubbling inside of his body that he couldn’t think straight. He didn’t even know what he needed at the moment making it difficult to respond to any questions or ask any questions.

Namjoon shakes his head and finally leans forward. He begins to organize the papers on his desk to study later tonight. If the younger one wanted to be stubborn for no reason, then there was nothing Namjoon could do.

“Okay well you can sit there and seethe for no reason then or leave my study so I can-“

“Are mates set in stone? Like you have to be with them?” Jungkook asks, his face no longer in his hands.

Taken back by both his question and the sudden change in Jungkook’s attitude, Namjoon stops his movements to look at Jungkook’s face. His eyes were still amber and the younger one looked distressed.

“Like all living beings, we have freewill which means we get to make our own decisions.” Namjoon answers, leaning in towards Jungkook to see if he can catch onto any other emotion.

“No I know that,” Jungkook groans as he grabs his hair again, “I mean like can you be with someone else even if you know who your mate is? What if you and your mate don’t get along at all? Like-like doesn’t this whole fate and destiny thing sound like bull shit to you? If we all have free will then why is there a bond created for us?”

Completely flabbergasted again, Namjoon eyes dart between his desk and Jungkook. Jungkook had never once taken interest in searching for his mate, not because he didn’t want to but it was just something he didn’t prioritize. Up until this moment, Jungkook had lived his life without a care in the world. It wasn’t like the youngest one to suddenly care about something he never thought of before and feel so strongly towards this subject. The wheels in Namjoon’s head were working overtime trying to figure out an answer to Jungkook’s question and his demeanour.

“Jungkook…” Namjoon’s eyes widen slightly, “did you meet your mate?”

Jungkook’s whole body tenses and his hands form into fists in his lap.

“No,” he answers quickly and sternly, “I’m just curious.”

The air grew heavy and Namjoon senses that Jungkook was lying but he still wanted to answer Jungkook’s concerns honestly to ease whatever stress he was dealing with.

“Well,” Namjoon sighs, “yes and no to your first question. Mates are chosen for us the moment we’re born. How? I’m not sure. All I know is that there is some force out there that binds us to a certain being that we’re meant to share a lifetime with. For our species, our mates heighten our powers and vice versa. Our mates also give us a purpose, the purpose is different for each person. The second half of your question...you don’t have to be with your mate but I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want to be. There have been cases of mates not being together but mainly due to arranged marriages for shared territory. There is a bond between you and your mate that is indescribable but only the two of you would understand.”

Jungkook takes a few minutes to process Namjoon’s words. In the back of his head, he already knew the answer but he was hoping for another answer. One that’s less “it’s written in the stars” and more “you can do whatever you want because mates aren’t real”. But that feeling that ran through his body where every cell of his body felt like it was on fire when he saw her only proved Namjoon’s sentiment.

“But what about humans and wolves? Like Taehyung and Jennie. You said that mates heighten each other's powers. Humans don’t have what we have.” Jungkook asks, now looking at Namjoon.

Namjoon could not figure out why the younger one had a look of desperation on his face.

“I think any human that has to encounter what we encounter without freaking out on a daily basis is pretty strong to me. I can’t even count the amount of times Jennie has seen Taehyung kill rouge wolves and hellhounds without flinching,” Namjoon attempts a smile to reassure Jungkook but it comes out rather awkward, “besides don’t forget Jungkook, humans and wolves use to work together to fend off our enemies. Human mates aren’t-”

“All you need to do is imprint on them right? Just a bite or whatever and that bond is sealed?” Jungkook cuts Namjoon off again.

“Yes.” Namjoon answers, sure that Jungkook would cut him off again if he extends his answer.

“Anyone?” Jungkook asks again, his eyes darker.

“Yes Jungkook,” Namjoon hesitates, “anyone.”

Not needing or wanting to hear anymore from Namjoon, Jungkook gets up and silently leaves Namjoon’s study. His ears were ringing and his heart was beating at a concerning pace. Growing up, Jungkook only heard stories of how magical it is to meet your mate and how the world would fall together and all that sappy shit. However, all he could feel was anger and confusion. Fuck the mantra he thought, if he is able to choose anyone to be his mate then that was what he was going to do.

[dikanamai]

There're many things in Encanto that means A LOT to me, in a very personal level, but something very, very important (perhaps the most important aspect of the whole story) is something I've seen a lot of fans refuse to understand or even acknowledge: an essential part of the nuance that surrounds the Madrigal family is no one wants to leave.

Leaving is something that never crossed Mirabel's mind. Bruno left without leaving because he didn't want to leave. This family holds itself together because all of them love the family and want to stick together, even if things aren't perfect, even if they have problems and struggles. And they love each other not because all of them are brainwashed; it's because life is a complex thing, relationships are a complex thing, people are a complex thing, LOVE is a complex thing, and the movie made an awesome work portraying it.

I'm not here to defend toxic environments that harm people, but what many people here need to understand is having problems is not the same as being a super abusive family that destroys its members just by the mere act of being together. Sometimes things can be fixed, and people have the right to decide if they want to stay and fight to fix them. Going away and sending everyone to hell is not always the answer. If you hate the concept of "family" for whatever personal experience you have, it's ok, your experience is valid, but please, please, at least acknowledge it is YOUR experience, and for many of us staying is important when we know things can be fixed. Mirabel's and Bruno's decisions to stay are important, because they represent a kind of family love we rarely see in fiction: the love we share even when we're hurt and imperfect, and our desire not to leave everyone behind, but to work together to make things better, with all the nuance real life presents.

Encanto doesn't have the "you must forgive your family for everything just because it's your family" kind of toxic message we use to see in "family movies". Encanto's message is "even if we're broken, we can heal together if we love each other", and the movie works precisely because of this: they really love each other and care about each other, despite all their mistakes.

I'm sick of people projecting their issues in this movie to talk shit about the characters, or try to "fix" them inserting in them that kind of individualistic mindset they DON'T HAVE canonically or making them extremely miserable to the point the movie loses its sense, just because they can't wrap their heads around this revolutionary concept of "family members that really love each other". Erasing this very essential aspect of the characters is also part of that tendency to erase the movie's Colombian spirit, since family is a very important thing for Hispanic people, is a SUPER IMPORTANT thing for Colombian people, and they have been saying it for months. The Madrigal family was built in a very specific way to make things "fixable". Take that away, and you shit on the very point of the whole movie.

Being part of this fandom since November is a quite disturbing thing, like being trapped in a time loop, because every day you wake up to the same bad takes, the same bashing, the same hate, and you wonder "holy shit, aren't we over this yet?". No, it seems we're not. There's always room for another post like GUYS GUYS ALMA IS A FUCKING ABUSER BITCH HELL I HATE HER WHY DIDN'T THEY DROWN HER IN THE RIVER AND LEAVE FOREVER?? I WOULD'VE LEFT IN A BLINK THEY'RE TOXIC!!

No one cares about what would've you done, José Antonio. What frigging movie did you watch?

Some days ago, I watched Nicque Marina's vid ranting about the hate Alma receives and, though I'm talking in a more general way, she made an important point: Encanto is not your space to play out your therapy fantasies. You don't agree with the positive message of the movie about healing and reconciliation? You don't agree with the obvious fact that neither Alma was SO HORRIBLE nor Bruno/Mirabel/the whole family was SO MISERABLE? Perfect, but at least ask yourself if there's something good you can learn from it, instead of twisting it to fit your idea of what should have been.

[lunaticus-platina]

I'm only gonna talk about this once in ted tag cuz I don't wanna muck up the tag. Any other stuff related to the whole incident goes to the contedversy 2022 tag. 🚬 Oh almost forgot. Cheers to @verat9c for the awesome tag you go peep.

Hey folks. I've had a long day. I usually get long days. My days are busy. I come home, stretch my joints, try not to let all the trapped screams inside my lungs leak out of its chambers. Or fall into the sweet temptations of substance abuse. I mean coffee. I ain't a smoker and forswore alcohol a year ago. Tho the urge for a cancer stick grows every week. Especially after smth like this.

Only other addiction of mine is simpin. I open tumblr as usual and what do I see? Yeah. I peeked into Twitter all those years ago and said 'Yeah-ap. Not staying a single second longer in this hell.' And booked it. This place? At least it's fun here. But I keep forgetting most of social media's the same. But I gave away all my fucks I had in me some years ago........I'm just high on caffeine.

@tedraimisimp If ya reading this. I know you deleted your blog. I respect your decision. And no, what you did wasn't exactly wrong, you just shared your experience and ranted abit. We all do that. But you forgot, that this is tumblr.

I know you didn't ask but just so you know...that wasn't the best move. Deleting a blog after that post. People are just gonna pile on speculations and things are gonna go conspiracy level real quick. I know how it goes. Seen enough drama in my time. They already say you deleted blog because you felt threatened or some shit. You planted a ping-pong ball sized molehill, and look at em building mountain over it!

Every single social media that I've been on. Exact same pattern. Never fails once. Whether popular and well-known platform, or not. Doesn't matter. There's faintest blood in the water........piranhas gather.

What breaks my goddamned heart is a fan who excitedly prepared for an event and shared their sweet experience with us now deleted their posts over this shit. Do people not think about the consequences of their actions these days? No I ain't bashing tedraimisimp I just said what they did wasn't wrong. It's those who are blowing this outta proportion and making ops uncomfortable.

For those of you who didn't have an actual experience with Ted. Shut your goddamn trap. Fucking shut it. Let the ones who actually were there talk. I need more evidences to hear from both sides to decide what is valid or not, and all the noises are not helping.

Now the ones who posted about their actual, real, positve/negative experiences, not the 'oh someone posted and mentioned this this and this' idiots, are getting uncomfortable. Just shut the fuck up for once and learn to listen.

Someone shared their experience. That's all. Op wanted to rant because they thought this fandom was safe to talk about stuff and their concerns. You are not making it safe. Yes I like Ted Raimi as an actor. No accusing him of things when there is no actual proof is wrong. Stop making him sound like a predator.

You don't know how many people got their lives ruined over false accusations. Over here it's hella common. All I need is an evidence and I'll gladly shove all my words down my throat. It's innocent until proven guilty.

I was personally a victim of witch-hunting style bullying. One person started a rumor, things snowballed into 'That kid is mentally disabled and carries contagious disease. An orphan. They are a virus. Yuck! Hope they die so we don't have to deal with them in our class. They also steal stuffs. A thief. Check your bags!'

I never fully recovered from it. I was called a 'plague'. Reason of bullying was simple. I was a quiet bookworm. Never talked much, not smiling much. They called me a psychopath and jokingly said one day I'll bomb the school. My best friend now had a similar experience. Those who throw accusations have no idea what the fuck they are doing. People commit suicide over that shit. Fucking shut it, christ.

Now if any of you personally had an unpleasant experience with Ted. Sorry to hear that. But thx for sharing. I needed to hear more 'cuz no person is perfect and I wanted to know more flawed side of him too. If he really has a darker side, and if it's serious, it'll be revealed sooner or later. You don't get to call him terrible stuffs just because he follows someone on social media or flirted with people. Watch your language, don't say what you don't mean, although now that I think about it, that motto that I live by don't mean much on internet does it.

God, fuck, gah my social battery is dying. All I wanted was to chill over wholesome stuffs but now I got this. Imma go watch horse feeding or smth cuz this just proves animals are better to deal with than humans. I can't even write fics in this state godhelpme

[sunflowericescribbles]

So here's an idea: (to stop my bleeding heart and make me feel better.

Alternate beginning of Arcane in which Vi and Powder accidently got separated from each other before they can find their dead parents. Vi still happens to meet Vander who takes her with him while Powder is running into Silco. The latter one wasn't planning on taking Powder with him, but circumstances (and a kid begging to help her find her sis and parents) convinced him otherwise. Unfortunatly that's not so easy because the whole place is a total mess and still dangerous, so leaving her behind is getting less and less an option. (And what does it really matter if he drags her along with him while he's also trying to gather his people back together and assessing the damage that's been done?)

Anyway, it's pure luck Silco and Vander run into each other some days later between all the wreckage without killing each other because they get distracted by watching the two sisters reuniting. They both also realize it's a bad timing for a continuation of their feud and Silco rather takes it as a chance to leave Powder in Vander's care. Of course Vander is not happy about this one-sided decision, because why should he be the one taking care of both children? But Silco's already backing out of it so as to not give his rival any chance of negotiation, when Powder suddenly clings to him (again) and begs him not to leave them.

Silco is not moved, though, just tells her to better stay with her sister and Vander and walks away before the latter can start another argument with him.

He could have led a peaceful childfree life after this, but somehow when he's out and wandering the lanes a little bluehaired girl sometimes still finds him and won't leave him alone. And he really just wants to be left alone and doesn't want to care, but when he sees her walking around all by herself, no sister, no other familymember or protector by her side, he wonders what the hell Vander was doing or if somebody even noticed she was gone.

It's sheer luck that she finds him when trouble is coming her way and Silco decides this is the last straw. He takes her to Vander and it's probably the first time in years he's got other reasons than his usual ones to go in and start a new argument with his former sworn brother. Like "Can't you better watch out for the kid? Did you even know where she's gone? What the hell are you even doing with two kids when you can't even look out for them properly?"

Which is answered by Vander with: "At least I am trying to be there for them! And it's not so easy when you're doing the parenting all alone and what right do you even have to talk to me like that? You backed out before you even tried and now you are lecturing me on how to take care of them? Tell you what: you get the right to argue with me about it when you take on the same responsibility!"

It's honestly a miracle they're not ending up bashing each others heads in (again) - probably thanks to children being present.

Anyway, Silco makes it clear that if he ever spots one of the girls - especially the blue one - in one of his districts again, he won't be there to help them back and Vander can try to run after them by himself.

Well, let's just say this doesn't really work out, because Powder finds him anyway while he's in the middle ripping his idiotic henchmen a new one for a deal gone wrong. "Does this look like some explosive sticks to you, you damn idiot? This are crayons, fucking crayons!" - "You've got crayons? Mine don't really work, so do you wanna trade?", little Powder asks happily.

Silco ends up with the right package after All thanks to her and somehow finds himself in Vander's new bar (again), complaining about being surrounded by idiots. "Not you, though, you're a smart girl", he tells Powder, who doesn't hesitate to proudly tell Vander about how she acquired the crayons thanks to Silco trading with her. (Vander will never let him live this down, if the way he's laughing his ass off is any indicator.)

And this is how over time, they form a sort of reluctant family (and maybe they'll find a common ground again.)

[miyaren]

synopsis: when Y/n bashes and complains about her new job to the handsome stranger she met at a coffee shop, she doesn't expect for him to be her new boss. And after that, she doesn't expect for the two of them to get along so well, but they do, even when she comes to wish they wouldn't.

series masterlist

wc: 2.8k

a/n: this is atsumu and y/n's lesson in unprofessionalism featuring oikawa hating aliens (good heavens) and kiyoko's siren call.

Chapter 3

She could feel how hot her face was as she tried to plaster on a smile, “Uh, Mr. Miya I-”

“Y/n i'm messin with ya. And please just call me Atsumu.”

