#head of financials who is just So Tired of dealing with all this

[yzafre]

The thing about TMNT 2012 is that while I like Rise more on an as-is basis, '12 gives me more creative inspiration.

Part of that is the "they dropped all these interesting, weird character beats then refused to do anything more than surface-level writing with them, if that", which makes me want to pull them apart and put them back together and write out what I was wanting from the character writing the whole time. That instinct to say "okay but what if they did this. focused on this. developed this. did this better." Which... is a thing I might eventually write out. It does exist rent free in my head, like... minimum 20% of the time lately. ((a problem when I need that space to finish my kh fic I've only got 5 chapters left to draft I'm so close))

But also it's like. I tell my self stories with a little enemy-to-ally OC guy in my head while driving or trying to sleep (as one does) and the next thing I know I'm thinking about like. The internal operations of the Foot clan. Shredder's branch in Japan vs Bradford's US branch. Like I think Shredder's was referred to as a crime family at some point, but was Bradford's? He wasn't just recruiting soldiers then making train and stay in waiting, was he?

And like, I assume he was recruiting through his martial arts classes, and I got the feeling his dojos were like a chain thing? Were they all across the country? What happened if he recruited from somewhere in California? Did he make them move to New York? Did he have, like... HR people to help him get situated?

What about Xever and Bradford's rivalry that supposedly pre-dates the show. Was Bradford just recruitment while Xever was doing jobs? Was Bradford also doing, like... missions or jobs? Were they usually tapped for different types of jobs? Were they, like, trying to improve their reputation and putting in bids so Shredder would send them more jobs over the other guy?

Bradford also had a TV show. So he had, like... businesses? With departments, maybe? Were those kept separate, or were they part of the whole crime family.... thing. Were anyone used for money laundering? Did the people working for them know what Bradford was up to? Were they staffed with Foot clan recruits? Who was in charge of Finances?

And like if they were doing actual crime things... what were they? Do I need to look up how crime families work to see how all they earn money? Was it really mundane or were they doing more complicated ninja stuff? ((I bet you could do crazy insider training if you could break into any company in the world. Also if you could sabotage companies to control the market. I don't know, the most I know about crime is what you see in Leverage.))

Also, like... equipment. The uniforms, and the weapons, and the gear, for all those recruits, that's gotta come from somewhere. How is that.. handled? Do they have free rein? Get a certain amount per year but have to pay if they lose it? Always have to buy it themselves? Where does it come from? Do they own the manufacturers through, like, shell companies? Do they have an R&D department that doesn't do combat? Information and logistics?

And suddenly I'm so many layers deep in it and I turn around and I don't just have one guy living in my head, I've got like - 6 at minimum.

[zepskies]

RED-EYE

Pairing: Jason Teague x Reader

Summary: Your best friend is getting married. Naturally, you’re running late for your flight back home to good old Smallville, Kansas, and so is the handsome stranger who saves you.

AN: Here’s my second to last entry for @jacklesversebingo!

**Remember that Smallville was circa early 2000s, the time of flip phones, physical clocks, and paper airplane tickets. Also, this story is going to be AU in certain ways from the season 4 storyline with Jason. (You’ll see.)

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: Running late for the same flight.

Posted on Patreon: 3/24/3025

Song Inspo: “First Time” by Lifehouse – in true 2000s alt-rock fashion.

Word Count: 4.8K

Tags/Warnings: Meet cute, fluff and hijinks, hint of college woes, twist ending~

Despite all your meticulous plans, you still managed to be late to the airport.

But you’d been prepared, damn it! Packed to perfection as you made sure you had everything for your trip with all your luggage laid out and ready to go for your flight.

You even had a sandwich waiting on the kitchen counter, along with a thermos full of ice-cold water and an apple for extra nutrition and sustenance. You were so damn prepared that you got cocky.

Smiling and inwardly patting yourself on the back for a job well done, but also bone tired from said preparing, you decided to reward yourself with a quick nap. You fairly face-planted on your bed and released a sigh that you felt in every muscle of your body melting into the mattress.

Ten minutes. Twenty, tops. Then you’d wake up refreshed and ready to get a taxi over to JFK.

Three hours later, you woke up like the parents in Home Alone, bolting upright frazzled and confused. Then you checked the clock on your nightstand.

Oh, SHIT.

You scrambled out of bed and nearly twisted your ankle in the mess of blankets.

It was lucky for you that you lived in a city that never slept. Within ten minutes, the taxi you called pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building. You had your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder, basically resting on your back as you heaved your monumental suitcase down the concrete steps. Those last ten were easy, compared to the first few flights from your third-floor apartment unit.

Getting this thing back up there is gonna be a bitch when I come home, you realized, but that was a Future You problem. Present You had enough shit to deal with.

It wasn’t until you settled in the backseat of the taxi with a huff that you remembered what you forgot: your sandwich. Thermos. Apple. Health all gone out the window.

Perfect.

You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on, came the thought that suspiciously sounded like your best friend. You didn’t think that was exactly fair though, considering she got into way more trouble than you on a frighteningly consistent basis—and way worse than nearly missing your flight back home.

You got to the John F. Kennedy International Airport at 11:30 at night for a flight that was supposed to leave at exactly 12:15 a.m. Yes, red-eyes suck, but it was the best you could afford that didn’t have any layovers. Living by yourself in Manhattan wasn’t easy, and not just financially. Somehow though, you were doing it.

You were proving your parents wrong, along with everyone who said smalltown girls couldn’t make it in big cities.

You stormed into the airport through a pair of heavy glass doors, lugging your purse and carry-on over one shoulder and the handle of your suitcase in hand. You were halfway to the line to get your ticket verified and your bag checked, when the weight you were dragging behind you suddenly felt much lighter. You stumbled in your ankle boots.

You looked down and realized you were holding a broken plastic handle in your hand. With wide eyes, you turned back and found your suitcase lying on the floor, a sad monstrosity on its side, now with two prongs of black metal poking out without a handle. The damn thing fucking broke.

“You gotta be shitting me!” you groaned as you struggled to pick up your suitcase by one of the now jagged beams coming out of it. “You can’t just give up, dude! You’re killin’ me here.”

To be fair, the suitcase was heavy as hell. You’d probably overpacked.

“Uh, you need some help?”

You looked up at the question, meeting a pair of green eyes and the handsome face of a young man. His short, blondish hair caught on the overhead lighting, brandishing the ends of it golden. He was dressed down in some dark wash jeans, a forest green shirt, and a sporty looking jacket. He looked preppy, like the jocks you used to avoid like the plague in college, but his concern seemed genuine. He held a green duffel bag casually strapped over his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks, I’m good,” you said, your face warming in embarrassment. With a valiant heave, you got your suitcase up on its little wheels and dragged it rolling behind you by one of the broken extended parts. You paused, looking down at your other hand where the severed handle lied. Shaking your head and not knowing what else to do with it, you tossed it into your purse.

Preppy Guy graciously let you get in line ahead of him. You nodded at him in thanks with a brief smile, not quite able to look him in the eyes through your embarrassment.

Another few minutes, and you made it to the front of the line. Iris read the name tag of the woman at the reception desk. She greeted you with a bland smile at best. You didn’t blame her. It was almost midnight, and your flight was set to take off in less than half an hour.

“I’m going to need your ticket and ID, hun,” she said.

“Of course.” You were already digging through your purse, nodding, but you stopped short. You found your wallet with your driver’s license, but where the hell was your ticket?

“Oh my God,” you uttered, more furiously digging through your purse. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

When you still came up empty, you began rifling through your little duffle bag next.

“Miss,” Iris tried, but you held up a hand.

“Wait, I have a ticket. Coach, Seat B12, Gate 9. I know because I printed it off and put it in here just a few hours ago…”

You gasped when it dawned on you.

You’d switched purses, opting for your messenger bag that could hold more stuff. You sort of remembered a folded-up piece of paper getting tossed to the floor when you stuffed the smaller, cuter purse in your suitcase.

“I forgot it. I can’t believe it,” you breathed. “I forgot my ticket. Oh God, I can’t miss this flight! My best friend is getting married tomorrow. I’m the Maid of Honor!”

“Okay, miss, calm down. It’s…cutting it close, but we might still have a seat available on this flight,” said Iris. She checked her computer screen again after typing in something. Her brown eyes narrowed on the screen. “Okay, wow, we actually do have a couple of seats left.”

“Great! I’ll take it,” you said, shaking your head. You were going to be out an extra $200 at least.

“They’re in first class,” she said. Her eyes met yours, and your face fell.

“And how much is one of those?” you asked dryly. Her face remained unreadable, but considering your broken and frayed ten-year-old suitcase on the platform, you both knew the answer. Too damn much.

“That’s going to be $1,000 with the late booking fee,” she replied.

You gaped. “Excuse me? $1,000 for a three-hour flight?! What, are you gonna tattoo the seat number on my ass? Is the fake leather chair actually made out of gold?”

Iris inhaled a deep breath, like she was just barely holding herself back from rolling her eyes. You knew you were being that bitch right now, and part of you hated yourself for it. You just couldn’t help it. You loved your friend like your own sister, but there was no way you could justify forking over what little savings you had to cover this, even if you were staying with your parents to save money while you were in Smallville. 

“Ah, excuse me,” a smooth voice interjected.

Once again, you found yourself staring into the eyes of a stranger—the same Preppy Guy from earlier. He was still behind you in line, but now closer, hovering a respectful distance to your left. He raised a hand that said, I come in peace.

“I couldn’t help but, um, overhear,” he said, making you frown. Your cheeks lit aflame with embarrassment, but before you could offer a sharp retort, he shocked you with an offer. “I’ve got like, a bunch of frequent flyer miles. I can help you out, use ‘em to get you a ticket.”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. Look, I can’t ask you to do that—”

“Well, good thing you’re not asking,” he said. He gave you a smile infused with boyish charm. “Really, it’s no trouble. Also considering I’m on the same flight, and it’s about to take off in…”

He checked the silver Rolex on his wrist. “About twenty minutes.”

Your frown dropped in shock. Fuck! You needed to get through security and to your gate before the plane took off without you.

You debated internally with yourself for a moment, chewing on your lower lip. Was this guy for real? Or was he just trying to hook you in, like a man who thought you’d owe him something extra just because he decided to buy you a drink at the bar. And this was a little bit more than a $10 cocktail.

Ultimately though, the man’s earnest demeanor and his kind green eyes won you over. You thanked him profusely while he paid for the ticket, and again afterward, when Iris handed it over to you. It may as well have been made of shining gold, like you were gaining admission into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

“I’m Jason,” he said, and shook your adrenaline-trembling hand after you gave him your name in return. His smile could probably melt butter. If not, the cut of his jaw would slice right through it. 

You held the ticket tightly in your hand, still somewhat in shock as you and your savior jogged together over to Security. You checked your big suitcase after he paid for the ticket, which left you with just your carry-on messenger bag.

“I still can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you,” you said, trying to regain your breath while you set down your things in a bin to get through the security checkpoint.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t kidding about those miles…mostly,” he said, while taking off his jacket, followed by his shoes. The man was tall, with broad shoulders to match despite his lithe frame. Your gaze couldn’t help but follow the movement of his muscles flexing under the thin shirt and jacket. He looked…athletic. Your instinct was probably right about the preppy jock thing.

“Sure,” you said, beginning to smile.

The two of you managed to make it without hassle through the security checkpoint. All you needed was your belongings to come through on the conveyor belt, like groceries you already owned.

“I’ve never flown first class,” you admitted.

He chuckled and glanced over at you. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me. You know what is?”

“What?”

“Good company,” he said. A hint of flirtatious charm in his eyes made your insides flip with butterflies, despite your lips pursing.