“But you’re my boss, I can’t just-”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, “Sunarin is yer boss, honestly. Not me.”

“Still you’re the head of-” Her cheeks were still red but now for new reasons.

“I know, I know, I'm the prince of this nepotism circus. It's a technicality, really. Just treat me how ya did earlier.”

Y/n sighed with frustration, “He may be my direct superior but-”

“Don’t think so hard ab-”

“WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK?!” 

Finally, he was quiet and the two watched each other like they were both feral dogs about to pounce at any second. The silence was so heavy, the air was charged. Atsumu swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“I'm sorry. . . I was feelin. . . passionate.” He frowned regretfully as he shrunk back in his chair. She nodded.

“And I'm sorry I raised my voice. I got worked up pretty fast,” Y/n dared to give him a small smile, her stomach buzzing like she was about to walk off a ledge. In a way, she sort of was, “I had a rough morning. I rode the train here with the biggest douche.”

His eyes lit up again as he smiled back, “I bet he was insanely handsome.”

Y/n shrugged, “He was alright. Look. . . I'm sorry if what I said on the train offended you. I'm sure you’re perfectly qualified for your job and you have no stick in any unsavory places.”

“Y/n I promise I wasn’t offended. You made me laugh. People aren’t usually so honest with me. It was nice to hear.”

She gave him a nod, chewing on the inside of her lip nonetheless, “Well, thank you for being so cool about this. Did you need to talk to me about anything else? Like, manager stuff?”

“Mmm, we covered all the introductions earlier, so nothin else. Sunarin will help you get settled, but if ya need anything at all feel free to ask me.”

She rose out of her seat and bowed her head slightly before turning to leave. 

“Y/n, wait.”

She spun back around to face him, “Yes?”

“If it wouldn’t make ya too uncomfortable, please just treat me the same way as ya did this morning. I think. . we have a good back and forth, ya know?”

They did? 

Under normal circumstances, she would have said no. But the past month had changed her, hardening her in some places and softening her in others. What the hell did she have to lose at this point? 

(Deep down inside her, she registered that she was also making this decision with her vagina. And she was also fine with that.)

“Ok I will. But I'm only going to call you Atsumu when it's just the two of us. Around anybody else it's Mr. Miya.”

“That’s romantic.”

“It’ll be more romantic when I report you to H.R.”

He hissed like she’d hurt him and pointed to the door, “Go account, Y/n.”

“On it, Mr. Miya!” Y/n turned and called over her shoulder.

  - - -

Even though she had bashed the office job, it wasn’t shaping up to be too bad. Right after her meeting with Atsumu, she met the rest of her coworkers one by one. There was Tooru Oikawa, who worked in finance the same as her. His desk was right next to hers, pushed together in an L shape. It was covered in all types of alien knick knacks: an alien mug, alien picture frame, little alien figurines. 

Y/n opened her mouth to ask about them and he cut her off before she even started.

“To be honest, space kind of scares me. I'm not even into the supernatural or anything like that. I am the victim of a 5 year long running joke. I drank too much with my friends one night and compared the guy I was seeing to an alien- in a cute way- not a weird way. We broke up like two weeks later but they never stopped getting me alien stuff. I threw the first couple of things out but now I am a proud owner of a growing collection of alien themed items.”

Y/n blinked and tried to digest all she was told, “You just said so many words.”

“We’re deskmates. You have to know all your Oikawa lore.” He glared. 

She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her laughter but it was a losing battle, “Well, thank you, I feel very informed right now.” 

“You’re laughing at me. I'm gonna remember this and treat you the same when you tell me all the L/n lore.”

“That’s going to be devastating.”

At first Y/n thought he was just a giant nerd, but she soon learned that everything he said was usually wrapped up in at least seven layers of sarcasm. He said most things to amuse himself. Tooru laughed at his own jokes more than other people’s. And when he wasn’t being sarcastic, he was saying outlandish bullshit that made her brain pop. On top of it all, he was a numbers genius, and he liked making sure other people knew it too.

Somehow, she got along well with Tooru. Y/n enjoyed petty arguments with him, and talking about stupid, pointless things.

After him, she met the sales team, which only consisted of three people. First, there was Hitoka Yachi, who was sweet and bubbly. Then, Y/n met Daichi Sawamura who was also very kind when he first greeted her. Mostly, he kept to himself but he seemed to get on well with the rest of the sales department. 

Those two were nice, though her favorite salesperson had to be Kiyoko Shimizu. Upon their introduction, Y/n instantly admired her. By far, she was the coolest in the office, all sleek and glamorous in an understated way.

Tooru caught Y/n staring one day and she was a bit mortified, expecting him to hold the slight crush over her head. But he had simply shaken his head and assured her that she wasn't alone, “If our office was an anime, we would be a harem romance, and all of us losers would be a part of Kiyoko’s harem.”

“That was such an oddly specific way to say we all think Kiyoko’s hot.”

Tooru looked proud, “I painted a really clear picture though, didn’t I?”

She exhaled in defeat, “. . . Ok yes. It was a good analogy.”

Reaching over his desk he held out his knuckles to her, and begrudgingly Y/n fist bumped him.

Over the course of a month, Y/n settled in and had adjusted completely to the new job. Accounting wasn’t her first choice, but she did it with ease. For the most part, everyone at Miya inc(k)! was kind and easy to get along with (minus Mr. Suna and Kageyama, but they had the people skills of rocks). 

In particular, her manager was a little too easy to get along with. 

It had started during her second week of work, when she had been sorting through some files and Koshi came up to let her know she was needed in Mr. Miya’s office. 

When Y/n made her way over and let herself in, she found Atsumu waiting for her at his desk along with two cups from Housecog. Y/n shut the door.

“You needed me?” She took a seat in front of him.

“I'm so bored,” he whined. Through the sleeves of his collared button up, she couldn’t help but notice his biceps.

“Hmm. Have you tried working?” He must have been working out all the time to have arms like that.

“I finished my entire workload Monday. So yes I have tried it.”

Y/n snapped out of her daze and met him with furrowed brows, “If you finished all your work for the week, do you even need to be here?”

“I don’t. But my pops disagrees. And whatever he wants, he gets.” He’d said it as a joke but it felt more weighted than a petty jest.

“The king of the nepotism circus rules with an iron fist, huh?”

Atsumu slumped down in his seat, “The ironest. That coffee there is for you by the way.” He nodded his head in the direction of the cup closest to Y/n.

Her heart fluttered against her will. 

“You shouldn’t get me coffee, Atsumu. I don’t want any special treatment just because we’re friends.” She chided, before grabbing the cup and taking a sip. It was hot and smooth and he had gotten her order just right.

He smiled , “How does that special treatment taste?”

“. . .It tastes great. But don’t get me coffee again unless you’re getting for the whole office. Okay?”

“Fine. .Yer, a real worry wart Y/n.”

Her nose scrunched up at the name, “You could stand to worry a little more. Now I need to get back to my work. I believe this is what they call time theft.”

“Just bring your work and do it here.” Y/n thought he might be joking but he looked serious as ever.

She gave him a hard stare.

“I just want some company. I won’t bother ya I promise. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Atsumu held his right hand up like he was taking an oath.

“It’s going to look weird if I work in your office for no reason.”

“Just tell Sunarin and anyone else who asks, that I'm making ya go over all the reports we got from the actuary. You can pretend you’re real annoyed by me asking too, if ya wanna sell it.”

Again, Y/n stared him down and he stared right back, a non verbal game of tug of war going on between them. He won easy.

She shook her head, “Fine. Let’s not get in the habit of this lying, though.”

- - -

The two of them fell into this habit quickly. Atsumu would come up with some excuse and Y/n would be called into his office. 

She would show up more stunned each day, “Do you just pull these lies out of your asshole?!”

“Hey, come on. Ya know there’s no free real estate up there.”

Nonetheless, Y/n did get work done in his office. She would steal his desk and Atsumu would sit in his hammock chair, fidgeting with a rubix cube. Kageyama had walked in on this seating arrangement a couple of times when he came to relay messages, and they both fell victim to a loss of words. 

“I don’t want to know.” Kageyama would grumble. Then, he’d give Atsumu the necessary information and leave. A silence would fall between them when this happened, like they were two highschoolers just walked in on by their mother. Soon enough, they’d carry on like nothing happened. 

Atsumu had told Y/n that he wouldn’t bother her while she worked and that was only a half truth. Everything, anything was on the table for a conversation between them.

 She learned he had a brother- a twin- but Atsumu would still insist he was the more attractive sibling.

 He liked dogs over cats

. He had been in love twice, with people he'd  never dated. 

Mr. Suna was actually his childhood friend, they played volleyball together in highschool. (She laughed so hard her eyes began to water when Atsumu told her they had nicknamed him ‘pussybangs’) 

It had taken some stubborn coaxing for him to reveal that he had secretly joined an improv troupe in college (his great shame), and he believed he could ‘yes, and’ his way out of anything if he tried hard enough. 

When he got hungry, he got so cranky that she had to refuse to talk to him until he ate something. 

Atsumu didn’t say much on the matter but Y/n vaguely gathered he had some type of father complex. Whether it was resentment or fear, she couldn’t put her finger on it. He had become the manager of Miya inc(k)! so that his brother could choose any career path he wanted. The subtext was clear to her, he hadn’t had a choice.  Atsumu claimed it was because he was the oldest. 

“You said you were born only eight minutes before Osamu.”

“Yeah. I'm eight minutes older. Eight minutes wiser.”

“You’re a nutjob.”

He blew her off with a wave of his hand, “I wouldn’t expect an only child to understand these advanced sibling dynamics.”

Atsumu had learned a lot about Y/n too, he liked collecting all sorts of facts about her, filing them away in his mind. She had one hell of a sweet tooth, and every day she was bringing in some new kind of dessert(she always shared with him even when he didn’t ask). 

She loved sculpting and sketching, she hated painting; she could never get the blending just right.

 He learned that the real reason she needed more money for rent was because she had just moved into a new apartment after splitting up with her boyfriend of one year. He had cheated on her.

 Y/n liked to be constantly distracted, be it a t.v show playing in the background or some music. Undeniably, she had very specific music tastes. She swore she wasn’t picky but anytime Atsumu chose the music, she would scrunch her nose up and shrug, ‘It's just not for me’. 

He had found her on instagram, and once she had accepted his follow request, he noticed she used her account like ‘a goddamn scrapbook’.

 And of course when he found out she was an only child, he teased her relentlessly for it.

“I guess ya came out pretty normal considering.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” She pouted- unintentionally it was always unintentionally-, and Atsumu swore he’d bother her all damn day if he could see her look that pretty again.

 A spike of fear would rise in his chest when he thought about her like that. Fearful or not, it would have never in a thousand years occurred to him to stop inviting her into his office the way he did. 

These times with just the two of them had become tangible to him, something he could grab and hold when he needed a pick me up. Y/n was a good pick me up.

“It means ya could be snacking on erasers right now. Maybe huffin some glue too.”

Y/n promptly chucked his own stress ball at his head. He caught it just in time.

- - -

For the most part, the office was oblivious to Y/n and Atsumu’s budding friendship. With the exception of Rintarou Suna. He knew his friend was acting strange. And the only thing he could think to trace it back to was Y/n.

 Never before had Atsumu needed someone in financial to help him , and he certainly couldn’t need her help as much as he called her in. The tasks he supposedly needed assistance with never made much sense either. When Rintaro worked up the nerve to ask him about it one day, Atsumu simply replied, ‘Ah, she’s been crunching some personal numbers for me’. He thought Atsumu could have come up with a better lie.

Not only that, since Y/n had joined their staff, Atsumu routinely began to buy coffee for the whole office. Randomly, he’d asked Kageyama to gather everyone’s go-to drink order. Now every morning like clockwork, Atsumu came into the office with a cardboard cup holder in each of his hands, delivering everyone’s order to them like some type of coffee fairy. The first couple of times it happened, Rintaro watched Y/n trying to hold back a smile as she drank, like the coffee was a part of the funniest joke. 

Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. 

Per usual, Y/n was called in to ‘assist’ Atsumu. Trying to look inconspicuous, Rintaro left his seat and turned the corner in the hallway to reach his friend’s office. Quietly, he pressed his ear to the door, determined to get to the bottom of this weird behavior. Although it was muffled, he could hear Y/n say something followed by an obnoxious bout of laughter from Atsumu. 

Suna pulled his ear away from the door and fiddled with his tie as he walked back to his desk. Rintaro didn’t know what exactly was going on between Atsumu and Y/n, but he hadn’t heard that kind of laughter from Atsumu in a long time. 

He thought if anyone deserved some pure happiness, it was Atsumu Miya. But still, he knew this was only going to spell out trouble.

<<<previous chapter

[virtual-insanity28]

I see that you’re an Utsushi simp, too ;) Hope you don’t mind, but can I get a few headcanons of Utsushi trying to impress his S/O before she became his S/O if that makes sense?

Utsushi Impressing S/O

haha, yo, fellow Master Utsushi simp! I gotchu!

The moment Utsushi suspected that he had caught feelings for you, he started to become a show-off…more than what he already was. Ever since he was a kid, he always leaped at the chance to pronounce his strength in arts, fighting, and intelligence to the villagers of Kamura. It got slightly infuriating to see him only gloat about his professions and skills more once he found himself falling for you. In spite of his egotistical behavior, Utsushi would try his best to get your attention by showing off. His competitive decisions often led him to dangerous situations, but he’d manage to come around and surprise you by avoiding said situations.

One of the most heart-attacking moments you suffered was because of Utsushi, actually. He was out and about, training a few students at the Arena, and overall having a good time. It was when a monster—a Diablos to be more particular—had gone loose in the Arena. It bursted through the gates and started to charge at the students until Utsushi caught its attention. You were there to help the students escape, but Utsushi didn’t have enough time to run and distract the Diablos. He ran around the place before he realized that he had actual weapons instead of trainee wooden sticks. So, stabbing the monster in the neck, he saw that you were watching him.

Best idea he ever had: show off his amazing skills in wyvern riding. (hint: complete sarcasm)

The second he bashed that Diablos into the wall, it all went down to hell. He‘d start doing backflips off of it and wiredash back to mount it again, jump from head to stomach to tail to its back again before ramming it into another wall, and he’d even start shouting loudly to gather your undivided attention.

Another thing he’d do to impress you is just being overly nice. You need help picking up Senri’s mailbox? He’d break his back just to do it with you. Can’t understand how to use the new Switch Skill you’ve earned? You already know he’d ignore everything he’d be doing to drag you into lessons.

It’s a complete contrast from his showing-off stage, but you tend to find both charming. Eventually, when he had finally caught your eye, he silently screamed to himself with joy.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 6

Positive

Cult girl and Hannibal find a way to turn a life-altering mistake to their favor.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: accidental pregnancy, discussion of abortion, adoption, slight emetophobia

Another week passed and the 'hangover' didn't subside. Then a third week passed, so you had to give up the façade and just admit you were sick. Hannibal was smugly concerned, but not alarmed. It paid to have a doctor for a fiancé. Studying could be done from bed and you needed to be in perfect working order to burn down your grandmother's country club and fully enjoy it.