“Ooh, buddy. What exactly do you think you’re getting out of this? I’m grateful, but I’m not that grateful,” you warned. You grabbed up your stuff from the bin and quickly put your sweater back on and your bag over your shoulder.

Jason faltered, his brows furrowing, but his smile won out. “Okay, not what I meant.”

His bin slid toward him, and he grabbed his jacket and other things quickly as well. You two had about ten minutes before the flight was set to take off. They were still boarding from what you could hear on the intercom.

“It’ll just be nice to have someone to talk to. I usually fly alone,” he said.

“Yeah, me too,” you said after a moment, offering him a smile. At the end of the day, he did just save you from disappointing your best friend and missing her wedding. His returning smile for you made your chest fill with warmth. You studied him while you hastened to the gate.

Okay, so he was attractive beyond belief. You also seemed to have been sucked into the first twenty minutes of a romcom, complete with a crazy, ridiculous, would-never-happen-in-real-life meet cute. Except that somehow, this was your real life.

But life isn’t a movie, you stubbornly reminded yourself. And you weren’t about to stick around if it took a turn from 50 First Dates to an episode of Law & Order.

Meaning, you still didn’t know if you believed Jason’s motives as a Good Samaritan just yet. So, you wouldn’t drop your guard. You tugged your sweater up higher on your neck, but you also found yourself discreetly checking your reflection on your tiny phone screen. Your clothes were a bit wrinkled and your hair was on the frizzy side, thanks to all the hustle just to get to this seat before takeoff. At least you’d managed to throw on some makeup before you scrambled out of the apartment.

Hopefully being first class meant you could actually relax on this flight.

“It better come with unlimited peanuts,” you said.

You couldn’t stop the flood of girlish giggles, and it was all Jason’s fault. While most of the plane was trying to sleep on the red-eye, your ex-college pro football companion was too busy telling you story after story of all the crazy stuff he’d had to do in freshman year to appease his buddies on the football team.

Like getting overripe fruit from the cafeteria and coating the floor of their coach’s office, so every time he entered, he’d have to squish on something just to get to his chair. (That one earned him an entire week of wind sprints.) Or your personal favorite: a mental image of Jason streaking through the quad wearing nothing but a plastic bowl filled with whipped cream, placed strategically in front of him. Very interesting when he stopped in front of the sorority house. 

“So you were good, huh?” you said.

“Weeell,” he shrugged, smiling impishly.

Your lips curved. “What position did you play?”

“Quarterback,” he admitted. Your brows rose, and you whistled softly.

“Look at you,” you said. “Mr. Quarterback. Mr. ‘I’ve got sorority girls at my beck and call.’”

He laughed at your teasing, taking it in good stride.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t quite like that. I, uh…I actually only played for about a year before I got hurt,” he said.

You sobered then. He was keeping it light, but you noticed the change in his demeanor, like there was genuine regret and old disappointment well-hidden behind his eyes. You asked the predictable question.

“What happened?”  

A wry smile tugged at his lips, but he told you.

“Tore my rotator cuff,” he said. “NFL recruiters tend to frown on that sort of thing. Disappeared like bong smoke.”

So just like that, the future he thought he was building for himself was over. It made you think about all those “meatheads” you sort of used to make fun of back in college. It made you feel a bit guilty, and it gave you some new perspective, wondering how hard they were working, knowing they were putting their all into something that could potentially be taken away from them in a single game.

“What’re you doing now?” you asked. Already an hour into the flight, by now Jason Teague had told you he was from Metropolis. He even played for Metropolis University back then.

“Working for my father’s law firm,” he said, though he didn’t seem all that happy about it as he retrieved a bag of M&Ms he’d set on his fold-out tray. “I managed to fight off the law degree. Got one in business to compromise. He still thinks I should get some experience, learn from him, so I’m shadowing him, essentially.”

You frowned. “Shadowing him? For a career you clearly have no interest in?”

Jason sighed with a rueful, humorless kind of laugh.

“Yeah, trust me, I tried the whole rebellion thing. Didn’t really work well for me,” he said.

You were kind of sad for him, if you were honest. Daddy’s money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy you passion, or love for that matter. It sounded like his father was trying to control him with it.

Though you now felt less bad about Jason buying your ticket.

“Well, look, it’s not like I have my life figured out either,” you confessed. “My parents think I’m wasting my life and my money in New York.”

“Yeah, but you’re a musician. At least you get good tips,” he said, a bit of his flirtatious teasing returning as he popped a peanut M&M into his mouth. He offered you the bag, and you took a couple of M&Ms for yourself. You spoke around thoughtful chewing.

“Oh sure, I play in musty clubs and hope even one person’s paying attention while they get shitfaced at the bar,” you say, chuckling. “That’s exactly how I imagined my life when I got a degree in music composition.”

“From NYU,” Jason pointed out.

You inclined your head in acknowledgement. “Okay, yes, I got to go to one of the best schools in New York. I’m grateful for that. Honestly, I am. But they don’t tell you how hard it’s going to be to even get a job after college, let alone something you’re passionate about. God forbid you can make money doing something you love.”

Jason nodded in commiseration, stuffing his face with a few more M&Ms. You sipped at the cocktail he got you, despite your protests. He’d grinned and flashed his silvery company card before handing it to the flight attendant.

“I’m not giving up though,” you said, after a beat. “If something’s worth it, you hold onto it. That’s what my dad always told me…even if it bit him in the ass later when I said I wanted to leave Smallville.”

Jason chuckled, tipping his head back. He eyed you in amusement, and something else, like this was a moment he was trying to commit to memory.

“Smalltown girl, huh?” he remarked. “Livin’ in a lonely world.”

A smile threatened your lips. Now he was quoting Journey at you?

“City boy, huh?” you countered. “Born and raised in…Metropolis.” You laughed at your own lameness. “Blech. That doesn’t work, does it? Maybe I should’ve thought harder about that whole career as a songwriter thing.”

He joined you with some laughter of his own, and it was a rich sound that showed off his charming smile.

An hour later, the tremor and bouncing of turbulence startled you awake. Jason grasped your hand, since you’d grabbed his arm on reflex.

“It’s okay, we’re just landing,” he said.

You cleared your throat and paused, realizing that you’d been sleeping with your head resting on his shoulder. Your face was mere inches from his, your lips parting in surprise. He looked back at you softly, his gaze briefly lowering to your lips, and back to your eyes.

You leaned back while embarrassment began to make your face and neck flush.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you said bashfully.

Jason’s smile returned, lighting up his eyes now that the overhead lights had turned back on.

“It’s okay. The drool will probably come out of the jacket,” he replied.

You gasped and checked his jacket sleeve, but it was clean. You bit your lip against a smile and lightly smacked his arm in retaliation.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” you said.

“I think I’m adorable,” he replied, leveling you with a grin.

“Hmph.” You crossed your arms, but you couldn’t quite stamp down that smile.

Because he was damn right.

Even though he didn’t even check a bag, Jason hung out with you in baggage claim after the plane landed. When you two made it outside the airport, you each hailed a cab. He made sure to give you his cell phone number.

“If you ever have some time to grab dinner while you’re here, or hey, even just a cup of coffee, let me know,” he’d said, with a certain gleam in his eyes. “If not, we’ll always have First Class.”

His cheesiness made you laugh. You hadn’t taken him for a Casablanca kind of guy, but you liked that. Your heart was kind of hurting though. Your return flight was the morning after the wedding, and you highly doubted you’d have time for more than raiding the mini fridge in your hotel room, let alone another meet-up. Or a date…

Besides that, Jason told you that he didn’t live in New York. He’d just been there for a business he didn’t even like. Your life and your dreams were in New York. You weren’t likely to see this man ever again.

So before he turned to leave, heading toward the taxi parked at the curb, you found yourself rushing forward to stop him. You leaned up on your toes and pulled him into a hug, circling your arms around his neck while the wind nipped at you both in the early morning darkness.

“Thank you,” you whispered near his ear. “Thank you so much. You really don’t know what you did for me.”

Jason’s smile was warm when he finally released you. He tucked a wind-swept strand of hair behind your ear, letting his thumb brush your warming cheek.

“Can’t let you forget me, can I?” he said. “Hope you have fun at the wedding. Just be careful. You know, bridezillas and all the uh, hairspray.”

He mimed getting blasted in the face with a spray can, with an exaggerated grimace.

Your smile pulled at the corners. Like you’d ever forget the man who bought you a first-class plane ticket without even knowing you.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll remember that,” you laughed.

You turned to head back to your waiting taxi, but something made you turn back around. Jason did too, as if he was as reluctant as you were to end whatever this was.

“I forgot to ask. What’re you up to here in Metropolis? Coming home?” you called to him.

“Yes and no,” he called back with a shrug. “Mostly just attending to some business.”

You shook your head. “That’s not vague at all.”

Jason chuckled and gave you a wave.

“This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you someday soon,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, unable to temper your smile. What a flirt.

You laughed as you let him spin you again. The skirt of your bridesmaid’s dress billowed out in shades of lavender and violet. Jason drew you back into him smoothly with one hand curled in yours, and the other wrapping back around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, looking down at you with a subtle smile when you gasped lightly.

You stared up into his eyes shook your head. Someday soon, my ass.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were the Best Man?” you said, laughing incredulously.

Jason drew his plush lower lip between his teeth, and he dipped you. The move was sudden enough to get a squeal out of you, but he held you securely, bringing you back up with his usual charming (and slightly mischievous) grin.

“Now where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he replied.

You shook your head breathlessly. You caught sight of Lois and Clark passing by as they made their rounds, greeting guests. Jason spared a hand to slap Clark’s back in a brotherly gesture. The other man turned around with a bright smile, as did Lois. You blew her a kiss, becoming somewhat teary-eyed.

She was beautiful, and it had been too long since you’d seen her in person. Video chats just weren’t the same, but you were so grateful to be able to share this day with her. You’d been best friends with Lois since you were kids, fellow army brats who met in some dusty town in Arizona. When your father retired and settled back in Smallville, you became friends with Chloe, her cousin, but you and Lois never stopped writing, emailing, and later Instant Messaging and Skyping.

And while you were friendly with Clark, you'd never met his "mysterious" college friend from Metropolis...who apparently was an excellent dancer.

“I see you guys hit it off!” Lois called out across the dance floor, boldly teasing and not caring how many people heard her (including your parents).

You gave her an incredulous look, but she just laughed at you and went back to holding Clark’s arm. He looked at her like she was his sunny sky.

Your smile softened. You drew your attention back up to Jason’s face. He’d slowed things down to gentle swaying, now that the band was playing something softer, “Everything” by Lifehouse.

“You know, you look beautiful tonight,” he said. His gaze drew down your form in your dress, back up to your eyes. He cleaned up well himself in the charcoal black suit and gray tie.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a slight smile curving your lips. “Better than some old joggers and a ratty sweater.”

He smiled too. “Nah, it was a good look. Now I already know what it’s gonna be like when we’re five, six months in. Me in my sweatpants that have holes in all the wrong places, and you with that messy bun on your head, no makeup, potentially no underwear.”

You smacked his arm for that last bit, even though he was making you laugh already.

“Just chillin’ together on the couch with How I Met Your Mother playing on the TV, couple of beers, and one hot, pepperoni pizza,” he said. He squeezed your waist on the word hot.

You couldn’t prevent your sillier, giddier laugh from escaping. But then, reality just had to check in.

“I hate to roll the credits on your feel-good sitcom, but…I live in New York,” you said, even as the words tugged sharply at your heart. “I barely have the money to get back to Kansas once every six months, let alone for…”

Jason gave you a gentler look, if still with that mischievous gleam. “That business trip I had? It was to scope out locations for a New York branch of my father’s firm. He’s finally trusting me to handle the management side of things. Comes with a potential relocation…if that’s what I want.”

He gazed at you meaningfully. “I figure, maybe it gives us a chance to grab that cup of coffee. So I’m thinking…Monday morning, before your shift. I can take you to this little café I know in Little Italy.”

Your shock overtook you. But slowly, ever slowly, it faded away. You smiled. Your hands slid over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck. He guided you even closer to him, until you were sharing a breath. His lips became mere inches from yours.

“You sure know how to paint a picture,” you said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah?” Jason quirked his head slightly. “Let me try one more.”

He leaned in slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. Your breath caught, but you let him touch his lips to yours, soft and plush and warm.

You melted into his second kiss even faster than the first, tightening your fingers in his hair and tilting your head. It gave him a better angle to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. He held you gently, but strong and secure at the same time.

You couldn’t see it, but his brows were furrowed. You didn’t know it, but Jason’s heart felt full, even though he’d just met you. Each new sweet kiss with you was like he was taking his first real breath in years. 

For you, it felt like the first good thing you’d had in months, and yes, even years of struggle trying to build your career. His voice, his lips, his touch, it all was like heady wine, making proverbial tannins prickle under your skin, then dissolve warm and honeyed in your body.

Just then, you didn’t care who was watching or what music was playing.

Whatever this was, and whatever it could be, maybe it was worth holding onto for longer than tonight.

AN: I've been holding onto this little fic for quite a while, so it's so nice to finally share some more Jason with you guys! I would like to write more of him in the future. ❤️ In the first half of season 4, he just gives me such "Dean if he got to go to college" vibes. 🥰

In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this little adventure in AU Smallville!

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[barleyo]

Girlfailure.

Older BF! Toji X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i hate toji sm, why did i write this :( anyways, to any of you who like this sick fucker, i hope this does him justice

Tags: pwp/some plot, age gap, cunnilingus, fingering, scumbag toji, overly cheesy pet names, etc.

Wordcount: 1.2k

When you came home for spring break, the only two things you could think of were one, how many hours would you have to work to afford the upcoming semester, and two, how badly did you just fail all of your midterms?

The answers to those questions became extremely clear as you crunched the numbers in your head. Sitting at eleven-fifty an hour for eight hours a day, five days a week, you'd just barely scrape by with tuition and textbooks. And as far as midterms went, shit, at least you tried. 

If you were more delusional, you'd say your professors had it out for you, but ever the realist, you knew you simply fucked yourself over this time. Hours of studying in the library, and for what? A fourty-two in calc and a fifty-point-something that your organic chem professor didn't even have the decency to round up? 

Stepping into your boyfriend's— was that what he was?— apartment, you felt the desperate craving for a square root curve on those exams, and dick. Always dick. 

All a financially irresponsible, deadbeat father of an older man could offer a "bright" girl like you was just that. Lots of it too, seeing as how you stuck by Toji. 

He was nice enough to invite you to stay at his place over spring break, for the purposes of having a warm cunt nearby at all hours, and to get you out of the shitty dorm room you stayed in any other night. 

"Oh, smart girl's back," Toji said, lazily murmuring at you from his couch. "Had a nice drive?"

You dropped your luggage at his door for him to bring to his bedroom later. His muscles weren't just for show, so you reckoned he could get off of his fine ass and put his thick arms to work. 

"No." Tired feet shuffled your body over, plopping you over his lap, face down. "Well, yeah, the drive was fine. I just don't feel like much of a smart girl."

He snorted indifferently, hardly registering your words as his greedy hand rested over your ass.

"Teacher's grading you too hard, or are y'just gettin' lazy on me?"

"Tch. Did you even graduate, asshole?" You pushed yourself up onto your elbows. "What do you know, anyways?"

Unimpressed, Toji yanked a bit of your hair. Gentle, but enough to force you to look at him. 

"Don't be a little shit. I did, and even if I didn't, it's the real-life stuff that matters. Bein' a book nerd never did anyone any good." He dropped your hair. "Street smarts and all that."

Street smarts. Jesus, what a joke. You cringed internally, remembering how the soon-to-be dropouts from last semester would claim that's what they had. All well and good to be street smart, you thought, seeing as the path you were going down would probably put you on the street. 

This was just the beginning. Whether you were overthinking or not, you were sure that if you didn't pull through for finals, you'd end up failing out. Maybe you were pretty enough to strip. Could be a back up plan, if only you could lose the "Freshman Fifteen" you quickly gained on campus, compliments of the stress eating and cheap, sugary energy drinks you found yourself addicted to. 

"I'm gonna fail out," you said suddenly, nibbling your bottom lip. "I don't know why I thought I could 'do' college. My dad was right."

Toji hated when you got like this. Not because he cared about your stress or ever-present anxiety. That's actually what he liked least about you, that and the fact that your college was forty, far minutes away. No, he hated having to deal with your self-doubt. No time to throw a pity party. No patience to reassure you.

That's the hard part about dating younger girls. He got older, and as he liked to think, wiser, but they stayed young and emotional. Such a drag. A real bummer for a thirty— okay, thirty-eight— year old man who was simply too old for this shit. 

If he wanted any, though, he knew he had to play the game. 

"C'mon, tootsie, it's not all bad. You're a smart one, yeah? And y'only got a couple months until you're done for a bit."

"Hmph."

Damn it. Women. Nothing he said would be good enough. At least there was something he could do that he knew would help. 

"Oh, I missed that baby. That's real good." You felt his warm breath fan over your thigh as his fingers plunged into you. 

Curl and twist, pump, pump, pump. That's all he could really do for you, you knew it. 

If you could ignore how well Toji made you feel, you would probably see what a bum he was. Living in a shitty apartment at his age, gambling and drinking as if money was no object, smoking enough to stain his couch with the smell of ash. Even knowing what his profession was couldn't quite deter you. 

In a life where everything was so dull, so predictable, you sort of liked the danger of a man like Toji. The risk. The wild ride that was his life. You weren't exactly Mary, Queen of Scots, but the old you would have a few questions about your current relationship with the destitute brokey that was glued to your cunt. 

The you now, through, was holding on for dear life, soaking up every second of slick, wet warmth that Toji could give you. Thick fingers prodded deep, curling against the tip of your cervix. Thick scent from a long gone cigarette lingered in the air. 

He was amused really. He would laugh, if he wasn't so desperate to be in your pussy again. Times like this, when he got a taste of you, made him wish he would go and visit you on campus. He wouldn't though, god knew he wouldn't. Every couple of months was good enough for him, lord forbid he use up his mileage to drive out of the city.

"Stop pushing me away," Toji mumbled, pulling your hand from his forehead. "Brat."

His tongue was sharp and purposeful. There were times when he would be messier, play with his food a little, but he was focused. Just not in the way you wanted him to be.

He set a rhythm for himself, a strict guideline. Every time you sucked in a deep breath, he pushed his tongue down harder against your clit. Every gasp was rewarded with a curl of his fingers. Each squirm was punished by a little nip. 

It worked, bringing you close to the edge, just to deny you. If you had it your way, his tongue would lather you and glide over your clit uninterrupted. Sadly, he was in charge, and as the bastard he was, he wanted things his way. That meant a bullying force behind each pump of his fingers, and a teasing swipe of his tongue to ease the brutality, just a bit.

There was no way he could hold you off forever, no matter how fun that sounded, so eventually, when you hands started to grip his hair too tightly, he gave a loud slurp to your pussy. 

If orgasms were money, you'd be a Vanderbilt, but they aren't. For the time being, you were happy enough just being Toji's girl. 

"Hey, To'?" Your messy hair and smudged mascara were a prize to him, a totem of his raw, sexual prowess. He hummed in response. "So, about my textbooks for next semester...?"

He sighed deeply, dragging from his well deserved post-fuck cig. 

"We'll see. Maybe if my parlay hits, doll."

[chloewriteswhenshewantsto]

Afterglow

Authors Note: It’s me. Hi. I’m back with another attempt at “writing”. This is an angsty one this time. I felt I should learn to write something that pulls at the heartstrings. I hope this doesn’t disappoint.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton X Female! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Period Specific Sexism

Word Count: 2.9K

Anthony looks up from his desk, rubbing his tired eyes as he calls out a gruff. "Who is it?"

The rain outside continues to batter the windows, the sound muffled but still audible through the thick oak door of his office.

Anthony's expression softens immediately as he sees you standing in the doorway. He smiles, setting down his pen and pushing himself away from the desk.

"Love, what are you doing up at this hour?" he asks, his tone gentle as he looks over to you. "You should be in bed."

“I couldn’t fall asleep without you.” you admit sheepishly. “The bed doesn’t feel the same without you in it.”

Anthony's smile widens, his heart swelling with a tender affection as he hears your admission. He steps closer to you, his hands coming up to tenderly frame your face.

"You know I'd rather be in bed with you too, darling," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with tiredness. "But the ledgers won't balance themselves, I'm afraid."

“Surly you can do them in the morning, you’ve been working so hard lately, my love.”

Anthony lets out a weary sigh, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he holds your gaze.

"You know I'd love nothing more, sweetheart," he admits, his exhaustion clear in his voice. "But there's so much work to do. I've been neglecting my duties, thanks to our trip to the country"

“You have been in here all day, it is past midnight surly you can rest now.” you say frustratedly. Your husband is a hard worker, but the dark circles under his eyes betray him. He needs to rest.

Anthony flinches slightly at the tone in your voice, the frustration in your words evident. He lets out another sigh, his hands dropping from your face and going to his hips.

"I know I've been working late, darling," he says, his voice quieter now. "But there's just so much to do. The ton relies on me to keep the estate running smoothly, and with the ball coming up, there's so much to prepare for-"

“Then let me help you lighten the load, I might not know how to balance the books but teach me I am a quick learner. Surly two heads will be better than one.” you say, pleading with your husband to let you help ease his burden.

It is not a woman’s job to deal with finances, you know this, and your husband is a proud man that will want to take the pressure off everyone but himself. You can only hope that he is too tired to argue with you tonight.

Anthony hesitates for a moment, torn between his natural instinct to handle everything himself and the desire to please you.

"Darling, it's not your job to help me with all this," he starts hesitantly, his gaze flickering between you and the papers scattered on his desk. "I'm supposed to take care of everything, that's my responsibility as the viscount-"

“And what of my responsibility as your wife?” you interrupt him sharply. “Is it not part of my duties to help you when you are struggling.”

Anthony falls silent for a moment, your sharp words cutting through the air like a knife. He looks at you carefully, his expression a mixture of surprise and contemplation.

"Of course it is," he admits quietly, his shoulders deflating a fraction. "Be that as it may, these are things that I'm supposed to handle, sweetheart. The estate, the financial planning-"

“I wish to help, I wish to spend time with my husband outside this office!” you frustratedly plea.

Anthony's expression darkens, his shoulders tensing as he struggles to keep his own temper in check.

"You know I wish I could spend more time with you, darling," he snaps back.

"You think I don't want that too?" he retorts, his voice rising slightly. "You think I enjoy spending every waking moment in this damn office, bogged down by paperwork and figures? But it's my job, my responsibility-"

Anthony continues to rant, his frustration and exhaustion getting the better of him as he snaps at you.

"I don't need another problem to deal with. I don't need you hovering over me, trying to help, when I'm the one who has to carry the weight of this estate on my shoulders. You're already distracting me enough as it is."

The words hang in the air like a poison, their harshness cutting deep.

"You need to stop being so bloody needy!" he snaps, his tone sharp and frustrated. "I'm doing the best I can, but there's only so much I can handle! You're asking me to do the impossible. Besides, what on earth could you possibly know about running an estate? All you know is dresses and tea parties and silly little gossip rings, you don't know the first thing about what I’m going through-"

Anthony immediately regrets his words the moment they leave his mouth, his eyes widening in alarm as he realizes the damage his words have done. His lack of sleep and his patience that has been holding on by a thread that has finally snapped.