Hannibal wasn't so much of a hypochondriac that he denied you affection while bed-ridden. That, or he didn't believe what you had was contagious. Whatever it was.

It wasn't until you woke up late, just days before the start of the new semester, that you discovered. You hobbled blindly to the bathroom to take your medicine. You were fully prepared to drop to your knees and vomit in the toilet and you wanted nothing more than to return to bed and slip back into sweet unconsciousness. Not even microdosing meth could keep you awake.

You slid your birth control packet out of its sleeve. You were halfway through the green placebo pills, so you were sure that didn't help how miserable you felt. This period sure had a hell of a build-up.

That's when a number caught your eye.

It was a number you weren't even previously aware existed. A date on your birth control packet. Dated three months prior.

You weren't lucid enough to comprehend what it meant, but once it hit you, you spit the pill into the sink.

Expired. You thought. How the fuck do pills expire?

No. No. No. No.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal said. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." You called back. "I... just need to take a shower."

You turned the faucet on. It was a bad lie and he would figure it out eventually, but you couldn't involve him. Not yet. You needed a minute alone to think.

You found the pregnancy test you stashed under the sink all those years ago. You double-checked the lock, then began the test. There was no romantic or even palatable way to describe the process of peeing on a stick, quietly as possible, to avoid your frankly terrifying fiancé's notice. Once it was done, you wrapped the still-loading test in toilet paper and shoved it back under the sink.

You had no idea how long it would take to give you a result. Or if waiting four years to use it would give you a false result. There was so much you didn't know.

You jumped into the shower and washed up, trying to push all thoughts of panic out of your head. It didn't work. You went right into bury-the-body mode. A fall down the stairs could best pass for an accident, but had the unintended consequences of severe bodily harm. You wondered if those special herbal teas actually worked and where you'd find one. Or, instead of investing in gimmicky, pseudo-scientific abortion teas or throwing yourself down a flight of stairs, you could just talk to him.

You sat on the bathroom floor in a towel for what felt like hours, holding the mummified pregnancy test between your fingers. It took all your strength to rip through the tissue paper and confirm what you already knew.

A big, obnoxious pink plus sign. Almost like it was rubbing it in.

Your head was screaming just talk to him. He was your goddamn fiancé. The man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. But you couldn't tell him. Not after what he said at the country club.

"Hannibal?" You called out, voice weak. "Can you come here, please?"

He opened the bathroom door to find you huddled against the sink wearing nothing but a towel. It was a sight that would make anyone freak out.

"My god, [F/N]." He took a knee beside you. "Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"

You gestured to the pregnancy test at your side. You hugged your knees into your chest and waited for him to process everything.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression. "I thought you were on birth control?"

You covered your face with your hands. "I did too. Nobody told me that the pills actually expire."

Then came the question that you were dreading.

"What do you want to do?"

That was why you were hesitant to tell him. Not because he would try to make a decision for you, but because he wouldn't.

"I don't know." You blurted out. "What do you want to do?"

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "You know I can't tell you that. You need to decide for yourself."

"That's what I was afraid you were going to say." You threw your head back in exasperation. "I'm just asking for a little direction. You said you definitely wanted to have kids-"

"Not like this." He cut you off. "Not when it would derail your entire career.” 

“Look, you know I was on the fence about having kids at all.” You rambled, just trying to collect your thoughts. “But then you described what you wanted for us and it just sounded so nice.” 

“Darling, I am begging you,” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Please, decide for yourself and only yourself.” 

“I’m trying!” You objected. “I just need a second to think.” 

“Don’t think, just answer.” He implored. “What do you want to do?” 

“I want to get an abortion.” You blurted out before slapping your hand over your mouth. 

“Was that really so hard to say?” Hannibal asked, voice broken with relief. Relief of what, you couldn’t place. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. “It was, a little.” 

“Why?” He tilted his head curiously. “And please don’t say it was because of me.” 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, hiding your face again. “I just learned I was pregnant, like, five minutes ago. I shouldn’t be expected to make a choice this massive without at least ten minutes to think about it.” 

“Do you really want to get an abortion?” He asked. 

Your voice wobbled with uncertainty. “No... yes?” 

“I see.” He said, as if this were just a point of academic curiosity that didn’t involve him whatsoever. “Is there a part of you, no matter how small, that wants to see the pregnancy to term?” 

“Well, yeah. Thus the basis of my uncertainty.” You threw your hands up. “But I also know it’s insanely unrealistic to think I could just speedrun my last two years of school and however long it takes to establish a career just to get to the domestic bliss.”

“You would do good to not expect motherhood to be a blissful retirement plan, love." Hannibal gently scorned. "Parenting takes just as much commitment as your studies. Likely more."

"I know." You bashed your palms against your forehead. "I said it was unrealistic, didn't I? Look, I just don't foresee any worthwhile outcomes if I carry this pregnancy to term. Even to put it up for adoption just seems selfish. Why bring a kid into the world just to set them up for a shitty life?"

Hannibal paused, and looked off into the distance pensively.

"If you could forgive me a hypothetical," He began. "What if we could guarantee them a wonderful life?"

"Are we talking philosophy, or do you have an actual suggestion?" You probed.

"A bit of both, depending on where your mind takes you." He smirked as if he were about to say something very clever. "What if Beatrice [L/N]'s estate made sure our child had a safe, comfortable upbringing? With a weighty college trust fund in their name, naturally."

You couldn't tell if this was brilliant or insane. It all depended on how 'hypothetical' the whole situation really was. Either way, you were interested.

"Go on." You urged, letting the idea slither into your mind.

"There's nothing in the will that specifically states we must raise the child ourselves." He recounted. "Only that it must be of blood descent."

You hadn't considered that, but it made sense once you heard it out loud. Your grandmother had many skills to make her a sharp manipulator, but her inattention to detail was always her downfall.

“Forty-five million extra dollars in the bank would be nice.” You said. You were humoring him at first, but when you said it out loud, it rang true. 

“Forty-five is drops in the bucket compared to what we can get from her property.” He added. “The house and the golf course.” 

You put your hand on your chin, actually, seriously considering it. You were on the precipice of inheriting more money than you could possibly spend in one lifetime. Money that could make so many problems go away overnight. Money you could hand out to anyone you wanted to, just to make their lives a little easier. You pictured yourself giving waitstaff six-figure tips, or handing a hundred dollar bill to someone asking for change on the street. You could erase your best friend's college debt as a birthday present. Get Hannibal a proper gift. All with money you bled out of your abusers.

It was divine justice. All at the price of nine months of your life.

"So..." Your voice trailed off. "We just need to keep this thing alive for the next nine months..."

"We can find an adoptive family in that time." Hannibal nodded along. "And we can set up a college fund for the child to be given to them on their 18th birthday."

"And we could make the adoption open, in case the child ever wants to meet us." You said.

"Right." He agreed. "Allowing the option for an adoptee to meet their biological parents is much better for their mental health and adjustment."

You covered your mouth with your hand, only to hide your excitement. "I take it back, I'm starting to see a positive outcome."

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

It Had to be Witches

Dean and Sam are on a hunt at Rowena’s request. When Sam is out of commission, Dean has to work with you.

Warnings: Unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) male oral receiving, fingering, mention’s of witchcraft, brief mentions of ritual style murders, brief mention of animal sacrifice, Dean is a sad boy.

Word count: 3567

All written and proofread (poorly) by me. All mistakes are my own. Please don’t copy or repost my work. Likes are great and I’ll love you forever if you repost and comment. Thanks for reading.

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Sam and Dr. Philips examined each of the women’s bodies. Carved into their limbs were runes consistent with the ones Rowena described. She said she was sending an expert who lived in the area but the boys hadn’t made contact yet.

“The other agent who was just here asked the same questions. Don’t you guys talk to each other?” Dr. Philips covered the bodies. Some of the women he knew personally.

“Different departments. You said he was just here? How long ago?”

“She. Her name is Diana Luna. She’s down at the evidence locker. All the women had the same necklace. She went to check it out.”

Sam thanked the doctor and set off to find you. First he called Dean. “Looks like Rowena’s story checks out. Her expert was just here. The bodies were marked with runes and all of their tongues cut out. And, get this, they all had the same necklace. Maybe a coven?”

“Of course. Of course it’s witches, Sam. Look, don’t go far. I’m on my way.” Sam was sitting on a bus bench reading coroner's reports when you approached him. Due to the nature of the case, Rowena insisted the elder Winchester carry out the task at hand. “Use Sam as bait.” she instructed.

“Agent Cornell? I’m agent Luna from the Lansing office.” You extended your hand. “Director Macleod sent me.”

“Yeah, I bet she did. Bring me up to speed.”

“Sure. I’ve got what you’re looking for right here.” You blew a very potent powder in his face knocking him out. You put the lankier Winchester into your truck and sped back to your house. Getting his dead weight up the stairs was a task but you did it. “Sweet dreams, Sam.”

Dean searched the entire town square for Sam with no luck. He tried his phone again and it was going directly to voicemail. Sam could hold his own against any witch but Dean was still worried. As he unlocked the door to the Impala, he heard you call his name over his shoulder and turned his head to see who was speaking. You blew the dream dust into his face rendering him unconscious.

He was heavier than he looked. You shoved him into the back seat and pried the keys from his hand. Baby growled angrily when she started but you had her purring for you in no time. You drove him back to your house and dragged him inside where you intended to tie him up. Rowena coached you on all their tricks. You took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and divested him if anything sharp. With his wrists and ankles bound in a pretty decent slip knot you splashed his face with water to wake him.

“Morning, handsome.” he smirked as you wiped his face.

“Big mistake, sweetheart. I’m guessing you’re the one we’re looking for.”

“Pretty and dumb. Rowena was right and you would be guessing wrong. Her name is Teresa Wilson. She came seeking asylum with our coven a few months ago. Said her whole order was obliterated. Turns out, she wasn’t exactly who she said she was.”

His face split into a cocky grin, “They never are. What do you want with me?”

“You need to help me find her. Rowena gave me a locator spell. When I cast the spell, I’ll need your fancy bullets. Problem is…”

He laughed heartily, “Problem is you can’t touch ‘em, am I right, sweetheart?”

“You would be correct.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

You took a step back just out of his reach just in case, “If you help me I’ll let your brother live.”

He strained against the ropes veins bulging in his forearms. “If you touch one hair on his head I’ll rip you apart myself. You hear me, witch?”

Your nails dug sharp into the meat of his cheeks so he would look at you. “Relax, baby. Your brother is safe. He’s asleep upstairs dreaming of puppies and rainbows as we speak. But if you don’t help me, he’ll never wake up. And, Dean, when I kill someone, it sticks. No resurrections for Sammy this time.”

You’ve never seen a human man snarl before. It was pretty cute. Rowena warned you not to be mesmerized by his sweet face and his Disney Princess eyes but you couldn’t help it. The man looked like he would, in fact, rip you apart. And, Hecate help you, you wished he would. You traced a finger along his sharp stubble covered jaw. His eyes turned up to look into yours, throwing daggers at you. “Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re angry?”

“All the time. Get to the spell so I can take my brother out of here.” he growled.

“It’s not time. If I untie you, are you gonna be a good boy or do I have to hit you with my knock out dust again?” You couldn’t take your eyes off of his perfect lips smiling at you.

“Sure, mommy, I’ll be a real good boy.”

You knelt in front of him and parted his knees slightly to undo the first knot. “Such a smart ass.” He growled low in his throat when you peered at him through your lashes. His dick grew painfully hard against his jeans as you slid your hand up his legs to maintain balance. Of course you noticed though he tried to squeeze his thighs together to hide his arousal. “Do you like me like this, Dean?”

Of course he did. You were just his type. A little bratty but you had a good heart. Rowena told them about you. The little warrior for the Grand Council. They constantly sent you to do their dirty work and you did so without question like a good soldier. No wonder Rowena paired the two of you. You were the female version of him. “Like what?” His voice was low and dripping with need.

“On my knees for you. Looks like you do.” You winked at him but he looked away embarrassed.

It had been a long time since he felt a woman wrapped hot around him. Everything in him wanted to follow your siren song and happily crash. He couldn’t do it. This story always ended bloody. “You couldn’t handle it, sweetheart.” He peered down at the bulge in his pants. So did you. Your core heated at the thought.

“Is that a dare or a double dare?.” He spread his legs and licked his lips inviting you to take what you wanted. You shook it off and focused on the task at hand. “Well in any case, I made you dinner. Pot roast, potatoes, peas and carrots. Eat if you want.”

It did smell amazing. His stomach growled remembering that all he had was coffee this morning. The living room and kitchen were well lit and warm. He felt at peace in this place. More so than the bunker where it could sometimes feel clinical and cold. “You got a pretty nice place here. You all alone?”

A sly smile played on your lips, “Just me.” You sat the plate down in front of him with a cold beer and a bottle opener. The oven timer dinged and, when you opened the door, the aroma of cinnamon and spice wafted through the air.

“That pie?” He sounded choked up.

“Apple. I have an orchard in the back. Rowena filled me in on how to keep you happy.” You sit it on the windowsill to cool while you ate. “I can’t have you bashing me over the head and running off before we kill this bitch.”

He shoveled a fork full of potatoes and gravy into his mouth humming in appreciation. “Why me? You had Sam here. He’s much better at this witch stuff than I am. Why drag me out here?”

“You’re more reliable when making difficult decisions. You’re what I need. Another beer?” He nodded breathing in the soft floral scent that wafted off of your skin as you moved.

You didn’t offer any further information and Dean thought that was probably for the best. If he got in his head about the situation he would lose his nerve and that can’t happen. That’s how people die. As of late, Sam has had a lot on his mind. Dean would have to shoulder this burden. At least Sammy was getting some rest.

The two of you shared a comfortable silence only marred by silverware hitting ceramic. “Well that was delicious. Thank you….umm…I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I didn’t give it to you. I’m Y/N. But I wouldn’t mind if you kept calling me sweetheart. Pie?”

Dean's heart beat hard in his chest at the thought of calling you sweetheart “Maybe a little. So when do we do this thing?”

“Eat your pie then meet me outside. I have to prepare.” You slipped out the back door down a dimly lit path to your cauldron. You threw in the mandrake and tobacco. Last was the chicken that you had to slaughter. You grabbed a hen from her coop and stabbed her with your athame. It made a terrible sound which sent Dean flying through the back door ready to fight.

“What the hell was that?”

“Chicken.” You allowed the rest of its blood to drain and discarded the carcass. “periisti. lates. Ego te quaero. I vestrum adprehendet vos.” You chanted over and over until a glowing beacon appeared. “We have to follow it.” The orb circled the two of you then floated towards the Impala. You retrieved his keys from your pocket and started off for the car.

“Whoa whoa whoa. What are you doing?”

“Following the orb.” He grabbed your arm as you started to slide into the driver’s seat.

“No one drives my baby but me. You sit shotgun.” He impatiently waited for you to scoot over. When you reached for the radio he slapped your hand away. “Are you serious?!”

“What? There were other decades besides the 70’s.” He bit his lip and flared his nostrils letting out an unsettling growl. “Driver picks the music.”

“You are a child. Just drive. The spell won’t last forever” you huffed.

“So, just you huh? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?” You didn’t answer keeping your eyes trained on the orb. “Yeah me neither. Maybe later we can grab a drink.”

“My god. Can you keep it in your pants until we’re done? It took a left!”

He sped up taking off after it, “I see it. So that’s not a no.” That was all the invitation he needed. The truth was you would have given it up the moment those green eyes stared into your soul.

“It’s not a no. Let’s focus.”

Baby ate up miles of dirt road before reaching the highway. A couple of miles ahead the orb sped for an exit into town. You were led to the motel where the boys were staying. The door to their room was wide open and there Teresa stood bathed in the light of the orb. You bid it a job well done and sent it on its way.

Teresa, caught off guard, quickly muttered a spell pinning Dean to the wall, sending the gun skittering away. You faced each other down while Dean struggled. “She’s a kid!” he groaned in pain.

“I’m nineteen thank you. You don’t have to do this Y/N. Come on. We’re sisters. We share the same DNA. Let’s take them on together.” Tears welled in your eyes. You may have been blood but you weren’t sisters. She grew up far out of the Grand Council’s reach while you were their trained lap dog.

“Only half little sister. You’re hopped up on enough stolen magic to power the entire city. The Grand Council sent me to take you down. Adiuro te in nomine Hecate. Adiuro te in nomine Dianae. Tuae vires cum luna decrescant.” you chanted. She fought back but the binding spell was powerful. She didn’t have enough magic to hold Dean and fight you so she let him go. When he regained composure, he dove for the gun.

Without warning, Teresa gained the upper hand. She held out her arm and used all of her might to pull you towards her. Blood stained tears fell from your eyes as you struggled to breath. With every last ounce of strength you had you doubled down on the binding spell long enough to hold her so that Dean could put her down. The blast of the shot filled the small motel room filling your ears with a high pitched whining. You collapsed onto the floor where Dean scooped you into his arms.

“Hey, Y/N. Wake up. Stay with me. Shit.” He carried you to the car and gingerly set you down next to him. The drive back to your house felt long. When he got you inside he placed you on the couch and called Rowena.

“Is it done then?” she asked in her thick Scottish brogue.

“Yeah but your girl’s unconscious. She’s breathing but she used a lot of magic. A lot. I don’t think you’ll be calling on her anytime soon.”

“Keep her warm, Dean. I’ll be there soon.” The line went dead. He sat on the floor in front of you and brushed your hair from your eyes.

“Sweetheart, you need to wake up. We were supposed to grab that drink, remember?” He pressed his lips to your temple lingering there for a moment when he heard Rowena’s laugh trill behind him.

“I should add matchmaker to my long list of talents. Out of the way, Dean. I’ll get your girl fixed right up.” She patted his hand and pushed him aside.

His face flushes hot burning all the way to his ears. ”She’s not my girl.”

“Of course. Now, what seems to be the trouble, dear?” She placed her hands on your head. Her eyes glowed as she spoke over you. Your lashes began to flutter and you woke up. “There she is. Good as new.” You and Dean exchanged a look. “That appears to be my cue to go check on Samuel.”

“Thank you, Rowena.” your voice was hoarse barely above a whisper.

“Not at all, dear.”

Dean pulled you into his lap rocking you gently, “You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart.”

“I had to stop her. She hurt too many people.” You felt guilty for ending her but even guiltier for letting her go as far as she did. Guiltier still for not pushing harder to be in her life. “It was my fault.”

“Hey, no it wasn’t. What? You think you should have been a better big sister? You didn’t lead her down this path, Y/N.” You rested your head on his shoulder “All these years and all the stupid fucked up shit Sam and I did, I blamed myself. I took on that burden. Alone. It’s a lonely awful place to be. I’m begging don’t do that to yourself.” He held your face in his hands forcing you to look at him. He wanted to kiss you. You would have let him if he leaned in. Instead he brought you back down to his chest just to hold you. He saw so much of himself in you. You were headstrong and self righteous but your intentions were altruistic.

You melted into his arms so lost in him that you didn’t hear Sam and Rowena slip out. Dean offered his brother only a small nod to let him know you were ok. He had several texts from Eileen anyway. Happy to see his brother didn’t have to spend another night alone, he went back to the bunker.

You sat in silence for a while when you started yawning. “Shit. What time is it?”

“After midnight. I should get outta here.” You untangled yourself from his grasp but didn’t stand. His hands stayed respectfully at the small of your back. You locked eyes with him. Your core tingled as he brushed errant hair from your forehead.

“Or you could stay. We haven’t had our drink yet. Though, you don’t need to get me drunk, handsome.” You kissed his jaw and down his neck working your way to his collarbone. A soft moan escaped his lips when you nipped at his neck. “I mean you enjoyed me on my knees and all.”

“As pretty as you looked,” his voice was low and gravelly, “And, I mean you looked gorgeous. We really shouldn’t.”

You genuinely pouted your lips backing off of your ministrations, “Why not? I want to. And you clearly want to. You’re a fucking legend, Dean. Show me just how legendary you are.”

He arched a brow at you and smirked in the way that only Dean Winchester does. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.” Finally his lips were on yours. The force of his kiss took your breath away. It wasn’t predatory or greedy. It was slow and sensuous bordering on hunger. His whole body was hungry for you. Dean Winchester was hungry constantly looking for something to fill the hole inside him. For the moment, that was you. He felt like he was floating and was suddenly very warm. If he stopped kissing you he knew he would just stop breathing. He couldn’t bare the thought.

“What are you doing to me?” His chest heaved. “I feel like I’m on fire.” Surely this must be a spell or enchantment. He pulled you back in for more but this time his hands strayed from your back. They traveled to your hips then under the hem of your shirt to feel your flesh warm against him. He had to feel you. To be inside of you. Deft fingers unbuttoned your jeans. Without breaking the kiss he stroked your clothed core working up a rhythm that flooded you with arousal.

“Touch me, Dean. Please” you cried. Pushing your panties aside his fingers explored your dripping pussy. His pace is maddening. Your hips snapped fucking back hard. “Fuck, Dean. So good. I need your cock. Want you to split ne open.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, Princess. Come for me and I’ll give you what you want.” And so you gushed around him moaning like a witch on fire. When your heart slowed to a normal rhythm you stripped naked. Before he could get undressed he took a moment to kiss and touch every inch of you. If this was only for tonight he wanted to savor you. “God you’re beautiful.”

“So are you.” You pulled him up and undressed him, never once breaking eye contact. His cock was red and weeping just aching to be touched.

On your knees in front of him you took the whole burning thing in your mouth. To Dean, you were the most stunning creature to exist. You swirled your tongue around the head while you hollowed your cheeks sucking him in deeper still.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Fuck that feels good.” His hands grasped the back of your head keeping you steady while he fucked your face. It started feeling too good like he would blow his load in your mouth. He had to feel your sweet cunt. “Let me feel you, baby. Fuck I need you.” You pulled off with a pop and climed into his lap. Both of you whimpered when you sank onto his length. The stretch was exquisite. Your pussy held him so tight. You ground your clit over his pubic bone while he fucked into you with a brutal pace. “You feel so good. M’not gonna last. Come for me, baby. I need it.” Your twat fluttered around him, milking him for all he was worth. You kissed once more fighting to hang on to the last tendrils of tenderness and warmth that you could.

“Stay. Please. Just for tonight” you whispered.

He tightened his grip on you. “Of course, sweetheart. All night.”

He hated to leave you but the sun rose like a beacon calling him away. If he didn’t leave then, he wouldn’t have ever left. Last time he stuck around and fell in love, he had to learn the hard way that he could never have this. Maybe he would call you the next time he swung through town. Maybe you’d spit in his face for bailing. He brushed the hair off your forehead and kissed your temple. “Bye, sweetheart.”

You woke when you heard the Impala roaring to life in your driveway. He left a square of paper with a phone number scrawled in pencil “I’ll always answer. -DW” You put on your robe, went down to your cauldron and threw it in with a few bundles of sage and some witch hazel to sever any feelings. On the next full moon, you’d do a cord cutting to make sure it sticks.

“See you around, handsome.” In his eleven hour drive back to the bunker, any feelings that you have would slowly fade. The two of you would go back to being too afraid to feel and far too afraid to fall in love. Dean wouldn’t hear from you again. He wouldn’t really remember where you lived. But, every time he drove through Michigan, he’d feel a twinge in his chest. And, no matter how many rituals you did, you’d feel him too.

[love-amihan]

| ʜᴏᴍᴇ | ᴊᴊᴋ | ᴀᴏᴛ | ʜǫ | ꜰɪʟᴏ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛs | ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍɪᴍɪ |

amihan's note: aaaaaa, thank you for supporting the story up until this chapter. it's coming to an end T^T I'm hoping am keeping you on edge with these chapters >.> who do you think will reader choose in the end? enough chit-chats here you go luvly, happy reading!

side note: it's been shitty days without posting while being shadow banned :'> laid out some scenes with the last chapter! u might have to prepare tissues for that.. or not, i tried making it a lil angsty

summary: confessions? realization? acceptance? who will you choose? after all, it's your decision that matters in the end. plan number three or as maki would like to call it 'showing-the-asshole's-true-colors'.

masterlist; rivals masterlist

hs!sukuna x fem!reader, hs!gojo x fem!reader

song recommendation: understand by christian leave, baby i tried by rob deniel

you were relaxing with your group of friends, little invisible bubble surrounding all of you as each one minds their own business. conversation of toge and yuta fading in the background as you stare in a distance, last month's happenings flashing before your eyes.

you were greeted by satoru once again, giving you all his attention. after the little incident he has been sticking by you ever since. like always, maki has also been pestering him to stop and go away, this doesn't stop satoru though.

you can't help but notice how sukuna had stopped one day, like a sudden halt after all those things that happened. he just.. disappeared. this got you confused because it was clearly him who made the first move, as satoru and maki argue in the background, you were busy contradicting yourself.

'he was never serious in the first place, why am i even anticipating his appearance?' you thought before your gaze moves to satoru 'i have satoru, i can give him my attention instead. yes that's right!' but then a thought crossed your mind again 'but.. he's most likely doing this for fun too for sure!' you agreed to your thought, nodding

"watcha nodding at, baby?" satoru, who successfully escaped maki's wrath puts his arm around you. you look up at him smiling "nothing" he hums popping a candy to his mouth, then he turned to you "want some?" you nod, slightly opening your mouth signaling him to feed it to you. he unwrapped the candy, sliding it past your lips, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

he gave you a wink, you shake your head at him laughing a little. he knows his ways alright, you thoughtfully sucked on the candy, perking up when you figured out the flavor "strawberry!" satoru gave you the biggest grin, cheering for you "ding ding ding! we got a winner!" he then pinched your cheeks,

"not just any strawberry candy though, that's a special kind. where's my thank you?" you rolled your eyes at his bashfulness. "oh would you look at that, i have a class right now" you lied as you dash away from him, satoru chuckles as he lets you go "i better get something back, baby" his voice fading away as you successfully made your escape.

you then remembered when you heard about sukuna's new agenda that got you a little worked up, even your group of friends saw and knew the way you acted but you kept denying you were not.

like always, you and your friends were taking a casual walk around the campus to pass time, nothing new to that. however, toge broke the peaceful silence with a surprising news. "i heard sukuna have a new girl" you frown at this, glaring at the floor without knowing. you felt your chest tighten, a little hurt by the news.

"y/n.. are you okay?" you look up at the mention of your name, your friends looking at you in concern. "huh? why wouldn't i be?" you forced out a laugh trying to convince them. "he can do what he wants, the hell i care!" you defensively uttered out, continuing your ramble not noticing the concern on their faces.

"y/-" you raised a hand up telling them to stop, you smile at them waving the hand "i-i'm just gonna go and have some fresh air. i'm fine really" with the final statement you left your friends who were following you with their eyes, surprised with your sudden outburst.

you were pulled out of your thought, feeling yourself getting lift up and put on someone's shoulder "what the hell?!" you shouted as you begin pounding on their back "put me down, asshole!" you continued as you were being taken away from your group of friends.

you look up at where they are, seeing that they have amused look on their face and weren't even chasing to get you! what lovely friends you got, you thought. "i'm hoping you didn't get a scratch from that" the voice of the one carrying you spoke, it took you a moment to put a face on it. you then lift your upper body shouting his name "itadori?!"

yuji laughs balancing you so you won't fall, "hey~ don't get mad at me, i'm just following what he told me to do" he defended himself, you then gave his back one last pound protesting "put me down! i can walk by myself you know?" yuji shakes his head, speeding up "we're here now anyways"

finally back on your feet, you look around confused by what's happening "who the hell roped you into this?" you asked turning to look at yuji, instead of hearing an answer from him an unexpected voice reached your ears "i did, princess" as soon as sukuna made an appearance, yuji left the two of you alone.

your head whipped at his direction, eyes wide then pointedly looking at him. you crossed your arms, "oh so we're back to 'princess' thing again, itadori?" sukuna grumbles approaching you "i told you not to call me that" you glare at him, he puts a finger under your chin lifting it up "i hate repeating myself"

you didn't give him what he want, opting on giving him the silent treatment instead. 'two can play at this game' you thought, remembering the treatment you got from him. "aww, the silent treatment?" he coos "i'm sorry about that babe, didn't mean to do that" you huff, turning your head to the side.

sukuna chuckles at your bratty attitude, everything about you just gravitates him to you more. "am i starting from zero again?" you click your tongue about to leave him, he caught your hand pulling you back "come on now, princess" you glare at him again "no"

he purses his lips, looking at you. "what should i do?" you roll your eyes to this "i don't know. figure it out yourself, itadori" you replied annoyed, your other hand clenched by your side. sukuna's thought scrambled into a mush, not knowing what to think anymore before sighing.

he pulled you closer, your face meeting his chest. his hand on the back of your head keeping you close, the other working on intertwining your fingers "i'm sorry" he whispers sincerely to your ear, your eyes widen in shock. after a few seconds you finally snapped out of it, "let go" you muttered to his chest.

"not until you say i can go back to being by your side again" you closed your eyes, trying to fight the urge of forgiving him right away. "you're not gonna stop pestering me, huh?" you feel sukuna shake, taking it as a no. you sighed again opening your eyes, "fine, now let go."

he definitely did not let go though, "what's my name?" his grip tightening around you when you tried pulling away, you grumble giving up since he wouldn't budge. "sukuna, let go" he happily complied, passing the lemonade lollipop to your hand.

"great, happy having you back, princess" he then turns around walking away "asshole" sukuna gave you a quick side glance, his back still facing you "heard that, babe!" you gripped the candy that you're now holding, stance reading that you're gonna throw it.