The words hang in the air like a poison, their harshness cutting deep into your heart.

Anthony's face softens immediately as he sees the tears welling up in your eyes. His anger and frustration disappear, replaced by regret and guilt as he realizes the impact of his words.

"Wait, darling, I didn't-" he starts, reaching out a hand towards you.

“I am sorry I didn’t realise I was another problem that you had to deal with, my lord.” you say stonily, taking a step back from his reach. “I shall leave you be.”

Anthony winces at your formal address, the coldness in your tone cutting through him like a knife.

"Wait, no, that's not what I meant-" he tries to explain, his voice filled with remorse.

Anthony stands there, frozen, as the door swings shut behind you. The sound of the rain outside is suddenly deafening, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Shit," he mutters, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. "I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean it...fuck." he curses out, swiping the papers of his desk in anger.

Anthony storms over to the corner of the office, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. He downs it in one gulp before pouring himself another, the whiskey burning its way down his throat and into his stomach. He paces the room, his mind a maelstrom of guilt and self-recrimination.

Anthony spends most of the night in his office, drowning himself in paperwork and the bottle of whiskey by his side. He tries to focus on the figures in front of him, but his mind keeps drifting back to you.

He can still hear the echo of your hurt and angered voice in his ears, the way you'd shut the door behind you with a sharp click. It pains him how callous and cold he'd been to you, how he'd let his frustration spill out in the worst possible way…

As the first rays of sunlight start to filter through his office windows, Anthony finally falls asleep at his desk, head resting on his arms, his dreams plagued with visions of you. Countless apologetic notions fill his thoughts, he will make things better. He has too.

———————————————————————

Anthony groans, as daylight makes its way through his office windows. Lifting his head off the desk, memories of last night come rushing back, and with them, the sharp pang of guilt. His head is pounding from the liquor, his neck aching from the awkward position he slept in. He sits up, rubbing his temples with a weary groan, the events of the previous night playing over in his mind on repeat.

"Bloody hell," he mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his disheveled hair.

Anthony spots a maid walking down the hall as he emerges from his office, his expression still weary and guilt-ridden. He stops her, and with a gruff in his voice from tiredness, he asks her.

"Excuse me, have you seen my wife this morning? Where is she?"

The maid, a young woman with a cheerful smile, gives Anthony a puzzled look as he stops her in the hallway.

"Good morning, my lord," she says, a little taken aback by his weary and disheveled appearance.

Anthony runs a hand through his hair, attempting to straighten it but failing.

“I have not seen the viscountess this morning, my lord. Would you like me to check with the other maids on her whereabouts?” she respectfully responds.

His heart sinks at the maid's response. He had hoped that he would find you wandering the halls, ready for him to apologize and make things right. But instead, he is left with a sense of confusion and growing dread as to your whereabouts.

"Yes, please. Anything you can find out would be greatly appreciated. I need to speak with her urgently." he says tiredly.

The maid nods her head in understanding as Anthony dismisses himself to ascends the stairs with a heavy heart, his mind still spinning with guilt and worry. As he reaches the door to his bedroom, he hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath as he mentally prepares himself to face you.

He quietly pushes the door open, peering into the bedroom to see if you are there.

Anthony's heart drops as he sees that the bed is still made and empty. You are nowhere to be found, and he immediately starts to panic.

"Damn it, where is she?" he mutters, stepping further into the room as he looks around frantically trying to find clean clothing to change into.

Stepping out of his room, Anthony runs through the hallways of the estate, calling out your name frantically as he looks in every room and corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly. He checks the library, the study, the drawing room, anywhere he can think of where you might be, but you are nowhere to be found.

"Damn it, where are you?" he repeats, his voice ragged and desperate. "Please, love, where are you?"

As Anthony is running through the estate, he is stopped by a staff member who approaches him urgently. His eyes immediately snap to theirs, a flicker of hope and desperation in his gaze.

"What is it? Where is she?" he asks urgently, his voice betraying his anxiety.

Anthony listens intently to the staff member's words, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears the words "gardens". Without a moment's hesitation, he spins on his heel and takes off in that direction, his steps quick and determined.

Anthony's heart stutters in his chest as he sees you, tucked away in a tranquil corner of the gardens, reading a book. Relief floods through him, but it is quickly replaced by guilt and worry. He pauses, watching you for a moment, his eyes taking in your figure, the sight of you a balm to his weary heart.

Taking a deep breath, he steels himself and starts to walk towards you. Your eyes meet his, and he is struck by the sight of you, sitting there under the tree, reading like nothing had happened between you. His heart clenches in his chest, and he opens his mouth to speak.

"Darling," he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

“I suppose so, if you are not too busy that is.” you dryly respond looking up at him.

Anthony flinches slightly at the cold tone in your voice, but he doesn't blame you for being angry. He takes a seat on the grass next to you, rubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion and regret.

"I am never too busy for you," he replies softly, his gaze fixed on yours. "I... I wanted to talk to you, to apologize for last night."

Your expression does not give him hope that this will be an easy conversation for them to have. Feeling nervous he gestures towards the book in your lap, his expression softening.

"May I ask what you're reading?" he inquired, his voice quieter now, almost nervous.

“It is a book on mathematics, I thought it would be smart to fill my brain with things other than dresses and endless gossip.” you respond hitting back at him for his earlier words.

He winces at your words, his shoulders visibly tense as he absorbs the sting in them. He knows he deserves it, after everything he said to you last night. But still, the reminder of his careless words hurts.

"I deserved that," he admits quietly, his eyes downcast. "And I am sorry, for what I said yesterday. It was careless and cruel, and I didn't mean it, truly. You are not another problem, love. You are my partner, my wife. I was just... frustrated, overwhelmed."

Releasing a sigh you meet his eyes. You can see how tired he looks, how vulnerable.

“I know that, which is why I wanted to help. I never meant to become another issue that you had to deal with when you are already so busy.”

Anthony's heart aches as he sees the hurt in your eyes. He reaches out a hand, tentatively resting it on your knee.

"You are not an issue," he says firmly. "You are the furthest thing from it. I was out of line, love, and I'm sorry. I... I should have let you help, should have been grateful that you cared enough to ask. I know how difficult it is for you, sitting at home while I'm stuck in that office day in and day out."

“You hurt me you know, with your words,” you say sadly. “I went to bed alone last night and I cried for what seemed like hours. Then I thought of how angry I was with your stubbornness, so I woke up this morning and went straight to the library because as much as I am upset with you I still love you too much to see you end up in an early grave because you worked yourself to death.”

Anthony's heart clenches as he hears your words, knowing he is the cause of your pain. He lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening on your knee as he hangs his head in shame.

"I know," he says quietly, his voice thick with regret. "And I don't blame you for being angry with me, I was a fool for saying those things to you. You have no idea how much I regretted those words as soon as they left my mouth. I hurt you, and for that, I am truly sorry. Tell me how can I make it better."

“If you wish to make things up to me you may sit with me and teach me what you know of accounts. I do not wish to have this argument again so I wish to know so I may lend a hand when you truly need it.”

Anthony's eyes widen in surprise at your suggestion, but he quickly composes himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nods slowly, his hand still resting on your knee, a warm and reassuring presence.

"I'd be happy to teach you," he says softly. "And I promise, I will never be that careless again, love. I'll ask for your help next time, I swear it."

“Hmmm, you better.” you gently smile at him. “Also if I am to help you I would like a desk. A large one.”

Anthony chuckles weakly at your request, a mix of relief and amusement at your stubbornness. He nods, his gaze fixed on you.

"Of course, love. You'll have your very own desk, right next to mine. And I'll make sure to explain everything to you, I promise."

You lean over to kiss him gently. Placing a hand on his cheek. You can never stay mad at him for long you blame his face.

“You know if we are to spend more time together in your office, we might need to think of a way to destress after all our hard work.”

Anthony raises an eyebrow at your words, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Oh, and what do you suggest we do to... 'destress', love?" he asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dark and suggestive in his tone.

“Hmmm something like this prehaps.” you say as you climb upon his lap giggling.

Anthony's breath hitches as you climb onto his lap, and he instinctively puts his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. His eyes darken with desire as he looks up at you, a smirk on his lips.

"I like the way you think, love," he laughs, his hands traveling up your waist.

The staff can't help but overhear the sound of laughing and joyous voices coming from the gardens, and a wave of relief washes over them. After all, witnessing the viscount and viscountess argue and bicker wasn't a comforting sight for them. As they continue about their work, they can't help but feel glad that the tension between you and Anthony has been lifted, replaced instead by playful banter and laughter. A happy couple suited the viscount and viscountess a far lot better than a bickering one.

[seonghrtz]

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑.

synopsis: you have a sleepover at gojo's.

No one had said that taking care of two children half your age, one of whom had a lot of cursed energy, would be easy. And maybe it wasn't supposed to be easy. After all, you were eighteen, a young adult, and the only thing you had been taught as a child was to obey your superiors and fight curses ⸻ even how to deal with the limbo that was your life, you had to learn on your own. You hadn't been given a manual on how to take care of children, let alone a manual on how to deal with the most powerful sorcerer of the generation. But you always knew your life wasn't going to be easy anyway.

You and Gojo eventually established a dynamic so that you could take care of Tsumiki and Megumi Fushiguro. During the week, Gojo took care of the children, especially since their school was in Tokyo, and on the weekends, you took care of them. Of course, if Gojo had a mission that made it impossible for him to take care of the children, you took care of them. It was basically the dynamic of a divorced couple with joint custody of their children. But the point was that you and Gojo weren't a (divorced) couple and you didn't even have children. In fact, Gojo had only taken Megumi and Tsumiki to look after, and you were accidentally involved in the whole situation.

And since it was the weekend, it was your day to take care of the Fushiguro siblings. Gojo was usually the one who took the children to your apartment, but since you had an appointment in Tokyo, you ended up arranging with him to pick up the children at his apartment. You had asked for the address of his apartment and miraculously convinced him that it wasn't necessary for him to pick you up and take you to where he lived ⸻ it took a long five minutes of arguing with Satoru before he gave in.

You walked in a bit of a hurry until you found the street where Satoru lived. You looked up the numbers of the houses until you found Gojo's. It was a tall building that gave you a headache just looking up, and it was fancy, completely different from your building, which was much smaller and much simpler. This building certainly showed how well off Gojo Satoru was financially. He had luxurious comfort.

The two of you were different in many ways ⸻ the only thing being that you were both Jujutsu sorcerers ⸻ and sometimes, it was inevitable not to wonder why he needed your help, you of all people. It was an unlikely action coming from Gojo Satoru, but if that was the price for Megumi and Tsumiki to have a normal, healthy childhood, then you were willing to pay it.

You approached the building, double-checking that you were in the right place, though you didn't need to, the whole atmosphere matched the lust that Gojo himself exuded.

"Excuse me, good afternoon" The access controller got your attention before you could pick up your phone and tell Gojo that you were already outside his building.

"Good afternoon." You bowed slightly.

"Are you Kamo Y/n?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Gojo-san asked me to let you in as soon as you arrived," the loud click of the apartment gate opening was heard as soon as the access controller spoke. "You can go up, the apartment is on the twelfth floor."

"Thank you very much." You thanked them and headed for the elevator, obviously not up twelve flights of stairs after a relatively tiring day.

When the elevator arrived, you entered it and looked at the button panel, there were twelve buttons for the floors of the building. Of course, Gojo Satoru wouldn't live anywhere but the penthouse. When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out of the elevator and noticed that there was only one door on the twelfth floor; if there was only one apartment per floor, at least you wouldn't be confused as to which apartment was Gojo's. However, before you could touch the elevator, you had no choice but to do so. But before you could ring the bell, the door opened to reveal a smiling Tsumiki.

"Kamo-san! Are you here to pick us up?"

"Uhh." You nodded.

"Ah, but we were going to marathon the Barbie movies..." Tsumiki said sadly

"Hey Kamo-chan, don't just stand there in the hallway!" Gojo appeared next to Tsumiki and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the apartment.

“Gojo-san!”

"'Gojo-san'? Kamo-chan, we're the same age, there's no need to be so formal."

"What happened to your hair?" you asked, noticing the ribbons in some of his hair.

"This is called style!" Gojo put his hands on his waist in an odd pose.

"Fushiguro?" You looked at the little boy who was walking towards you with his backpack, ready to leave.

“Oi Megumi, do you want to leave so badly?" Gojo put his hand to his chest and pretended to be offended.

"Ah, but what about Barbie?" Tsumiki looked at you sadly and then at Gojo."Well... ah... you can watch it at my apartment..."

"NO!" Gojo shouted, interrupting your speech. "That's not fair!" A pout formed on the white-haired boy's moist pink lips. "I also wanted to watch Barbie too and watching it alone is no fun since I won't be able to sing the duets from the movies..."

"If you want, you can stay at Gojo's for the weekend, it's no problem." You've given a simple and practical solution.

"I don't want to." Megumi said, attracting the attention of everyone present.

"Megumi!" Gojo said dramatically, "Don't you want to spend a super fun weekend with me and your sister?" Gojo looked at the little Fushiguro, hoping that he would give an affirmative answer, but Megumi just stared at him with a serious face.

"Why don't we all stay here together?" Tsumiki suggested with a smile, "That way, we can watch Barbie and have a fun sleepover!"

"That's a great idea, Tsumiki!" Gojo said excitedly, he'd been trying to convince you to spend a day (or night) in his apartment for a long time, he knew it might cheer up Megumi's constant bad mood, but it was hard to convince you to stay. And now he had the perfect opportunity.

"I'm sorry, Tsumiki," you said, putting an end to Gojo and Tsumiki's happy murmurings about a possible slumber party, "I don't think today is a good day for that."

"And why not?"

"The only thing I have with me right now is my wallet" and a pocket knife, but you omitted that information from the girl.

"No problem!" Gojo said with a smile on his face, "I can lend you the towel, toothbrush and clothes, don't worry about it!"

"Please, Kamo-san" Tsumiki's bright, hopeful eyes made you look away.

"Ah... okay," you gave in and watched as Tsumiki and Gojo celebrated while Megumi hid his relief, at least you were with him and he wouldn't have to endure Gojo's taunts alone for another night.

"Tsumiki, you can choose today's Barbie movie, Megumi, you're responsible for building our hut in the living room, I'll order the food and Kamo-chan, you can take the part of being pretty and sit in that chair." Gojo smiled and put his glasses on his face. Tsumiki smiled excitedly and pulled her brother into the living room.

"Let's make dinner together." You said, drawing Gojo's attention back to you.

"What?" Gojo looked at you in surprise.

"Let's cook dinner instead of ordering in."

"Are you sure about that? It's easier to order in, not to mention there's a really good restaurant I always order from."

"If you want me to stay, we'll cook dinner together."

"What kind of bribe is that?"

"You promised to feed them well." You crossed your arms and stared at your own reflection in the sorcerer's glasses in front of you.

"All right," Gojo sighed and led you into the kitchen.

When you entered the apartment, you were surprised by the size of the place. Everything in Gojo's apartment was double, if not triple, the size of your own, but it was still surprising to see the size of this kitchen that was almost unused by its owner. You went through the fridge looking for ingredients to give you an idea of what you could make for dinner.

"Are you sure you don't want to order something? It's a lot easier." Gojo said, watching you take out the ingredients and put them in the sink.

"Peel the vegetables." You said, ignoring Satoru's question.

If you had the chance to ask your past self how she saw herself at a certain point in the future, she would certainly never tell you that she would be taking care of two children half her age, much less that she would be cooking alongside one of the strongest sorcerers, much less that she would see him cut off his own finger while chopping vegetables. You probably didn't expect him to be a disaster in the kitchen. But as they say, you learn by making mistakes ⸻ even if you seriously doubt that Gojo has learned anything from what he's learned in the kitchen.

When dinner was ready, you gathered in the pantry. You and Megumi ate in silence while Gojo and Tsumiki had a deep and serious discussion about the best characters, dresses, clothes, everything related to Barbie animation.

Everything went perfectly and although you would have preferred to stay in the comfort of your small apartment, seeing Tsumiki's radiant smile and Megumi's relaxed expression made your decision worthwhile.

It didn't take long for your regrets to show.

Watching Gojo and Tsumiki perform the songs from Barbie & the Diamond Castle at midnight certainly made you rethink many of the decisions you had made in your life. The scene of Tsumiki singing and twirling in front of the TV was quite cute, what was hard to bear was Gojo's thin voice every time it was his turn to sing ⸻ it was inevitable not to get a headache at that moment. You took a deep breath, the movie was only half over, and according to Gojo, this would be the last of the movie marathon, you had to be strong and hold on until the end.

When you least expected it, you felt something touch your arm and turned around to find Megumi sleeping peacefully next to you. Afraid of waking him, your body stiffened and you waited for a quieter moment in the movie to ask Gojo which room Megumi was sleeping in. Before you could do or say anything, Gojo picked Megumi up in the most tender way you'd ever seen and carried him to his room. Tsumiki, now without her duet partner, turned to you with a sleepy smile.

"Kamo-san"

"Yes, Tsumiki?"

"Thank you for joining us today. It was a lot of fun."

"Oh, that's okay, it was no big deal." You shrugged with a slight smile on your face.

"Can I... can I give you a hug?"

"Oh?" Your eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden question from the girl in front of you. "Yes... yes, of course" You opened your arms so that Tsumiki came closer and hugged you, snuggling into your arms.

"Thank you for taking care of me and my brother." Tsumiki whispered into the hug.

"Um... no problem." You murmured and felt your heart warm. "I think you better go to bed, Tsumiki, it's getting late."

"But what about the movie?" she asked through a yawn.

"We can finish it tomorrow at noon."

"Will you stay with us until noon?" A small smile appeared on the girl's face.

"Um," you said with a nod, "I'll make your favorite if you like."

"Ah, you're the best, Kamo-san!" Tsumiki hugged you once more before going to her room, leaving you alone in the huge living room of Gojo's apartment.

A sigh left your lips and your attention turned to the television, which was showing the movie you had forgotten a few minutes ago. You weren't familiar with the movies that Tsumiki (and Gojo) loved so much. During your childhood and teenage years, you had only one concern: to stay strong enough to survive. In a lifeline like that of a jujutsu sorcerer with a born technique from one of the greatest clans, you felt more like trapped and powerless prey about to be devoured alive than the predator about to strike. The world you were a part of was for the smart, the strong, the influential, and in this game, you ultimately chose to learn the rules of the game rather than how to beat it.

Cartoons, movies, and even fiction books were a privilege your lifestyle didn't allow you, not when you were in the clan domain, bound by the ideals of the terrible elders who looked no further than their own navels, trained tirelessly to become a fighting machine whose goal was to put an end to what they called curses. It didn't take you long to discover that you were just a disposable pawn in the elders' game. And that it would be an uphill battle to break free of their control.

"I still can't believe that was your first time watching Barbie" Gojo sat down on the other end of the sofa "You should have more fun, that's for sure!"

"I never had time for it..."

"You're so boring." Gojo sighed and threw his arms up before he let out a sigh. "I have to kill myself working to make money and ensure my independence," Gojo lowered his voice in a failed attempt to imitate you, "Do you work so hard to impress daddy?"

"My father is dead." You said in a serious tone.

"Ah... well... ah..." Gojo swallowed, shocked by your statement. "Wow, you really know how to create a tense atmosphere," he murmured.

Silence fell over the room and you turned your attention to the television, which was paused at the end credits. It hadn't been your intention to create a tense and uncomfortable atmosphere at that moment, but the words had come out without thinking. And when you least expected it, you felt something soft and cuddly hit you hard.

"What?" You turned your head to see Gojo holding back his laughter.

"You were too serious!" He smiled and threw another pillow in your face. "Come on Kamo-chan, aren't you going to fight back?"

"Fight back?"

"Yes, throw a pillow back at me?"

"What's the point when you can manipulate and distort the space around you with your limitless?"

"Come on, Kamo-chan, I was trying to make us have fun! Why do you always have to be so serious? Can't you just laugh at me like last time?"

"I've never laughed at you."

"Okay, will you stop gaslighting me?" Gojo stood up from the sofa, hands on his waist, indignant, "You know what? You should take a shower!"

"Are you telling me I stink?"

"No!" Gojo quickly denied, "I'm saying you need to relax, I can see your muscles tense from here."

"Um, okay then." You shrugged and followed Gojo to the bathroom down the hall.

While Gojo left you in the bathroom to get you some clean clothes, a towel and a toothbrush to use, your eyes wandered around the relatively large bathroom (like everything else in his apartment). The white and blue details in the bathroom reminded you of Gojo, and you wondered if he might have patented those colors for himself.

"I didn't have any panties to lend you, so I took some new underwear I've never worn before." Gojo said, looking away, his hand on the back of his neck trying to hide the blush on his cheeks.

"Oh, that's fine," you picked up the things he'd brought for you and waited for him to leave before closing the bathroom door and getting ready to shower.

In a way, Gojo was right. In the end, the shower helped you relax and get your mind out of the way, and not think as much as you used to.

When you finished showering, you put on the clothes Gojo had brought for you. The white blouse was soft and sweet-smelling, it looked big on you, but it was just right and gave you a comfort you couldn't quite explain. You put on the black shorts and hung the towel on a rack in the bathroom, along with two other towels, and took the opportunity to brush your teeth with the toothbrush Gojo had given you. When you came out of the bathroom, your body shivered as you came into contact with the cold air of the apartment as opposed to the warm air of the bathroom, and you walked into the living room and sat down on the end of the sofa where you had been a few minutes ago.

"If you want to sleep, my room is the last door on the left." Gojo said as he looked at you, feeling a blush on his cheeks as he noticed a certain more domestic area around you.

"Your room?"

"Yes, my room. The guest room is being used by Megumi and Tsumiki, so if you want to sleep, you can go there."

"I will not sleep in your room."

"Why not? My bed is quite comfortable, you know?" he said proudly.

"This is your house and you should sleep in your room. I can sleep on the sofa without a problem."

"I'm not going to let you sleep on the sofa?" he said more like a question.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," Gojo crossed his arms in front of him. "Come on, Kamo-chan, don't be stubborn!"

"Look who's talking" You rolled your eyes.

"Okay, since I'm the owner of the house and I'm the one who makes the rules here, you have to sleep in my room."

"I never thought of you as someone who respects the rules..."

"I don't, but you, being a good girl, will respect the rules," he smiled sideways.

"Will you stop bothering me if I sleep in your room?" You arched your eyebrow in doubt.

"Yes!" Gojo replied quickly with a smile on his face.

"Okay, then I'll sleep there." You rolled your eyes and got up from the sofa.

"Everything is already prepared for you there, Kamo-chan, I hope you have sweet dreams."

"Um... good night, Gojo." You mumbled and went to the boy's room.

For some reason, the simple decoration of Satoru's room didn't surprise you. Maybe your subconscious had already imagined something similar in his room. You closed the bedroom door behind you and let out a sigh before sitting down on the huge bed, which was strangely soft and comfortable, just as Gojo had told you. You glanced at the bedside table and noticed a vintage lamp and had to fight back the urge to smile, Gojo had good taste in decorating.

"What a treat..." You muttered as you noticed the light switch next to the bed. You turned off the light and ducked under the covers, and couldn't help but compare all this comfort to the equivalent of lying on a cloud ⸻ if that were possible, of course.