"good! because you are!" he just let out an annoying chuckle at that, "don't even think about throwing that" he said while waving his hand, fully disappearing from your view. "damn attractive asshole" you mutter under your breath, pocketing the candy.

ever since the flirting incident that you told your friends back then, maki had been worried about you. worst thing that could happen, you might end up catching feelings for the jerk or commonly known by the name of gojo satoru. in maki's perspective, it seems like satoru was doing this all just for the fun of it, what if you end up getting hurt? she doesn't want that.

that's why she's initiating this plan, the good thing about money is that you can do anything with it and maki just know the right person who without a doubt loves money more than anything. another good thing is that she will do it without hesitation and no questions asked.

maki then explained the plan to all of you, you on the other hand is not sure about this but yuta tries convincing you that this was a good idea "you know, i don't even think he even sees me that way" you whined to yuta while he furrows his brows "don't tell me that bullshit! he took you to his special place and didn't leave you after flirting with the girl. though that's still a pretty shitty thing to do" yuta mumbles the last part under his breath.

"stop, he probably did it in spur of the moment kind of thing. he probably didn't even think about it as some kind of romantic gesture" you said, which was kind of the truth. deep inside, you like to think about that more than a kind gesture. it became like an unofficial little place that only the two of you knew.

"toge" maki called out then pointing at you "on it" toge then holds one of your hand wearing one of his best puppy dog eyes that you for the love of god cannot resist, you quickly averted your gaze knowing this will end up in their favor. maki's secret weapon=toge

"[nickname]-chan~ look at me" toge whined trying to be in your field of view, you shake your head "no no no" you chanted "no fair! that's low of you maki!!" maki shrugs at you, watching both of you in amusement, yuta stifling a laugh beside her "what can i say y/n? this woman is desperate to make that plan into action"

you pursed your lips giving toge a quick glance which you quickly regret because you ended up in some kind of spell getting mesmerized by his dazzling purple eyes. after some kind of staring contest with him, you finally gave in "fine" you grumble out.

toge let go of your hand, satisfied smile on his face, "ahhhh, never gets old" he says while giving himself a pat in the back, yuta finally lets out the laugh he was holding. maki came up to toge, also giving him a pat in the back "now to give mei mei her part"

mei mei walks towards the trio, a smile evident on her face. satoru came to stop noticing her, he can't help but to check her out, looking her up and down. "hi there pretty~" he gave one of his charming grin, looking back at her eyes. she flutters her lashes at him, "well aren't you a charmer" she teased, twirling a strand of her hair with her finger. (i dunno how to flirt, forgive this cringeness)

suguru let out a whistle from behind satoru, "not gonna lie, i'm kinda wishing i am you now" he told his best friend. suguru held out a hand. smiling at her "geto suguru" she shook his hand, politely replying "mei mei" she then turns her attention back to satoru.

the two continued flirting as ieiri watches from the side, the scene feeling too familiar. 'i definitely had the gut that sato was finally gonna change and maybe l/n was the key' she furrows her brows at that thought, she has been rooting for you ever since the text from satoru. her guts were never wrong but then she was cut off by a surprising turn.

in a distance, not that faraway because they still wanna hear the conversation. they were cramped, trying to make up the words. "this is so stupid" you mutter as maki shushes you aggressively, "okay, damn" you say with your hands up in surrender.

satoru was having a good time flirting with mei mei, who can blame him? she's a beautiful lady. he's a handsome jerk man, so it's fair enough. his mind, that is. his mind kept picturing your face on mei mei's, he got confused by this. 'what's wrong with you? leave her' satoru tries convincing himself.

the scene was hard for your eyes, so you decided on not participating in this anymore. 'this is stupid.. besides, it kinda hurts. just brings back stupid memories' you thought before adding 'that's his nature though, fuck him he can do those shits. he's never changed.'

satoru shakes his head, looking back at mei mei smiling at her. they continued flirting, cheesy lines thrown here and there. satoru's mind is having other thoughts though, your face kept appearing 'it's the same shit again' satoru blinks a couple times, coming to a realization 'fuck, i have feelings for her' he thought as he came to a stop.

"something wrong, honey?" mei mei asked gently laying a hand on his shoulder, satoru smiled at her after making up his mind. "my apologies mei mei, maybe you can have coffee with my friend instead?" he took her hand, patting it softly before gesturing to suguru. ieiri and suguru stood there in complete shock.

maki who is also frozen in her spot, toge and yuta have their eyes wide open. you have your back turned about to leave the scene. "no way he just did that!" yuta was first to talk, he then turns to his side where you were but didn't find you there.

yuta looks back before pulling you back by your hand "yuta no, i don't wanna see this. he can do whatever he wants!" yuta shushes you pointing at the scene. you furrow your brows looking at him then back at the scene, satoru talks for some more before giving a slight bow walking away with suguru and ieiri still in shock. "wait what?" you mumble to yourself, once again maki's plan to sabotage satoru failed.

with the scene that happened, you got a little touched, your heart racing and a little smug deep down. that's right, he stopped flirting for the second time! you can't help the feeling that blooms inside you.

satoru saw you from your little hiding spot, he can't help but grin approaching you. "enjoying the show, baby?" he uttered before holding your hand and dragging you away, going somewhere more private.

the gentle breeze hits you, satoru walks around taking his time. he sat down on one of the bench, enjoying the calm atmosphere. you follow his movements with your eyes, raising a brow "so...?" you chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with the bottom of your uniform.

satoru hums, still looking around sucking on his candy. "if you're not gonna say anything, i'm gonna leave, satoru" you now crossed your arms at him, his gaze finally landing on you.

he stands up, beginning to approach you. you look up to him, curse his height waiting for him. "well?" he smiles at you, bringing his hand up cradling your face "i have something to tell you" his voice almost coming out like a whisper.

this is new... your heart racing again all of a sudden getting nervous. you unconsciously gulp, eyes locked into his. not trusting your voice, you gave him a nod to continue. he tucks your hair behind your ear, "i just came to realize... and recently admit to myself. just this moment" he continued taking in your facial features "i like you" he said with all confidence, his eyes trailing back up to your eyes.

your breath hitched at the confession, eyes wide looking back at him. "you don't have to give me your answer right away" his thumb caressing your cheeks softly. "you can take your time" he said with all the softness he can muster. you nod at his words, not knowing what to say.

"i hope this doesn't change anything between us" his thumb coming to a stop, his eyes searching yours for any discomfort. you shake your head, finally finding your voice "no, no. that's okay, i'll think about it" his smile widens at that, his warm hand leaving your face, almost making you whine at the loss of heat.

"good, good" he mumbles, he then gestures to the direction where your friends were last seen "i'll walk you back to your friends then, that okay for you baby?" you nod, walking by his side. silence taking over the two of you along the way. your thoughts circling around the confession 'i like you' his voice ringing to your ears.

yuji found sukuna leaning back to his car, scrolling through his phone. he approached him, "aww, sweet of you to wait for your beloved twin~" yuji teased, now standing in front of him. sukuna looked up furrowing his brows, "what?" yuji tilt his head to the side "what?"

sukuna brings up his hand, hitting the back of yuji's head "what made you think i'm waiting for your dumb ass?" yuji tilted his head more to the side "we're you not?" sukuna groans "no" he simply said, pushing yuji to go away.

"hey! you still owe me from what i did for you!" yuji's complaints soon came to stop as he stands there, looking at sukuna squinting his eyes finally knowing the reason "oh you're gonna go with l/n?" sukuna huffs "surprised you can still use that brain of yours" yuji grins, catching sukuna in a headlock- well, tried to because he ended up getting his arm twisted by sukuna.

"ow! ow!" yuji whimpered, "i didn't know you were down that bad" yuji continued to tease, not caring with the pain he's feeling. his grin only getting wider, sukuna once again groans having enough of yuji for the day. he puts a hand on yuji's face pushing him again "go" he said, pointing to wherever it's faraway from him.

yuji was about to test sukuna's patience more and possibly irritate him because he just lives by that. he was cut off by another presence, "maybe i should take a photo, it's rare seeing the itadori twins together" you said, amused by the scene. sukuna really does get worked up by yuji easily.

"speaking of the beautiful devil~" yuji hides behind you quickly after hitting sukuna in the back of the head for payback... yeah they're that childish when they're together. "oh you were talking 'bout me?" your gaze leaving yuji to sukuna, raising a brow.

"no we're not" sukuna crosses his arms glaring at yuji "don't get full of yourself, princess" he smirks at you. you hummed deciding to side with yuji, having fun getting under sukuna's skin, "i know i'm irresistible but i didn't know you're gonna be like a lovesick puppy"

yuji snorted, "oh now that i think about it, he does sound like one" he puts up his hand up, wanting a high five from you which you gave him, laughing with him. "oh god, there's two of them now?" sukuna mutters under his breath, "i'm leaving" his keys making a sound as he pushed the button unlocking the doors.

"one way to treat your 'princess' who you just made up to" yuji remarked with air quotation before sending you a wink, you laugh a little waiting for sukuna but came to no avail. "you know, satoru was actually asking me earlier to go and do something wi-" you weren't able to finish your sentence when you see sukuna holding the door open of the passenger seat.

"you getting in or not?" he said not looking at you, tapping his foot against the pavement impatiently. you giggle waving goodbye to yuji who was chuckling at his brother's behavior. "you could've asked nicer, kuna" you teased, yuji who heard the nickname perked up.

"kuna huh?" yuji began again but sukuna was already in the driver's seat brushing him off, "go home, brat" was all yuji heard as sukuna drove off, yuji laughing in the background. "can't believe you got along with him" sukuna mutters to you, his eyes focused on the road.

"what can i say? i can't resist attractive boys" sukuna gave you a quick side glance, scoffing "what? you think he's attractive?" you stare at his side profile, amused that the two of you really managed to get under his skin earlier. you didn't answer after a few seconds pass by, your index finger tapping on your chin thoughtfully.

"now that i think about it, yeah yuji's the attractive one" you let out a fake disappointed sigh "aww, i got the wrong twin" sukuna chuckles, mentally rolling his eyes at you. this.. this is what he likes about you, you don't only get along with him but also the few important people in his life.

music was filling the silence between you two until sukuna spoke up, "quick question" you hum, glancing at him. still not knowing what you were gonna do and the place you'll be going, you really need to stop doing that "dog, cat, or bunny?" you stiffled a laugh, sukuna just asked that with the most serious face he had. his gaze looking at you for a quick second.

"don't think! just answer" he grumpily uttered, you just laughed at him before apologizing "i'm sorry, you don't have to put a serious face while asking that" his other hand leaving the steering wheel, he pinched your side telling you to answer "fine, fine. dog, mister sukuna~" he just mocked your voice, his hand going back to the steering wheel.

"why?" you poked his side, curious by the sudden question. "nothing" he shrugs not looking at you, you pouted crossing your arms. "such random question then not answering"

sukuna pulled up, putting his car on park. he left the car jogging to your side opening it for you, "aren't you a gentleman?" you giggle seeing him roll his eyes with a small smile on his face, he closed the door behind you, locking the car. you looked up at the sign, squinting a little before letting out a small gasp.

you looked back at sukuna with wide eyes, your mouth still wide in shock. he chuckles at your state, putting a finger under your chin "might catch a fly there, babe" instead of recovering you point at him then at the cafe "b-bu-but- wha- huhhhh?" you incoherently uttered to him, brows slightly furrowing head tilted to the side.

"what?" he asked, like he just casually strolls in a dog cafe. you gasped at him unbelievably "what? sukuna, you're you!" your hands gesturing to him "what even is happening?" your hands flailing around, really confused by this "you don't even like cute things"

"calm down, princess" he holds both of your hands laughing at your reaction a little, "sukuna, you're asking me to calm down- why are you even doing this?!" you shake your hands that he's holding. he raised a brow to you, his tone in a 'duh' way "because i like you" his crimson eyes sincere, you stopped in your tracks looking back at him.

you blinked at him, he blinks back at you. he's so nonchalant about it, it was like he did not just confessed to you. "use your words, princess" as much as he likes staring at your pretty face, the two of you still need to go inside. you opened your mouth trying to form words, sukuna tilts his head upwards a little urging you to utter out a word or two.

but you closed your mouth, nothing was coming out. sukuna sighed, he jut his head towards the dog cafe, "don't mind what i said, we still have to see the little spawn of devils" he lets go one of your hands, leading the way with the one he kept holding. your eyebrows furrowing by what just happened, not only by earlier but the whole day itself.

the sudden turn of events made you a little dizzy and confused, after your little cafe visit sukuna dropped you by your house, getting worried because you were wobbling quite a bit when he opened the door for you. however, you don't need him right now. like he had enough of yuji for the day, you also had enough of him.

that's why it brings us back to you staring up in the ceiling, trying to comprehend and let all the things that happened sink in. frustrated, you rub your face with your hands letting out a groan. "how?" that's one way to put it, how did it even come to this? to say that you just wanted a peaceful year before graduating would be kind of a lie.

you wanted something to happen, at least add a little bit of spice to your average life. but this?.. you did not expect this, you weren't even expecting the two of them to catch feelings for you in the first place. they were just looking for some fun, you and your friends also took part since it will be a win-win situation for both parties.

but now, it's all different, it took a sudden turn. the rivals changed their ways, we have satoru who miraculously stopped flirting, leaving the girls behind though it took him some time but still a noticeable change! last but not least, sukuna who accepted his feelings for you, he let his feelings to take over and expose his vulnerable side to you.

for you, these two people made you feel things. you don't even know how to feel about this... you glare at the ceiling like it will give you the answer to make your problem go away. you were pulled out your thoughts by a sudden ping coming from your phone, it was a message from your group chat.

after telling them to come over and help with your current dilemma, they're now sitting in your living room as you pace back and forth in front of them. "seems like a tough one" toge commented as his eyes follow your movements, munching on his snack. "i'm getting dizzy" yuta raises his arms in surrender before plopping down on your couch having enough of you.

"mind telling us why the sudden 'emergency meeting'?" maki finally mentioned with her arms crossed. you took a deep breath, saying it in one go "sukunaandsatoruconfessedtome" maki hit you in the back of the head, you whimper pouting as you rub the spot "now, say that again" you look at the two best friends seeking for a little help but they just shrugged you off.

"sukuna and satoru confessed to me" you said it clearly this time, toge who couldn't read the room raised a brow "so?" yuta clicks his tongue, gesturing to your current state "she obviously don't know who to choose" toge shrugs again going back to his snacks.

"and the answer is obvious, sukuna." maki said while holding her chin up, final with her answer "the idiot's no good for you anyway" yuta gasp, contradicting maki "no! it's obviously gojo" he then looks at you "he obviously changed, look what happened earlier. mei mei's a beautiful lady but he didn't bite the bait!" both their answer was already known by you.

maki on the other hand, who's extremely against satoru sided with sukuna just to spite him, "he still flirted, that doesn't change anything" she stood her ground, the two of them going back and forth on who you should choose. your attention was diverted when the three of you heard a loud crunch, toge blinked back at the three of you "what?"

yuta immediately came to toge's side draping an arm around him "y/n definitely goes well with gojo right?" he said while poking his side, maki rolls her eyes "gojo's a shitty person, at least sukuna's lesser of that childman" toge munches on his food thoughtfully.

maki's been siding with sukuna more ever since you had told them about his other side, which your friends still doesn't believe that itadori sukuna have a soft spot for the elderly like c'mon the man beats up guys left and right without breaking a sweat, maybe you were not thinking straight that time and was with yuji instead.

"toge you need to answer" you impatiently told him seeing him take his time like he has all the time in the world, "oh!" he puts down his snack, licking his lips clean while dusting his fingers. toge claps his hand a few time, "alright alright" getting all of your attention "i vote for..." he puts a finger on his chin, tapping it, "me" he said while smiling.

the three of you groan in disappointment, "i don't know why you have to choose between them when you can have me instead" you roll your eyes at him, half-expecting him to give a serious answer. "that's it! you're all no use!" you threw your hands up in defeat. what were you even expecting with having this so-called meeting with them. specially if you're friends with someone called inumaki toge, you sigh left on your own to make the decision.

taglist;@sunfloweroranges, @champagnetvstes, @selfconcitedslut,@sukunas-cult-leader, @syynnaaah, @waytomanyhusbands, @deanobeanoqueero, @carlingss, @mistalli, @vixxanitysj

amihan's note: u can find taglist here!

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Unintimidating reader who’s a killa killa

-snipers is longer solely because ive had that idea in my head LONG before i got this request-

-also, little gorey so beware-

Medic

Ludwig is almost instantly enamoured with you once he got comfortable with you on base. He finds you sweet and calls you “kleine krankenschwester” (little nurse) whenever you insist on helping him in any way with his workload. You apologize when you bump into inanimate objects and try copying Archimedes’ cooing. You’re a cupcake!

And finally he gets a good eyeful of you on the field. You’re brutal and vicious and smiling the whole time as you bash in an enemy Heavy’s head with a sledgehammer. You take out an enemy Scout’s leg with your weapon and let him try and crawl away from you before you finish him off with a laugh. Ludwig is now convinced you’re his soulmate

Our dear doctor loves tenderness that hides ruthlessness. Loves that you are sweet as a bumble bee to your team but a beast to your opposers. He’s excited at the new possibilities between the two of you know that he knows that he no longer has to hide his own ferocity with his experiments in front of you

Sniper

Hell, Mick isn’t even convinced you should be on the field. You wore brightly colored clothes and skirts and for fuck’s sake you bake, all. The. time. You're like Holly Homemaker, why the hell are you hanging with a bunch of mercenaries? How were you even picked for this job? At your first match, he debated on whether he should watch you from his perch to protect you or do his job. He chose his job, duh. But only for a few matches. When he finally decides to track you,and oooooh boy.

An enemy Spy has his knife in your shoulder, pining you to a wall. Mick doesn’t have a clear shot to take out the spook without getting you too. It’s not fun watching a teammate die, even if they do come back. But right as he was about to shift his attention to the main battle he sees it. You. Pissed the fuck off.

Mick watches with interest as you grab the hand that’s stabbing you with one of your delicate hands as the other grabs the spook’s lapel and drag in the enemy, mouths crushing together. A shot of betrayal and shock freezes the hitman before he sees it. The red running down your chin; the struggle of the enemy Spy trying to thrash himself away from you; the look of manic rage in your eye. When you let the Spy go, Mick can see teeth but no lip and it hits him. You bit off the man’s mouth.

After you swiftly wretch the knife out of your shoulder and into the neck of your opponent, you wipe your mouth, you call for a medic and return to fighting. Mick is now a little scared of you, but now will no longer ever think again that you can’t handle yourself on the field. Never brings up what he saw but will sometimes watch you work now

Heavy

Mikhail already finds hardly anyone intimidating, you are no exception; especially with your short stature and demure demeanor. He worries about you honestly, watching you to make sure none of the other mercs try to take advantage of you because you give off the energy of a doormat. It’s his big brother senses in part, he thinks, also in part of because he has a leetle crush on tiny woman who will listen to him drone on about Sasha and Russian literature well into the night.

You do more protecting than defending during the fighting. You watch the case and keep people away from it as Misha mows down the enemies to keep them away from the intel (and you), so he hasn't had the pleasure of watching you work. But buddy, when he gets it. A chance of happenstance allows Heavy to finally see you operate, lets him see you sit pretty as the enemy steps on your hidden bombs and walk into the line of your automatic tracking weaponry and get mowed down in a hail of bullets as all you do is smile and hold the briefcase. So well covered by your own inventions you don’t even need to be worried as the blood of your enemy splashes up onto your clothes

Misha finds you even MORE endearing now. Man loves intelligent women and if you made all of those killing machines holy fuck, could you mod Sasha?? You’re in your element as you effortlessly kill the opponent, and Misha loves watching your inventions do what they do best (he feels a kinship with your weapons as he too, preforms extreme violence to protect you) (He’s still gonna watch your back at the base tho for sure)

Scout

You were like another Spy, except without all the European flair that Spy had. You were kinda bland, tired looking. Jeremy’s never seen you train or fight; you spent most of all your free time being “tutored” by Spy to become a better Infiltrator, and frankly, Jeremy is more afraid of bread than he is of you (and not just the tumor filled bread). Spy hasd insinuated that you were ready to finally be put on the field with the rest of the mercs for the next match, and now Jeremy is more excited to have another person to show off to rather than to see you in action

But of course, Jeremy fucks up. He’s hiding in an empty building, bleeding from a shot from an enemy Sniper, and staring at the wrong end of a Heavy’s gun, hating the feeling of defeat. The Heavy was rambling on about something but the wound in his side had more of Scout’s attention; that is, until, a figure slowly, silently descended from the rafters. It was you, dressed head to toe in black save for a sliver of your team’s color on your armband. You look at the monologuing Heavy before giving Jeremy a look that said “Man, he’s a wind bag, huh?” you gestured to the enemy, then drew your finger across your throat with a questioning look in your eye. Scout manages a weak nod, losing focus quickly.

Another long cord, similar to the one holding you to the ceiling, unraveled itself from around your arm, and very quickly you whipped it around the enemy’s neck, jumped onto his back, and wretched your arms back, almost instantly decapitating the Heavy. Even as the lumbering body fell down, you remained upright, hopping off the body gracefully. With swift efficiency, you kicked the head out of the way, grabbed the comically large gun, and aimed it at the door. Before Scour could even ask what the fuck was going on, an enemy Medic came in through the door. Before the German had a chance to yelp, you shot him dead.

“Yo, what the-!” You hastily toss a med-pack at him before melting into the shadow, Scout almost missing the darkening blush on your mostly covered face. After that little save, Jeremy now goes out of his way to be nice to you, and learns a lesson that looks are hella deceiving. It would pay to have someone watching his back on the field without all the unwanted french commentary (and you’re nicer to look at than Spy, let's be real)

Demo

You’re cheerful, but not in the sadistic, almost taunting way many of the other mercs are like. Not like the Doc or Spook. Nope, you were just happy. Not ditzy or stupid or anything, just a smiley little thing that had as much bite as a toothless alligator. The thought that someone could take you as a serious threat, some wee thing that eats rainbow colored cereal and wears bunny slippers throughout the base, was so hilarious that Tavish starts chuckling whenever it crosses his mind. The two of you don’t typically fight together, you sticking to high ground to pick off enemies as Demo gleefully stays in the thick of it all to implode the other team

Due to unfortunate circumstances, you're both pinned down together, shoulder to shoulder under a makeshift barrier as the enemy gets closer and closer; your bow at the ready with an arrow and his bombs prepared to go off at his command, but no opening to go up and take a shot/throw a bomb. You huff, looking around wildly before nodding decisively, looking to Tavish. “Gimme one of your sticky bombs.” He complies, half thinking that you’re gonna take the both of you out in a blaze of gory glory.

With a look of determination, you aim in front of you, not even at the enemy. Tavish prepares to die for the third time that day, but this time by his own creation, and you release your arrow. The projectile bounces off a scrap bit of metal on the ground, ricocheting the arrow up into hitting the lamppost, and then flying over their heads into the enemy’s ranks. Once the bomb went off, you instantaneously bounce out of the hiding place and opened fire on the stragglers who didn't get offed by the bomb. Tavish can only stare as you mow down the other team as a random stream of sunlight illuminates your figure. Demo catches feels in that moment

Pyro

Pryo liked that you were lowkey and sweet. The fact that you weren’t especially harsh or violent while relaxing initially made them flock to you just to hang out in their down time. Pyro loves to give you cute little toys and stuffies and see you smile! The only time Pyro really sees you on the battlefield is when they’re looking for you. They’re worried about you! You’re their favorite!

They catch you, mid-battle, covered head to toe in the blood of an enemy Scout, laying only a few feet away. They think you look so pretty! Like sparkles and rainbows are all around you and flower petals are floating in the air and surrounding you (it’s ash; pyro started a blaze not that far away and it was finally beginning to get to the two of you)

Pyro just sees this as more couple binding time, now that they know that you also tend to get a little too into the battle. It’s an excuse to spend even more time together

Engineer

This boy was so dang in love with you and he’s never even seen you fight. On the base, you were as sweet as a peach and harmless as a mouse. You spent most of your time in Dell’s workshop helping him with menial tasks like refilling his coffee mug or reorganizing his tools or alike. You got along well with all the other mercs and were quick to help others. Dell never really saw you while fighting because he had to stick near his machines while your job took you all over the battle field

He hears about you fighting from the others. Scout was retelling the group about you “friggin’ awesome fight” between you and an enemy Medic. You had, according to Scout (and Heavy, who nodded along in agreement) got into a fist fight with the enemy, physically beating them into submission. Dell wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t walked right at the end of the tale with a black eye, bloodied knuckles, and a lopsided grin. Dell almost has a fucking heart attack seeing you in such a state. The Doctor heals you up back to normal like nothing ever happened but the fact that you relied on physical violence to fight made him anxious

He doesn't talk to you about fighting differently, he wants to know if there's anything he can do to help you fight, like making special gloves or armor of some type. Homeboy just wants to protect you, he gets hella worried.

Soldier

Jane, seemingly perpetually stuck in the 40’s and 50’s, believes most women shouldn't be on the battlefield at all. And even though you were there working with a bunch of other mercenaries, a lady is a lady and he, the old fashioned man he is, prioritizes keeping you “safe” (taking your kills before you get the chance to land the finishing blows). In his mind, he’s doing you a service. After all, you are far too soft spoken at the base to have any form of bite in you on the field.

Across the field though, one fight, Jane was just too far away to swoop in and “save” you like he normally would; not even his rocket launcher would get to you in time to stop the Spy from doing you in! The instant the enemy’s knife was about to pierce your back, though, Jane saw you turn around whip fast, your own machete thrusting forward to impale the enemy.

The soldier now thinks that your “womanly intuition” is far more superior and more finely tuned than his own, and will now generally leave you alone to fight and stops hovering over you. Will shout out encouragements from across the field whenever he sees that you hack someone apart and loudly brags that you have the “natural advantage” to sniffing out enemies.

Spy

-This is gonna be a drabble cus i dunno how to bullet point this-

Jacque didn’t think particularly much of you. You were a teammate, an asset to be used. On the base you were reserved, spending most of your time in the Doctor’s infirmary or discussing something with Mikhail about books or whatever. You stayed out of his way, not like it was hard for you, seeing as you were just some wisp of a thing, someone who if they sat still long enough would blend into the background like air. Spy never assumed that you would ever be of any use to him in a fight; you just didn’t have the look of a fighter in you.

So right now, his life being in your hands, made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t care to count.

The enemy Spy, who was almost as tricky as him, cleverly disguised himself as Jacque, and right as they were about to confront each other, you burst through the door, looking surprised at the two of them. Almost immediately, they started to accuse the other.

“He’s the enemy!”

“No, HE is!”

“The intruder is HIM!”

Jacque will give you some props, seeing as you drew your gun as soon as you saw the pair, but rather than aim it usefully at at least ONE of them, YOU aim it uselessly to the floor! Jacque would’ve scolded you for your unprofessionalism if the imminent threat of death wasn’t less than six feet away from him.

You looked wildly in between the two of them, your normally pleasant face now stricken with panic. Your eyes land solidly on the enemy Spy, and with a sharp intake of breath, you run to him, throwing your arms around him and burying your face into the falsely colored lapel.

Jacque felt disappointment bloom in his chest, along with dread when he watched your mistake.

The spy looked so damn smug as he wrapped his arms around you, throwing Jacque a satisfied look. The gun still was gripped in your hand, still aiming at the ground.

“Ma pauvre petite fille,” he crooned, “est-ce que le grand méchant espion t'a fait peur?”

You sniffle, and bring the gun up to the imposter’s head. “Je n'ai pas facilement peur.” Jacque didn’t think you could ever say something so coldly, and say it in french to boot. One shot rang out and the man in your arms fell to the floor, suit changing back to what it was meant to be, stained with red from the blood of his fatal wound.

After some deliberation with yourself, you shot him again, in the chest. You looked to Jacque, your face now once again passive.

With a sigh and a dramatic flourish, the living Spy fetched a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it quickly, taking a deep huff before addressing you.

“How did you know that he was not me?”

You holster your weapon back, mulling over your answer. “Few things, uh… you never speak French to me,” you stuck out one finger, “you wouldn’t ever hug me,” another finger, “you don’t stand with your feet that far apart,” one more, “and you smell completely different.” with all but your thumb sticking out, you nodded to yourself before jamming both hands into your pants pockets, tucking in your chin and turning heel back to the door, seemingly finished with your explanation and conversation.

Amused, Jacque took another slow drag of his cigarette, planning on paying more attention to you in the future, being sure never to underestimate you again.

-this, uuuuuhhh, took on a life of its own-

[widowsofchaos]

Here With You

summary: The weight of drugs can break any relationships, but your love for him is greater.

pairing: Mike Weiss x black!reader

10. “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?”

12. “Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.”

Beta by @avintagekiss24 A big thanks to my good sis! Thank for being such a great friend on taking the time to help edit!🤍

warnings: fluff and angst.

a/n: this is 1/2 of my submissions for @angrybirdcr ‘s 200 follower challenge! I choose to write for Chris Evan’s character Mike Weiss. Great underrated film! Thanks for hosting, babe! <3 thank you for being so understanding on my lateness on my submissions! <3 sorry again for being late!

do not repost my works!

This wasn’t new -- this feeling of dread --- awaiting for the shit-storm of pain, and the rainfall of tears. A slow, and yet tender feeling like a blossoming bruise. The inside of your cavity feels shattered by every inhale of a strained wheeze.

Cloudiness floats around your skull like a haze, but you move on auto-pilot --- your feet move by the surge of determination, and commitment; a bitter-sweet twinge weighs on your tongue to witness someone you love fall apart at the seams.

It’s 3 in the morning now, the moon beams high in the inky sky. The apartment is blanketed by darkness, cautiously all lights are off. Chaos ensues, your heart lurches at the muffled vomiting, and whimpers from the bedroom down the hall. Your fingers tighten around the bucket, clutching as the plastic digs into your palm.

Two chilled soaked rags hang limply over your forearm. Breathless as your footfalls dash against the carpeting, bolting through the room to see Mike slumped-over the edge of the bed, his legs tangled in wrinkled sheets.

Drenched sweat soaks through two thick pillows --- now a bit flat, and wet --- blankets strewn around by fits of rage or Mike crying that his skin is too boiling hot. A lone lit lamp illuminates the room into a dim dewy yellow flourish --- an excess of light hurts Mike’s eyes, and gives him a migraine.