But when you thought you were about to fall asleep, your brain decided it was time to make you overthink about the day you had.

Why did you agree to stay the night?

Why had you showered at Gojo Satoru's house?

Why did you wear his clothes and now lie in his bed?

Why did you accept all this?

To see a sincere smile on the faces of the Fushiguro siblings? Yes, of course, but that wasn't the only reason. There was something else that even you didn't have the answers to. Not there, not in that moment.

Satoru had everything and he made you feel as if you had nothing or as if the little you had was insignificant. It still didn't sink in that you were lying in the bed of the most powerful sorcerer of the generation and that you were only there because of his insistence.

Perhaps you should be more honest about your feelings, not only with those around you, but also with yourself. Even if it's incredibly difficult, since you've spent your entire life up until this moment hiding your feelings so they won't be used against you. And sometimes old habits die screaming in a deafening silence.

And maybe, just maybe, it's time for you to stop seeing Gojo Satoru through his titles and start seeing him as an equal...

memory garden masterlist !

☆! tag list : @arminswifee . @khaleesihavilliard . @chieeeeeee . @manooffline . @shybananabagellover . @r0ckst4rjk . @sad-darksoul . @chuluoyi . @stormflysaysstuff . @arminsarlerts

© seonghrtz, 2024. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[fungifanart]

Budget for love

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Ruggie Bucchi, Grim

CW: Skipping meals, existential dread, money problems

Word count: 2,032

Notes: I heard a voice one night, urging me to write a Ruggie fic...that voice was mine. I just like Ruggie.

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Ruggie Bucchi's financial status is, by no means, a secret.

Ever since he enrolled at Night Raven College, he's garnered a reputation for being a money-grubbing cheapskate who can reduce any merchant to their knees through his skill at haggling alone, all due to his lack of financial security.

Growing up in the slums will do that to a guy, he supposes.

Along with that, growing up poor has also instilled in him a certain pettiness and resentment in regards to the more privileged classes, which just so happen to make up a very large portion of NRC's student body.

Joy.

Well, if nothing else, this makes it easy to simply view most of the other students as potential pickpocket targets.

However, this also makes it easy to forget that not all of them are more well-off than he is, meaning it's especially jarring when he comes across a certain Prefect and direbeast having an argument in Sam's on-campus store.

"C'mon, Henchman! You're telling me we can't afford ONE little extra can of tuna?" Grim argues while clutching said can of tuna to his chest tightly.

"Yes I am, Grim. With our budget, we can barely even afford the bare essentials for this week. That 'one little extra can' will push us over the edge for sure!" The Prefect argues back with the look of a tired father trying in vain to reason with his stubborn child, "Listen, I get paid for my work at the Mostro Lounge on Friday, right? I know you've still got some of your secret stash left, so if you can hold out until then, I'll get you a can of the fancy tuna as a reward. How's that sound?"

That last statement causes Grim's face to light up as he immediately drops the can of regular tuna and hugs the Prefect while exclaiming, "Deal!"

Ruggie doesn't do anything. He simply watches, mildly dazed at what should have been a fact he already knew as the Prefect finishes paying for his essentials and leaves the store with Grim as Ruggie continues to stand there before being brought back to his senses by another student telling to him to move out of the way.

Ruggie doesn't see the Prefect again for a few days after that, their schedules never seeming to allow them even a passing glance in the halls, but the memory of what he saw that day still lingers in his mind for a reason he can’t quite identify right now.

The next time Ruggie does see the Prefect is in the cafeteria during lunch.

It's one of the rare occasions where he hasn't been ordered by Leona to get his lunch for him, so he's taking his time, scanning the tables for a place to sit when he notices the Prefect sitting across from his feline companion while said companion munches away at his food.

Seeing no other open seats, Ruggie walks over and says, "Long time, no see, Prefect! Mind if I sit here?" He asks despite not waiting for the other man's answer and plopping himself and his tray down in the spot next to him.

"O-oh! Yeah, that's fine." The Prefect responds before turning his head back to Grim as he eats, but Ruggie can't help but notice the lack of food on his side of the table.

"Dang, Prefect! I wish I got here sooner so I could've seen the carnage!" Ruggie remarks while playfully nudging the other man's shoulder.

"Huh? What do you mean?" The Prefect asks confusedly.

"Oh, come on! YOU finishing your food before GRIM? I can only imagine how much you stuffed your face to make that happen!" Ruggie concludes with a snicker before taking a bite of one of his sandwiches.

The Prefect blinks a couple times before responding, "Oh, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I didn't get lunch." He says, causing the hyena to choke on his food.

"W-whaddaya mean you 'didn't get lunch'???" Ruggie questions after chugging his water.

The Prefect shrugs, "Just what I said. We have some leftovers at Ramshackle that I could’ve brought, but we were in such a rush this morning that we couldn't even eat breakfast, much less prepare any lunch and running back between classes would take too long. Therefore, we had no choice but to buy lunch from here, but I had barely enough cash to get food for one of us and it'd kill me to see Grim go hungry, so I figured I'd be fine if I skipped a meal or two." He concludes nonchalantly.

Ruggie proceeds to sit there, dumbfounded, as the Prefect goes back to watching Grim eat, his face content, but with a hint of melancholy.

Ruggie knows that look. He's seen it countless times in his childhood on the faces of some of the adults in his neighborhood as they forwent their own food just to let their children eat.

He doesn't remember seeing a lot of them around last time he went home.

His mind snaps back to the present as he looks down at his lunch tray piled high with the food he bought using money he'd snuck out of Leona's wallet and then back at the empty space in front of the Prefect, his stomach suddenly not feeling as empty as before.

Wordlessly, Ruggie takes two of his sandwiches and slides them over to the other man, who looks back at him in bewilderment.

"Ruggie? What's this for?" The Prefect asks.

Ruggie clears his throat awkwardly before responding, "W-well, it's just that it turns out I got more food than I'll probably eat, so I thought 'why not', right?" He says while forcing his signature laugh.

Luckily, the Prefect doesn't seem to read into his awkwardness as his suppressed hunger resurfaces on his face and he proceeds to practically inhale the sandwiches after giving a rushed "Thanks!"

In a matter of seconds, the sandwiches have completely disappeared, leaving Ruggie both amazed and...oddly fulfilled upon seeing the Prefect’s own satisfaction from having a full stomach.

Huh...that's new.

Ruggie's been so used to pinching his and other people's pennies at this school that helping out seemingly the only other student that's in the same boat as him, even without getting anything in return, feels...nice.

Nice feelings like this are few and far in between with a lifestyle like Ruggie's, so now that he's felt it, he proceeds to chase it whenever he can.

From that day onward, Ruggie makes a point to help out the Prefect if he has the time, starting with offering him a simple snack between classes or pointing him in the right direction if he gets lost, before slowly escalating into him stepping in to haggle Sam's prices down for him and even taking his hand and physically leading him to where he needs to go, not noticing the increasingly flustered looks on the other man's face.

He doesn't know when exactly it happened, but after a while, that simple nice feeling turned into something more...warm and fuzzy that he feels blooming in his chest as he and the Prefect grow closer, finding more and more time to spend with each other, whether it being studying together or going out to the market, until one night, they find themselves gazing up at the stars on the hill just outside of Ramshackle.

Looking over at the stars reflecting in the Prefect’s eyes, Ruggie can't deny how beautiful they look. And what he also can't deny is the fact that he's grown attached their owner.

He can’t help but imagine what the future could hold for the two of them.

But then he remembers who the Prefect is.

He's an otherworlder. The one destined to leave this world behind in favor of the one where he actually belongs.

The only future that exists for Ruggie and the Prefect is one where he waves goodbye as the other man disappears into the Dark Mirror forever.

But that doesn't mean he has to be okay with it. That doesn't mean he can't still want the Prefect to stay, preferably with him.

"Can I ask you something?" Ruggie questions.

"Sure, what is it?" The Prefect responds, looking over at Ruggie, the serene expression on his face only further solidifying his feelings.

"Just out of curiosity, what would you do if you couldn't go back to your world?" Ruggie asks, noting how the other man tenses up at the question.

"W-well, I guess I'd keep going here until I graduate..." The Prefect responds in a way that doesn't fully answer Ruggie's question.

"Ok? And then what about after that?" Ruggie pushes.

".......................To be honest, I try not to think about it." The Prefect finally answers with a sigh, "People always say that graduating from here basically guarantees success in life, but how many high-ranking, high-paying jobs are actually there for someone like me in a world like this, even as a so-called 'beast tamer'? And that's not even accounting for me not having any official documentation since I wasn't born here! Hell, the most Crowley will do is cover up the fact that he has an undocumented individual among his students, so if I can't find a way to become a citizen by graduation, I'm out of luck!" He concludes while bringing his hands to his face in frustration.

Ruggie...can't say he's ever thought about that. And now he's feeling extra bad for the Prefect as he thinks of ways he might be able to help.

And it's then that he remembers a certain law in the Sunset Savanna and his trademark mischievous smile spreads across his face.

"Y'know, if citizenship's a big issue for you, we could always get married!" He blurts out, breaking the other man out of his wallowing as he chokes in surprise before letting out a laugh.

"You shouldn't joke about that!" The Prefect says with a giggle and a playful push against the hyena's shoulder.

"Hey! I'm serious!" Ruggie responds in a very unserious tone, "One of the laws in the Sunset Savanna says that if you marry one of its citizens, then you'll become a full citizen yourself!"

The Prefect's laughter dies down as he ponders this information, "Wait, really? How did THAT come about?" He asks, genuinely interested.

"Well, since it's ruled by lions, the kingdom's basically viewed as one, giant pride so being accepted by one of its members means being accepted into the pride, no questions asked." Ruggie explains.

"I feel like that leaves a lot of room for exploitation, though." The Prefect says thoughtfully.

"Hey, that works out for you, though. Doesn't it?" Ruggie says cheekily, earning another soft push against his shoulder.

"Don't act like this is set in stone already when we haven't even been on a proper date yet!" The other man argues lightheartedly.

"Well, if we're not counting all those study dates and market dates, then I guess you're right." Ruggie says bluntly, "So I'm free this Saturday if you wanna make it official."

The Prefect’s giggles stop as he looks at the hyena in surprise, who looks back at him with the first serious expression he's worn since the start of the conversation.

"I want you to know that I'm actually serious about this." Ruggie says while looking into the Prefect’s eyes, "I wouldn't throw an idea like that around willy-nilly, y'know."

The other man blinks for a couple seconds before his expression softens, "Alright, fine. How about this: IF I can't go home AND we both feel the same way after graduation, then I'll marry you. Deal?" He says while holding out his hand, clearly not fully convinced about Ruggie's conviction.

"Shishishi, deal!" The hyena says before shaking the Prefect’s hand and turning his head back towards the night sky, satisfied.

"Heh. So you're free this Saturday, huh?" The Prefect says before leaning over and pressing a kiss onto Ruggie's cheek, causing his heart rate to accelerate, "I'll look forward to it."

With heat blooming on his face, Ruggie feels that warm feeling in his chest again, but this time, he's able to put a name to it: Love.

[viburnt]

Divorcing Izuku Midoriya Headcanons

I'm on a creative rush, and this may make zero sense because I'm tired lmao. Anyways, have some angst <3

Tagging the babes: @doumadono @shonen-brainrot @trickster-kat @angelshimaa (babe, you've missed some very angsty posts) @xhieru @mimisxs @dabislittlemouse

Content Warning: Divorce, emotional abuse and manipulation, mention of baby-trapping, alcohol.

• As I said in my last post, divorcing Izuku is a nightmare. Think about the most energy-draining and mental health deteriorating process, and multiply it for a minimum of 6 months. Izuku won't make things easy for you at all, trying to drag and prolong the whole ordeal just to keep you close. I've divided this set of headcanons by key moments/topics to keep some order. I hope you enjoy them, I'm pouring my heart on these (also pay attention to detail because I'm working on something hehe).