The bulb emitting makes his entire body shine by the sheen of sweat, shivering, and groans of your name slips from his quivering pink lips.

Half of his body leaning over the mattress, his trembling fingers shakingly gripping the carpeted flooring, as if he was trying to crawl his way out of bed. “I’m here, Mikey. I’m here.” A broken sob escapes your lips, as you gently fall on your knees beside him. Tears break its watery shield, and collide down your cheeks to see Mike crumble.

Drool pooling from his mouth, and puke residue sits at the corner of his lips. His eyes pinching shut-tight, crying at the pain, you shushing him as you caress his cheek.

With all your strength, with gentle hands, you push Mike over on his back, guilt coiling in the pit of your belly at him moaning. Your hands sliding underneath his armpits, you maneuver him -- twisting his torso, and legs so his body can lay horizontally on the bed.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Mike croaks, his voice was hoarse, and raw. You bundle a bit of your nightie in your hand, to wipe his mouth --- it didn’t matter, you’ll wash it later. “It’s okay. No need to apologize.” You stroke your knuckles sweetly against his cheek, reassuring him by touch and voice that you want to be here; to remind him you’re here for the long haul.

You kiss the crease between his furrowing brows, then your lips featherly trail upward, and kiss his forehead, with no hesitation to sweat sticking to your mouth. “You’re still a bit warm, but the fever is going down.” You spoke breathlessly against his skin, your lips tickling his skin.

Gingerly laying the rag on his forehead, Mike sighs in relief, his lashes fluttering closed at the cooling sensation surging through his buzzing head.

It’s been four days of Mike going raw cold-turkey. Four days of pure hell for Mike, and four days of pure grief for yourself.

In the beginning of this trial, when the drugs began flushing out of his system Mike wasn’t himself --- it was as if he’s a frothing beast scouting for substance. Screaming matches spewing from his irritation, itching between these four walls; Mike resembling a caged animal.

Pure rage masking self-hatred; anger at the aches deep in his muscles, pity at that maybe he can’t do this.

To accomplish sobriety.

Vomiting with his head limp, and deep in the toilet, hours of crying, and pleas for that one last hit --- Mike screaming for God to end him, and that he doesn’t deserve you. Cradling him in your arms, rocking him like an infant, as he sputters incoherent cries; speaking in hushed tones in his ear that you love him --- all his flaws, and scars.

What provoked his final decision to get clean, and start a new slate for one’s health, life longevity, and to keep your love --- was a discovery he dreamt to have long ago but felt he wasn’t deserving to earn.

“I’m sorry --- a-about the ca--r-rpet.” Mike whispers in choppy puffs, whining low. Jesus, this man is in pain, and he’s worried about you being mad at the carpet? You shook your head slightly, gesturing to him that you weren’t mad.

“Don’t apologize for that, it’s nothing. I’ll clean it later.” You spoke in a calm hush, as you placed the bucket on the floor, next to his bedside.

Your hand delicately pad against the clammy biceps with one rag, testing his bodily temperature, taking the remaining rag off of your slightly cold-numbing skin.

You kiss the corner of his brow, as you rub down his chest with the crisp rag, his lips part as an airy breath laced with deep relief escapes; as the refreshing fabric graces his flesh. His chest hair swirled a bit under the comforting circular motions.

Admiring his body, your eyes trace over every ink stroke of his tattoos adorning him. Sheen of water linger as you soothe Mike, silently reciting the Buddhist quote on his chest. Through the rag, you trace the designs of his tattoos by the tips of your fingers --- soft as petals.

Your hand travels the rag downward his torso to dull the slight overheating. Mike hums lowly with his eyes laxly closed shut, his breathing now ceasing into an easy rhythm. Memories begin flooding Mike’s head, as his breathing relaxes steadily. Recollections of how Mike and yourself met years prior --- four years to be exact --- at the hospital you work at.

It was a dark cloudy day, the outside world drenched with heavy pouring rain; the atmosphere was thick with dread, and scented with antiseptic. Sniveling, and irritated with a forthcoming migraine, the flickering lightening tube hovering above him was like a menacing tick, making him twitch internally; as he laid in the hospital bed.

Balling the white blue-polka dotted hospital gown into his fists, the fabric bundling between his fingers. Mike was silent, as he scanned his environment motionlessly.

Accidental overdose is the verdict. Sunken eyes with lavender hues, as the mulling cadence of ringing phones, bustling chatter of nurses, and squeaking footfalls of passing doctors flood the hallways.

A click of the door opening, and in all your glory, your hair tied in a bun with a few curls straying, wearing a purple nurse uniform, a clipboard clutched in your palm, Nike sneakers for comfort --- being on your feet all day --- and a name tag boldly showcasing your printed name.

In your palm, are clear bags of his folded clothing, and shoes. Nicely you place the bags at the edge of the bed near Mike’s feet.

“Hello Mr. Weiss. How are you feeling right now?” A melodic timbre that soothed Mike, lulling his weary mind to a blissful state. The concern didn’t go unnoticed, how you worded your question in the namesake of professionalism, and humane authenticity.

‘Right now?’ Usually people would ask how he’s feeling as if he wasn’t struggling prior with the question, ‘How are you today?’ and his usual response would be, ‘Shitty.’ sealed with a somber shit-eating grin, but you asked how he’s feeling right now, so you can help him, not analyze him.

You didn’t sound fake, nor condescending. Usually a lot of medical staff didn’t have much regard for addicts, nor at least a speck of pity or sympathy. Mike’s tongue was heavy, struggling a little to speak up.

Gaping his mouth open and closed, like a mindless goldfish. You peeked over your clipboard, with a sweet arched brow, giggling lowly to yourself --- your brown hues sparkling in amusement. It was a tiring day, so to see this man stammering over his words was beyond cute, and the highlight of your day.

“Are you okay?” You asked with a small curling smile, hiding your snickering behind the clipboard, with only musing eyes squinting in giggles appearing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m actually better now.” Mike perked up, coughing a bit as his voice was hoarse, bashful, and his pale cheeks dusting pink. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Why in the fuck am I floundering? Get a grip, Mike! Mike never stuttered around women, always flirtatious. This was new for him.

“That’s good. How is your body feeling after the sedatives? Any discomfort right now?” Your soft voice interrupted his rampant thoughts.

“Just a bit groggy, but what else is new?” Mike humorlessly chuckles, as he shamelessly eyes your body. You notice him checking you out, but you elect to ignore him with a warm smile — but you couldn’t deny, you’re silently enjoying his wordless flirtation; despite your fatigued stature, this man still saw attraction to you.

“I promise it’ll pass. Just get some rest, and stay hydrated.” With a flick of your carmine painted nails, you smoothly perked the clipboard on your waist as you unlatched the metal clip, retrieving a few handbills.

“Here I have chosen a few pamphlets for rehab centers, and a few numbers for therapy agencies.”

“I don’t need those.” Mike pushed your out-stretched hand gently away.

You arched your brow at him, clicking your tongue at his ignorance, “And why don’t you need them?” You inquire kindly, a cautious tone; not wanting to release this man from the hospital’s care, just to snort and shoot up into an early grave.

“Listen, I can tell you’re sweet. Too sweet for someone like me to be concerned with. I’ve tried to get clean, and it never works. It’s just not for me.” Mike hastily sits up, slinging his legs over the bed, flinging the thin blanket off of him, “It’s not worth it.” He mutters under his breath.

You were entirely taken back, wincing at how low he talks of himself. Intently watching this man hastily open the bags to get his clothes, the edge of his jaw pinched pink --- like ripe warm peaches. Was it due to embarrassment?

You place the papers on the bed, as you walk more closely to him.

“You are worth it.” You place his cold hands into yours, cupping as if you’re cradling. Trying to get to his eye-level, make him see that you were serious.

He doesn’t dare to glance your way, “Doesn’t matter.” Mike insists, slowly seizing his hands from your grasp, “Why bother trying only to fail? And then disappoint everyone all over again?” His nose was flaring, not wanting to lash his tongue at you, just at the idea of his addictions being the topic of discussion irks him.

It’s not that he doesn’t want help … it’s that hopeless sinking feeling, that he’s just incurable. A burden. A problem, masking pain with sarcasm and substance to numb it all. A demon clawing at his shoulder, spitting self-hate in his ear.

You’re just not worth the trouble, Mike.

As he stood up from the bed, stretching out his shirt, he noticed from the corner of his eye that you were staring at him worriedly. On instinct, pulling the mask down to cover his anguish once more.

“Wanna help me get dressed, sweetheart?” A curling faux self-confident smirk that was forced, you sniff out like a bloodhound. You immediately caught on the familiar behavior, a usual route for patients to cope out with defense mechanisms. You saw this tactic day in and day out.

But more importantly, it’s one you use too well.

“It may not feel like it now, but it’s not impossible. You’re not the first patient I had who felt this way.” You spoke with conviction, ignoring the insistent words ushered by doctors from the past that were ringing at the back of your head, you can't help someone if they don’t want to get help.

It’s not a martyr shtick, nor a God complex --- but how Mike looked so distressed and sickly as he was pulled in the hospital on the stretcher pained you straight in the heart, parallel to many others before.

“You never know if you don’t try.” You perk your hands on your hips, with an insisting stance. It wasn’t pushy, but Mike could tell you weren’t going to back down.

How you stood firmly with the hands perched on your curvous hips that strained subtly against the cotton uniform --- it was hot, how you stood your ground to him, yet no insulting persistence. Your bubble cheeks scrunching up so cutely. Mike just couldn’t help but be turned on, maybe it's your caring nature mixing into it.

Mike breathed through his nose, his head hung low, his hands sinking into the mattress. A sign of defeat, not entirely submitting, but how your words were honeyed with sterling sweetness got him to halt, and process how his life led up to here.

He glimpses through his long pretty lashes, “Alright --” He cheekily scans your name-tag, pretending he didn’t already memorized it from the moment you walked in.“Y/n. I’ll go. You’re pretty convincing. Maybe you should have been a lawyer too.”

“Oh --- you’re a lawyer, huh?”

“An unlikable one to be exact.”

You suck your teeth teasingly, “I highly doubt that. You seem likeable to me.” You pucker your bee-stung lips with jovial tease, as you tug on the curtain surrounding his bed to offer privacy, his eyes zero on your soft lips that glisten with chapstick sheen, his arms mid-frozen holding onto his articles of clothing.

“Now get dressed, and we’ll get you out of here.” You chuckle, only the shadow of your stihollute appears. Mike chuckles to himself, a little shake of his head, he liked you from the very start.

You knew the circumstances of dating an addict, from day one you knew the weight of his demons Mike carried on his back. He laid all his cards on the table, and you leaped into this life with him head-first.

But how could you not fall for him? His charm, his blunt wit, his intelligence, his kindness and that beautiful face? Only a fool would be blind not to be swooned off their feet for the one and only Mike Weiss. After the first -- rather intense --- first meeting, it was definitely not the last encounter for Mike and yourself.

After agreeing to go to a rehab program, Mike flirted with you immensely; along with requesting for you to accompany him on his first day. “For moral support.” he shrugged, a flirtatious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His first day was stoic, but with hushed side-commentary, and sly remarks. Muffling your laughter, you would poke his ribs, silently telling him to knock it off. It didn’t take long for an unusual friendship to develop. You really didn’t see it coming, and if Mike was to be honest, he didn’t either.

The realization of deep love was agnated to a love-drunk punch to the heart.

Days blurring into weeks into months with good morning and goodnight calls, late night conversations - those were the heart-shattering times. It was difficult for Mike to open up his layers, bottling his hurt inside to the point of shaking sobs at 3 am, clutching the phone.

Choppy incoherent words, spurts of feeling worthless. It began with you two having brunch which then led into dinner dates. Soon trust was earned, and you began hanging out at his house or your apartment.

A nurturing nurse and a sardonic lawyer becoming friends--his dry humor doesn’t rub you the wrong way, or how you don’t see it as obnoxious.

“Later when you take a shower, I’ll get you fresh sheets.” You murmur sweetly, as you finished massaging him. Mike slowly peels his eyes open, hooded and squinting. Your voice is silvery to his ears, it always appeases his darkest times --- like that hopeful light at the end of the tunnel.

Silently his eyes raked over your body, your hushed voice brought him back to reality. As he soaked in your appearance, Mike couldn’t stomach how tired you were, your eyes were droopy, your curls sloppily disrayed. As his eyes traveled from your exhausted face to your breasts that swelled over the past weeks to the ample bump protruding against your nightie.

Now entering into your second trimester.

Mike began silently crying, pinching his eyes shut as lone tears spilled down his cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. We’re getting through this, I’m so proud of you.” You kiss his wet cheeks, not minding the salty tears that kiss his eyes. Nimble sweet kisses, and cooing. You knew how hard he was working to get sober.

“You don’t need this shit.” Mike croaked, not daring to open his eyes, and see the pity in yours.

“Stop that. I love you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” You caress his cheeks by the gentle graze of your knuckles, shushing him. Lulling him to calm down from a pending panic attack.

You soft humming quills him, with only a sniffle here and there. You kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you.” Mike mutters under his breath. You giggle under your breath, feeling a bit bashful --- how can he make you so shy even after three years together?

You snivel a bit, biting back a sheen of tears, “And I love you too.” You’ll never get tired of saying that.

It’s been a long road, filled with bumps and turbulence. Many women would have left a long time ago, abandoning Mike at his lowest, but you just couldn’t. You’re too addicted to Mike, from the taste of him, to his scent, to the feel of his skin. His sharp tongue, and his humanity.

There was a moment in this journey that almost halted this life together, where you both had to address every bleeding crevice. It was a toxic mixture of your denial, and Mike’s instinct to push anyone close to him away.

It’s not that you didn’t want to help Mike, or face reality --- you were afraid. Scared that Mike was hurting himself, and all the progress you both built together was deteriorating at the seams, but then his honeyed words of promises of getting better would wrap your head in a rose-tinted daze.

Mike wasn’t trying to convince you, but himself. Just to chip off on the drugs, to keep himself afloat --- that this time it’ll be okay. He can balance his sanity, and his urges of substance that makes him feel ‘whole’. But that was just a temporary moment of brief delusion.

It was about three months ago, your shift at work was a tiresome blur, bustling on auto-pilot. The soles of your feet were aching, the nape of your back was droning in a dull pinch, and your eyes were slightly burning. Your worn body was screaming, and yearning for the comfort of your soft bed, and just to cuddle in Mike’s arms.

But there was a sense of … queasiness yet gleeful.

For days on end, you were puking in the early hours of the morning, your head hanging in the toilet. Waves of nausea, and finally, the nail in the coffin, you realized that your period was five weeks late. A hunch was hovering over your head, like a burning bright bulb. Finally, biting the bullet, and putting on your big girl pants, during a lunch break, you took a blood-test, and sent a cup of your urine to the labs for testing.

Once the results came back to you a few days later, you were speechless for the remainder of the day.

You were deary with worry, unable to conjure the words to form the discovery of yours. As you parked the car in-front of the house, cutting the engine off with the flick of your wrist, snatching the keys. Living with Mike has become a better part of your life, coming home to a person who loves you, and who would hold you, holding them. Grounding yourself back to earth in warmth, blending into one, melting your worldly problems away.

Reminding that you’re not alone.

With a groan, you weaved out of the car, locking it, and trekked up the walkway to the porch. Arching your arm, as your open-palm was rubbing your tail-bone as you waltzed to the front-door, thanking God and his angels that you were able to leave work early.

Dunking your hand in your bag, fumbling for your house-keys, mumbling under your breath as you blearily tried to conduct the proper way to tell Mike the truth, ansty and yet giddy at the toes --- to tell him you’re pregnant.

You always wanted a family, but over the years, the desired fantasy was slowly being strangled with dwindling hope, never really connecting to any soul --- until now, with Mike. Yawning mindlessly, you inserted a key into the lock, twisting, and opening the door.

“Mike, I’m home. I have something to tell you—” A cheery tone falters into silence.

Your foggy haze of exhaustion was smacked off your face, as you almost nearly stumbled off your own feet. Prejuticle vomit bubbling at the back of your throat, as startled eyes all look into you, you felt like a trespasser in your own home.

Witnessing a mass of people seated in your living room, snorting lines off the now stained and scratched coffee glass table, startled as they drink heavily and sloppily gulps liquor, as fogs of nicotine floods the air — staring at you with wide eyes.

Rooted in the middle sector of the couch, eyes bulging with fear, hot under the collar, was Mike himself, sniffling back remnants of coke deep into his nostrils, bare-chested in his red suspenders, and dress pants.

“That’s just great.” You mutter under your breath, a cracked sigh of breath; your jaw clicking to the side, Mike knows that tic very well. Your arms fall limply to your waist, as a gesture of defeat.

You walk away, exhaustion setting and resting in your bones, as your feet guide you upstairs. Begrudgingly so, an unbearable itch at the back of your throat, dying to just scream on the top of your lungs.

Scream and cry.

You can faintly hear Mike alert his friends to pack up and go, scuffling of footfalls and inebriated murmuring begin to flow out of the house. A few chuckles and finally …. it was silent, with the slam of the front door the only indicator that it’s just you and Mike — finally alone.

Fidgety fingers nearly tear the fabric off of you, tugging it off your body button by button with an edge of boiling rage, and a sheen of tears burning at the brim of your eyes. All the joy slowly zaps slowly out of your pores, now a dreary sadness now weighs on your shoulders.

Have I not done enough? To help Mike? Maybe my help wasn’t enough? Maybe his pain is too deep-rooted in him, maybe he has to push himself first to make the first move for recovery? Has he been lying all this time? Maybe he’s never been sober during the entire duration of the relationship?

You suspected it, felt the energy was off for quite some time, and yet you decided to play the love-sick fool dance the dance of denial.

A watery huff of a sigh. A dulling pain begins to throb and engulf your skull, an impending migraine just beyond the horizon. Clenching your jaw, nearly on the brink of grinding your teeth. A somber treading up the stairs looms near the bedroom, as you strip.

Dreading on what’s to come next, Mike was slowly walking to the bedroom, fearing a fight breaking out, worried that you’re going to leave him once and for all. But isn’t that what you wanted? For her to realize that you’re not good enough? Mike belittles and berates himself, as he is ever so delaying his steps.

Counting his steps like the sheeps to lull him at night, as he tries to collect his thoughts, already his tongue heavy with ale, ready to slur an apology. Trepidation beams at his brow, fearing the worse to come, that you’ll finally leave him.

His open-palm collides silently against the bedroom door, right on cue when he’s ready to push, he hears sniffles. Internally wincing at your pain, but like a bandage, he’s gotta rip it off.

Grovel on his knees, if he has to, kiss your feet like a goddess worshipped at an alter — anything for you not to hate him. Bringing strangers - swirly acquaintances - into your shared home, breaking your trust.

A creak of the hinges alerts you. Quickly wiping away your teary cheeks, you stand at your night-stand in nothing but your panties, straightening your hunched over form as you were sobbing into your folded clothes.

With a firm shove of the drawer, you close it, gripping your nightie in one hand, and the other clenching into a fist that hovers over your heart. Trying to level your breathing, not wanting to scare off Mike, you know that he’s hurting too.

You can feel his stare burning holes in the back of your skull.

“Mike, I’m just going to take a shower and head off to bed.” You turn your body around, now facing his mopey face, wanting desperately to just kiss him, and hug him. “I suggest putting a bottle of water at the night-stand to keep hydrated throughout the night, and a bucket to be precautious.” You force a forlorn smile, as you place the nightie on the bed.

Uncertain feet tap against the flooring, you walk hesitatingly at first, towards Mike, placing your palm on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing against his skin. A kiss on his lips, ever so featherly soft. “I’m not mad. We’ll get through this.” You rub the tip of your nose against his sweetly.

Mike knows you’re not mad, it’s beyond that. Mad is just scratching the surface, his heart aches to see your eyes watery, and nearly splotchy pink at the rims. “I hate it when you do that.” Mike’s hoarse voice makes you flinch, as if it grated against your ears.

“Excuse me?” Your nose scrunches up, as your cheeks puff out. “Hate what exactly, Mike? Me supporting you bothers you?” You move away from him, sniffing back your tears, shaking a little at the hands, the back of your knees collide against the bed, softly thudding yourself against the mattress.

“No. You pretending you’re not mad. Pretending that everything is okay.” His nose flares, his chest heaving. Wanting to scream, for you to scream. Just let it all go. Too much is bottling like a ticking time bomb.

“But I’m not mad.” You hiss through your teeth.

“Yes the fuck you are! Admit it! Stop acting like a martyr for one moment, and just say it! Say how you really feel! Say I’m a junkie!”

“Stop it, Mike! You’re just a little …” You trail off, biting your tongue, before anything stupid or insensitive spills out. Forbidding any word to spew out, and hurt him. No matter how infuriated you are, you just couldn’t lash out at him.

“Like what? Fucked up? News flash, Y/n, I’m fucked up. Stop acting as if you can fix me! You act like I can just pick up my mistakes and move along.” Mike shouts, now pacing, practically burning a hole in the carpeting.

“Shut up! I was going to say high!” You hastily stand up to your feet, “And I’m so fucking sorry, that me loving you is a fucking problem. That I see you as you are, a fucking human being, not some addict. Because that’s not what defines you, but you want it to be. You can’t stand to see yourself as anything but.” You cry, your hands not knowing where to put them at, just shaking in mid-air.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Mike barks in your face, tears ready to fall down his stubbled cheeks.

“No it’s not!” You stomp your foot, your toes curling into the carpet. “You refuse to let me in! Instead you seek comfort in strangers, come together to get high, and fuck it all!” Your hand weaves in the air, angrily gesturing; harshly slamming against your thigh.

“You don’t even fucking know me!” By now, his nose is connected to yours. He doesn’t know why he’s screaming at you, lashing you with his insecurities, but how you just won’t admit that this isn’t helping you either. You’re hurting too.

Jesus, his brain is muddled. Fried. He wants to cry, and beg your forgiveness for what he has said, fall to his knees and just hold you, but instead, here he is, shouting at you. He doesn’t feel like a man, he feels lower than dirt.

“Then let me get to know you! You only feed me scraps, thinking that can subdue me, I want you to open up to me!”

“Why? So you can get some self-satisfaction by helping a charity case?” Mike growled, it was a watery one. “I told you from day one, I’m not worth it!” Mike thrashes trinkets off the drawer with his hand, products and little figurines collide on the floor with a thud, “You don’t need this shit! You don’t need me!” Mike screams on the top of his lungs, now hunching over, falling on his knees, as you sink into yourself; covering your mouth from sobbing too loud.

Have you been coming off as pretentious? Pushing him to keep positive, kind affirmations every-day, reminding him to eat healthy, telling him he’s great no matter what, hovering over him to keep sober? Hovering too much? Pushing too hard?

But you couldn’t help it … you love him too much.

“But I need you.” It was a pitiful sob, his arched spine quivering, his shoulders tense, his fingers digging into the cotton fibers. Slowly, you kneel down, your fingers tentatively rub between his shoulder blades; Mike savoring the touch of your finger tips against his clammy skin.

Seconds felt like minutes, biting your lip as you kept rubbing and soothing him, it always helped him calm down. Finally he spoke up, and what he will say will break your heart, “Do you know how it feels to wish for death every day?” Mike choked on a sob, his head bobs a bit to sniffle.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Baby …” You cry, finally a heavy waterfall crashes down. Holding him, your chest against his sculpted back, “Please talk to me. I don’t want to lose you.” Wet little kisses on him, mumbling, “Please tell me.” Fresh tears water his back.

“I love you too much to pull you down. To my own hell. It’s not right. You’re too pure.” Mike picks his head up, your hands cup his cheeks. Your brows furrowing, shaking your head at him.

“I need you.” You whispered. “I will go to bat in Hell, for you. Sock Satan in the mouth if I have too.” You chuckle, and luckily, he chuckles too with that cute signature Weiss smirk.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I just …” Mike hung his head, sighing. Hating that he lied for months, he was doing good, he was clean for a period of time. But he got hit with a big case, and the stress got too much.

Drugs were easier than asking for help.

“Then why did you keep pushing me away?” You tilted your head, to manage eye contact. You never wanted to push him too hard just to open up to you. Knowing that it only could make him crawl deep inside himself.

“Because I couldn’t bear the idea of you choosing to stay with me out of pity or guilt.” Mike rubs his cheek against yours, “I never had anyone love me, never held anything good.” Mike blubbered.

“I love you for you. Flaws and all. I’m here for the long haul.” Blinking back wet lashes, you lean in more against his face, with a gentle squeeze of his cheeks in the cusp of your hands.

“I love you too.” It was simply sweet. Shy, even. Mike nudges his face against yours, his lips trailing down your pulse point. Your ultimate weakness.

Mike hedges himself at the knees, as he engulfs your nude body in his arms; as you wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss the joint of his jaw, and with ease, Mike lifts you by his palms on your ass, standing upward with you in his grasp.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper in his ear, “Come take a shower with me.” Caressing your face against his, Mike nodded silently. With quiet steps, and two hearts beating against one, Mike waltzes into the bathroom.

With his fore-arm holding you by the bum, his free hand unzipped himself, the click of his zipper made you quiver underneath your skin. His enchanting warmth shoved your secret in the back burner of your mind, but the journey of it twisting and morphing made you worried — slowly your concern of the possibility of losing the father of your unborn baby was temporarily replaced with touch starvation.

Like a balm to a gashing wound.

It was there but subtle, and quiet. Awaiting it’s time to arise at an unexpecting time, to snatch your heart and squeeze.

The shower was warm and inviting, it helped a little clear Mike’s stuffy sinuses. Your fingers twirling and massaging in Mike’s chest hair, as you both cling onto each other as a life-line. Mike kissed the middle of your brows, as his hands were unwavering from your body.

Silence --- the type that doesn’t need to be filled with unnecessary chatter --- comfortable --- speaking louder than words. His tears blending into the spraying water, and his small tremors were the signs that he was genuinely sorry; and with open arms, you forgive him.

Bathing each other has always been a favorite of yours, so intimate, the soapy sensation of wet skin, the intense eye contact — how perfectly his forehead connects with yours. How soft your touch is against his sex, coddling and cleaning him with care and precision.

Mike rubs the soapy sponge against the terrain of your shoulder blades, trailing down the arch of your spine leaving electric kisses down your spine. A breathy gasp at this welcoming intrusion of Mike seeping the sponge between your asscheeks.

Small lathery cadence intermixing with your wanton moans, as your fingernails scratch slightly against Mike’s back. Mike groaned, it felt so good — the smooth and slippery scratches made him hiss, it was a good pinch of pain.

Cheeky as ever, you slipped your hands to cup his his toned ass; Mike chuckled, mumurming under his breath, his pink lips against your soaked dome, “Greedy brat.” This wasn’t an escape from your issues, clearly both of you need to open the air to discuss your emotions --- a needed shower for two was a nice reprieve from the emotional turmoil.

To clear your heads.

After the shower, and moisturizing, helping Mike into bed, you were braiding your hair, but you were unusually silent. It was time to tell him … now or never. His finger curls against your bare back, fiddling with the thin silk straps against his tips.

You turn your face, your palm holding his fingers. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Mike spoke quietly, as he laid his back against the headboard. His twirling fingers put you a little ease, but it’s not enough, you have to speak up.

“I have to tell you something …” You trail off, your tone puts him at unease. Your gaze is lowered, Mike shifts his hand away, and perks it underneath your chin.

Making you look at him, with a calm poker-face, Mike insists you, with the soft whisper of your name. Biting your lower lip, his thumb quickly tugging it down. “I’m — I’m pregnant.” Wide eyes gawk into Mike’s own widen orbs, wide as dinner plates.

His breathing got heavy, and soon choppy. You quickly put your hand over his heart, shushing him. “It’s going to be okay. Baby, it’s going to be okay.” A lone tear trails down your cheek, thinking of the worst, you believe Mike is going to bolt out of your life out of fear.

“Is that … ” Mike swallows, “Is that what you wanted to tell me earlier?” His chin wobbles, as you nod, unable to speak. His eyes lower to your flat tummy, hesitantly he cups your belly. His fingers caressing the silk clad skin, he began to cry. Just unraveling in your hold.

That night, you held him tight, and he clung to you tightly; his head laid on your stomach, his tears shedding against your nightie. Mike felt …. scared. Throughout the night, he would mumble that he wasn’t good dad material, but you always tell him, “You’re going to be great.”

That was four months ago, and throughout those four months, Mike was up and down, on and off of drugs, but finally … he stopped. He cried when he first heard your baby’s heartbeat, that’s when he began his rocky path back to sobriety.

Four months of self-hate, sometimes he would leave his journals open for you to read, he couldn’t properly express himself verbally, but in writing, he said it all. He was afraid of the rehab campus’, he preferred your expertise and comfort to nurse him back.

But he couldn’t do this to you, your pregnancy shouldn’t be a stressful one. He knows what he must do.

Mike opened his eyes once more, coming back to reality. Four months and he’s still here. “I’m ready.” His voice was small, yet confident. As if a surge of power consumed his body. His eyes shine with determination.

You were taken back, “Ready for what?” You ask nervously. You bite down on your bottom lip, a little habit you have yet to kick, you would bite your lip till it cracked and bleed.

“To go back to rehab. I gotta do this right.” You hold back a sob, kissing his forehead. “I want to do right for our baby.” Mike weakly smiles, you smile back. You can already envision your shared future, how Mike will protect and love your child. Happy and healthy, no longer fearing the shadow of death lingering near him.

“This baby is so lucky to have you as their daddy.” With the tips of your fingers, grazing his jaw, you lean down for a kiss. It’s a wispy yet passionate kiss. Sending electric waves down Mike’s spine.

“God, I love you.” Mike mumbles against your lips.

Mike Weiss, lawyer, ex-addict, a lover and a father. Oh, how lucky you are to have him, and how blessed he feels to have you.