Denial and confusion: the first days after you serve him papers

• Izuku genuinely doesn't understand why you want to leave, refusing to accept the fact that you're not happy being by his side. He's given you all there is to give: a comfortable house, nice clothes, expensive cars, etc. So when you serve him papers, Izuku's first reaction is confusion followed by fear. In that head of his, he's made everything a good husband has to do! So why? Why would you not be happy?

• If you were smart enough and planned your movements with care, you should be able to go through your divorce without depending financially on Izuku or having to live in the same place. You'd have to deal with his incessant calls and texts, often having to block unknown numbers to avoid hearing his whines, but it'd be less difficult. If you weren't thoughtful about the situation and proceeded without the right steps, oh, you're in for a treat: there's nowhere you can go besides the house you shared with him, no place where you can be at peace. You're at Izuku's mercy, like it or not, but that's another story.

• In addition to his denial, Izuku starts to (unconsciously) guilt trip you. Phrases like "Sorry for not being enough," and "I know I'm very pathetic" become frequent. It pains your heart to hear those things because you know Izuku loves you, you are just not compatible at all. You try to let him see it's not about being enough, it's more about effort; with much patience, you set things clear to avoid any misunderstandings, but Izuku just doesn't get it.

• "Haven't I done this or that for you? Didn't I buy you all these things? Am I not enough?" "Izuku, I didn't ask you for any of this, all I wanted was my husband..." Conversations like this occur during this phase, and they can only be held through the phone (when he is sober and not yelling/hollering how much of a mistake a divorce would be). He tries to gauge sympathy from you, telling you that his job is important but that he loves you so much!

• He becomes an empty shell of the bright ray of sunshine the public knew. It goes unnoticed by many, but the people who work around him can tell. It is then when he starts telling others about his marital situation, and you end up seeing faces you've met once or twice during galas or hero events. You "accidentally" stumble across your husband's colleagues, like Ochako, who try to convince you to give him a second chance. "I- I know we don't know each other a lot but please, consider it. Izuku is a great guy a-and I'm sure you guys could fix any problem!" It is embarrassing for you because no one wants people to know their issues.

• What's so ironic about the moment when you serve him papers is that he receives them at his office, the very root of all the problems in your marriage. It was the place where he had spent anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's... those four walls witnessed the beginning and the end of your relationship. Izuku has a mental breakdown when he finally reads the documents but, hey, he was still pro-hero Deku, right?

Negotiations and lawyers: The first weeks and months

• If having to deal with Izuku's colleagues trying to change your mind wasn't enough, be ready for your soon-to-be ex trying to negotiate. Midoriya suggests couple's therapy to talk this through, and for a split of second, it almost sounds like a good idea! But then you remember all those times when Izuku had promised you he'd be there for you and failed. It didn't seem plausible after that... Besides, all things considered, it'd be hard to find a therapist who could see your side of the story. Who would dare to tell someone as charming and popular as Izuku that he failed as a husband?

• Once therapy is off the table, Izuku brings up children. It may be considered a low blow, especially if one of your dreams was to form a family with him, so his offer felt cruel. "W-we can have kids! Wouldn't you want that? We can be a big family, with one- No, two babies!" "Ouch, it takes a divorce for you to even think about it, huh? That's uh, slightly concerning. Besides, a kid needs a father too... I'm not planning on being a single mom in this marriage" Now, Izuku strikes me as the kind that would try to . to stay. I'm sorry if it sounds terrible, but considering how sometimes he acts on impulse, he really could try it.

• Izuku also tries to be at home more often; he "cooks" (it's takeout disguised as home meals), brings you coffee to the bed, and calls you all kinds of sappy nicknames... It saddens you, why couldn't he care like that before? Of course, this point only applies if you still live with him during this whole process. If you don't, he starts frequenting the places where he guessed could find you: cafeterias, plazas, shops...

• Finding a lawyer for you was a hard task, especially because everyone sees you as a "dumb" woman who is trying to divorce Japan's number one hero. Not to mention they were very expensive, and Izuku was certainly not giving you money for that. You tell Izuku that mediations need to happen to progress with the divorce, but he never shows up to the meetings. There's always an excuse for that man! No matter how much you plea, he refuses to sign the paper. Izuku also becomes very mean towards you, outright berating you for not understanding him. It's gruesome to see him turn into such a monster during these months.

• As an additional point for this part, Izuku hires a private investigator to follow you around. He feels bad for thinking of it, but the idea that you could be seeing someone else while you're trying to divorce him eats him alive.

Last resort: Mediatic battle

• The media is very quick to pick up your marriage's fall down. Time after time you visited your lawyer's office for them to put two and two together, and Izuku takes that to his advantage. Sensationalist articles had already been happening, a lot of them being cruel and demeaning towards you. Titles like "Is she a cheater?" "No amount of success gives you the girl!" And "Pro-hero Deku will be looking for a new wife soon" started popping up. You have to take down any social platform to avoid being targeted.

• It is when Izuku gives a public declaration that things get worse. "I'm sorry, my wife is just not happy with me anymore. Please respect her wish! Don't harass her, I failed as a husband." It may seem like a hearty and sorrowful declaration from the outside, but Izuku picked word by word to gain sympathy and pressure you into changing your mind. People in the street call you "heartless", and the stress simply keeps growing for you.

• To put it in simple words, you were David against Goliath, except Goliath was a glorified person who had all the resources and support of the people. You were nothing but a tiny mouse squeaking to be set free of a relationship that was suffocating you.

The aftermath: Supposing you haven't given up and he signed the divorce papers

• If you somehow manage to divorce him after all these problems, congratulations. You survived 5% of the drama that awaits you! Now you won't be able to date someone without people snapping photos for entertainment news or judging you for leaving "such a great man". Izuku will still try to convince you to go back to him, playing his "sad lover" role in front of the cameras so well! He'll try to send expensive gifts and tell you to keep the house, he'll call you drunk in the middle of the night, and if you're not careful enough, he may try to gaslight you into thinking nothing wrong was happening in your marriage.

• One particular thing I must mention is that Izuku only signed the papers after you yelled at him at one of the legal mediations, hot embarrassment tears falling from your tired eyes as you begged him to let you go.

• Anyways, the list could go on, but those are the main points of divorcing Izuku :')

"Please, just sign the papers..." You said through the phone, your voice tired of pleading to someone who simply refused to hear you. "I will, I will! I'm just a little under the snow with work. Can you reschedule?" Izuku said, apologizing for not being there for you. Excusing himself for failing you, but refusing to let go. "You know how many articles I've seen with my face saying how much of bitch I am for visiting my lawyer's office?"

Izuku's silence was deafening, you could only hear him sigh slightly, perhaps feeling bad for putting you in such a position. "I don't want this divorce."

"But I do, so don't make things more difficult for me, please." He heard you say, biting his lip to hold back the tears. Izuku was glad you couldn't see him, sitting alone in his office with a half-empty bottle of wine you'd gifted him for his birthday. "Do you remember what day is today?" He asked.

"I don't know, Monday? I haven't slept lately." You answered unamused. "It's our anniversary... we married 5 years ago, on this very day." His words came out as a slow slur, his breath hitching as he crumbled through the phone. "I miss you a lot, please-"

"I'll see you on Wednesday, if you're not there I swear to God..."

...

"Mr. Midoriya?" Your lawyer called, her voice bringing your anxious husband back to reality. "Ah, sorry, it's me. Is... is she in there?" He asked, pointing at her office. She just looked at him with little sympathy and nodded. "On time, as always. Maybe you should avoid keeping her waiting, that's the least you could considering how many times we've had these conversations."

"There's no way I can fix this, is there?" Izuku asked as if the lawyer cared. "Wanna do something nice for her? Divorce her."

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

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If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

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Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

[astroyongie]

Riize June Reading 2024

Notes: Sorry for taking so long, I have been very busy with my thesis (defenses are coming up!). I will be fully back after the second week of July <3. Anyway, please enjoy and TAKE IT LIGHTLY

Shotaro

Love: So based on the reading, Shotaro is dating and things seem to be doing well for him and his partner. this is the same idol he has been dating since december of last year, so their relationship truly seem to be doing well and strong 

Career: honestly he is a little bit apathetic. mostly because he doesn't like the way the group is benign managed, he isn't having fun with the Riize concept and he doesn't have the closest relationship with other members. 

Self: I think he is his own enemy. Shotaro is someone who can be very impulsive and quite restless and his energy is heavy on that. mostly he is probably going through a shift at the moment which is the reason why he feels so out of place. 

Eunseok

Love: still single at the heart, but he is seeing several people in a non official way. Eunseok is the type of guy who receives a lot of confession from people around him and he doesn't necessarily turn them down but he also isn't the type at the moment to seek anything serious. so he is pondering his options and having fun

Career: Just like Shotaro, his career at the moment doesn't feel the best for him. He feels like the company keeps removing and taking away from him, both financially and opportunity wise. His sponsor probably has a few deals but the company has not accepted them.

Self: he isn't in the best headspace at the moment. his energy feels a little low, there’s a lot he is trying to process and he is having quite a hard time. i think his emotional energy is probably going through some stuff, there’s also some grief here, but this could be left over energy from her past relationship

Sungchan

Love: his situation did not change from february, to the point where i got exactly the same card for this reading as well. His love life is extremely unhealthy, the relationship he has with his partner is built in nothing but words that I can't apply here. due to obvious reasons i can’t really develop much on his love life, other that its a very toxic love 

Career: he isn’t very happy with how his career is going. not that he is heartbroken, but he was expecting more from SM, he was expecting more recognition, more fame, more. and that’s now what he feels like he is having from his hard work. 

Self:his energy around him is very puffy, very heavy, almost unbreathable. i think he is also going through some stuff at the moment that don't allow him to process his feelings correctly. he isn't on the best headspace 

Wonbin

Love: he is still single and not looking for love. He had a crush on someone but he knows that crush needs to stay platonic. there isn't much to pick out on his energy currently, and the deck isn't revealing much either 

Career: another member who is really not happy with how things are going and with the decision of the company for their group. Wonbin feels like the group is overwhelming him, the company and his career his overwhelming. he probably has some hard time emotionally due to his situation 

Self: despite all, he seems to be holding on in his head. Despite being exhausted and tired with his career, he is keeping himself positive and balanced. Wonbin is someone who doesn't allow himself to slip out 

Seunghan

Love: He is single at the moment as well, and not really focused on his love life. although Seunghan sees people outside and he has how own flings and fun, he isn't looking for anything serious as long as he is on a non constant situation 

Career: good news I think! at least i see things moving for Seunghan, i see some things being done behind the scenes and his sponsor and the company arranging things for a potential comeback 

Self: despite the exciting news, he doesn't seem to be the most happy person at the moment, there's a lot of heavy energy around Seunghan, a lot of disappointment and emotional immatureness 

Sohee

Love: Sohee is still dating the same person he was on my last reading and their relationship seem to be going strong and healthy 

Career: he is probably the only one who is rather satisfied with the choices of the company. he believes that he will beneficiate a lot from what they are cooking up for them and Sohee also as the luck to have a sponsor that is ready to invest in him 

Self: he is all alright, doing right and his energy is strong and quite chill as well. Although a little bit authoritative, he is doing well.

Anton

Love: He is still single and struggling with some delulu about someone. Anton truly had this crush on someone (the same that rejected him previously in february) but he doesn't want to let it go, because he believes that the person will crack and come to him 

Career: Just like Sohee he thinks that the decisions made by the company are start and they are good financially speaking. at least he is receiving his paychecks and he is using his time to develop his skills 

Self: he is shifting a lot, his energy is going through some transformation. based on what the deck says, maybe Anton is getting ready to show a new self or changing something physically

[maliciouslove]

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕡𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤

SFW, characters aged up (21+) 

pairing // Bakugou Katsuki x reader

word count // 1.1k

tags // chaos, descriptions of mental illness, mention of self-harm, depiction of life as a struggle, financial struggle, mention of mental breakdowns, hurt/comfort

AN // I do not listen to Taylor Swift, but the lyrics of Paper Rings inspired this. I just needed comfort.

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night

Life isn’t perfect. It’s an unpredictable tidal wave that can either drown you or take you to some far off shore. It’s a storm that takes you by surprise, a force of nature you cannot control, nor predict. 

Life isn’t always beautiful. It can be ugly, painful; it can leave scars on your soul that still burn, never quite fading. Even the most beautiful rose will hurt you with its thorns. 

And life isn’t a fairy tale story with a happy ending—it’s a never-ending maze of horrors and miracles that you have no idea how to navigate. You wander until your feet bleed, but every once in a while you can stop and admire the flowers that have engulfed the tall walls. 

Life is difficult.

When you don’t come from money, and you’re barely getting by, swamped in work that doesn’t pay but requires a lot, drowning in bills and mental illness that cripples you and holds you hostage in the dark. When your family rejects you, and you have only two friends who (try to) keep you afloat and the orange cat you found by the dumpster behind your workplace during a breakdown. When life is a rollercoaster of unpleasant surprises and punches in the face and you can’t even finish your papers for school because your mind never shuts off, and you’re much, much too tired to deal with it all. 

When you're at your lowest… Life gave you a miracle called Bakugo Katsuki. 

Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright

And he didn’t come from money either. Thrifted clothes and a shitty attitude, misunderstood by the world, pushed aside by everyone because he never bites his tongue. Dark circles under his eyes because he too can’t sleep at night, because the nightmares always, always come back. And he keeps his shaking hands in his pockets, holding his head up high and refusing everyone’s pity. 

He, a stranger at that time, could recognize the telltale signs of you dissociating mid-party, and he took you outside and held you tight when you cried because you were overwhelmed. He gave you his hoodie and walked you home, choosing the streets that were most brightly lit so you wouldn’t be scared of the dark. And when you hide your wrists he chuckles and says If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine and rolls up his sleeves to show off his tattoos covering old scars. Thin familiar lines you can trace with your fingers.

And before you got inside your tiny apartment after thanking him and wishing him goodnight, he lingered a few moments longer, whispering a single It’ll be alright before disappearing. Back then you thought you’d never meet this stranger again, so you clutched his hoodie tight and allowed yourself a happy dream that night.

Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life

One fateful day when the bell of the cafe rang, you looked up to the door, just about to end your shift, and it was the sight of a familiar blonde spiky hair that froze you and made your heart leap. Because when he smiled at you, hands still in his pockets, sauntering over to the register, your mind was for the first time in months absolutely clear. 

And he ordered his coffee to go and waited for you outside, talking to you like it was yesterday when he walked you home late into the night. And just like that, he reentered your life and nestled himself deep into your routine, into your heart, making each day just a little better than the one before. 

When the world was pushing you down, he’d wrap his hands around you and push back with you, never letting you cave and fold under the pressure. He’d be there for you. He’d hold your hand until it stopped shaking, and he’d kiss your tears away until his feather-light touches would tickle you and you would laugh again. 

When he’d get sick you’d take care of him, hot mugs of tea and homemade chicken soup, no peas because he hates them. You’d hold his hand and read him books until his fever comes down with gentle forehead kisses and quiet whispers of I’m not going to get sick, let me take care of you. And when he’s angry you would calm him, soothe his pain with hugs and kisses until he isn’t boiling anymore. You know he wouldn’t burn you, not ever. Like a fire that reduces even the densest of forests to ash, spreading fast and consuming all into his blaze—into his pain and anger—he only stops when he is met with your rain, dousing his flames.  

He planted flowers in pots, hung them on your walls, and promised to remind you to water them. Always made you a meal when you were too worn down to do so yourself. And he was okay sleeping with the lights on at night when the darkness felt like too much for you to handle. He stood up for you and stayed up late at night to cram for exams with you; carried you to bed when you would fall asleep on the little dining table. He’d set ten alarms making sure you woke up on time and made it to the exam hall in one piece. And he’d celebrate after each exam with a cake he made himself. 

Since you met him, your chest didn’t feel as tight. Because the burdens you had to carry you no longer shouldered by yourself. Because you had someone who understood and had your back. 

Because he was the one you wanted and have been waiting for your whole life. 

Oh, you're the one I want

And he was there when you graduated and took a bunch of pictures of you in a pretty navy dress holding your diploma and smiling brighter than the sun. He bragged to all his friends about how far you’ve come and the new job you found and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. 

And the first step was moving in with you. Finding a new place you would call your own and filling it with colors and picture frames that reminded you of how you met. Kiss good morning, kiss goodnight, never ever a kiss goodbye. For better or worse, in health and in sickness—you were poor but rich with love. 

And when the final boxes of his things were empty and his toothbrush was next to yours, his clothes folded in the drawer opposite of yours, his slippers kicked aside while yours were neatly placed by the door… you knew you were where you were supposed to be. With the person who was meant to be with you. The person who understood and accepted your pain and loved you for who you are. Scars, trauma, sleepy smiles and all. Just unconditional love.

You sit by the window that night, marvelling in the knowledge that you live together now, sipping beers straight from the bottles and just looking at the city lights outside. He fiddles with his beer and peels the label off, folding it into a little paper ring, smiling to himself as he sets his beer aside and takes your hand in his. 

Slipping the little paper ring onto your ring finger, he looks like the happiest man alive.

“One day I’ll save up get you a real one and ask you to marry me.” He looks into your eyes, hoping you would like that idea. In his mind your future together is playing like a movie, bright and full of color and laughter, so he’s taken by surprise when you suddenly kiss him and hide your face into the crook of his neck, barely whispering the words: “Dummy… I’d marry you with paper rings.”

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[simnationlifebefore]

"Your mum still not come to get you, Cass?"

"She's only about twenty minutes late, my brother probably needed feeding or maybe his arse exploded in the unique way only babies can do"

"Has she replied to your texts?"

"No, but like I said-"

"Yeah, I heard you. You always over explain everything, girl"

"It's really not an issue Natasha"

"Sure, just give me a call when you start to fall asleep standing up okay?"

"I'm fine"

"Oh, a bit late for you to be in your pajamas still Michael"

"One to talk"

"I only finished work at 6am"

"I've been working up the courage"

"To what?"

"I want to breakup, Claire"

"Right, okay then"

"Are you serious? That's your reaction to us breaking up after ten years?"

"I never want to force someone to stay with me, if you think it's the right thing to do I'll agree"

"You're supposed to fight for us, not just give in like you never cared"

"Oh I'm sorry. Did I not say the things you imagined in your head? Are you upset I'm not crying on the floor? Get over yourself, Michael. If you want to talk like an adult you can start by behaving like one"

"Fine! Let's get dressed and talk about it then"

"My cousin used to say Bella Goth moves like a spy"

"He'd know better than most, Malcolm"

"What did I do to bring Simnation's finest actress to my...Well actually you broke in, so I can't say door can I?"

"My dropping by didn't surprise you?"

"Well after several calls from my cousin, Holly Alto and apparently the Montys all saying you had some complaints, it was slightly expected"

"Wanted to discuss your little debt with Daniel Pleasant, his family are friends of mine"

"Ah yes, but this is a bit more than just some money, Mrs Goth"

"I was becoming good friends with him and he repays me by attempting to sleep with my girlfriend, literally in front of people who work for me"

"Well then I think being in the red, an angry wife, no career along with the kick to the stomach your goon gave his last night should be enough penance for Daniel, don't you think?"

"Mrs Goth...This is my side of the coin toss, let me deal with it, as you deal with yours"

"Oh come on, Malcom. making sure my territory's peaceful is part of the job, I'll cover your financial losses Daniel's unable to pay"

"For a woman who's still recovering after her last pregnancy, you've got a lot of fire"

"Now, now, Malcolm. You don't want my husband to ruin some of your investments just because you were in the mood to flirt"

"If I leave Pleasant alone..."

"We could be good friends"

"You could have gotten some sleep instead of waiting hours for your mother to arrive"

"It's fine, I'm not tired"

"I didn't come to university to act as your parent, Cass"

"Then don't"

"We can't live with some sixteen year old genius who refuses to take care of herself and NOT end up playing mummy"

"I don't ask for you to play that role"

" You don't get it"

"Then explain, Priya"

"If I was taking drugs, drinking every night to the point I could end up in hospital and you said or did nothing, how would you feel, Cass?"

"Guilty"

"There you go, idiot"

[saturdaynightghostclub]

also idk if you still do these 😭 but i just thought of leander working his ass off to take the reader on a trip somewhere he might’ve gone when he was younger perhaps a little something along the lines of that ? in my head i feel like hes obv very happy but maybe sometimes regrets that he can’t afford to share some of the good experiences he’s had in his life w his partner ykwim ? idk im just yappin

Never stop yappin! As I re-read your ask I realized this isn’t totally what you were describing, but hopefully you like it anyway—if not, you know I’m always down to write whatever one-shot your heart desires ♥️

The Heart and Stomach of a Sailor (or, Leander Mason Dreams of Greece)

“Wake up.”

Something soft–his knuckles grazing your cheek, then his lips–and you blink yourself awake in the heavenly recesses of Leander’s fancy duvet. A glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table tells you that it’s not even eight o’clock in the morning, and your stomach flips.

“Oh, god,” you moan around the sleepy lag of your jaw, “don’t do this to me.”

Leander chuckles softly against the shell of your ear, squeezing your shoulder from his perch behind you on the bed. “You sure?” he asks, “What if it’s important?”

“It’s Saturday,” you mumble, turning your face into the pillow so that your voice is blurred around the edges, “how important can it be?”

The bed shakes as Leander lets his body fall dramatically alongside yours. With a theatrical sigh, he says: “No, you’re right. I was going to tell you all the sordid details of our upcoming trip to Greece, but I guess it can wait.”

Hold up. You move your body incrementally, rolling over to face your ridiculous love. “Run that back for me.”

“No, I shouldn’t, you’re much too tired–”

“Leander.”

Another loud sigh. “If you insist,” he says, unable to keep the goofy grin from his face, “I’m taking you to Greece. One week. Don’t give me that look.”

You check yourself, schooling your face into something that might be construed as neutral. Mask set, you raise one anticipatory eyebrow, prompting Leander to continue. “That’s better,” he says. “Here’s the plan. This coming Friday, I’ll pick you up from work and take you directly to the airport. We’ll start in Athens, then move on to Mykonos and Santorini. Eight days–I’ll have you back the following Saturday, you can take Sunday to sleep off your jetlag, and it’s back to work on Monday. Deal?” He’s doing his Accountant Voice, the one that dares you to try negotiating at the risk of personal and financial ruin.

“I have some objections,” you say. Maybe if you match his matter-of-fact tone, he’ll be less likely to shut you down.

“Proceed,” he allows. You don’t like the smug look on his face.

“My boss.”

“Handled. I called her last month.”

“And you told her what, exactly?” you ask, your mouth agape. Your supervisor is a notoriously difficult woman to please.

Leander rolls his eyes in an exaggerated display of mockery. “The truth,” he says, “that I’d planned a romantic getaway and she’d have to spare you for a week, and also that she’d need to keep it a secret because I will not have my grand gesture of love upstaged by a hardass editor I’ve never even met.”

“You didn’t–,”

“No, Professor, I didn’t. I was much nicer about it than that. She’s a romantic, though, you’ll be happy to know–she only fought me for about five minutes before she agreed to let you go.” Pleased with himself, Leander nods, waiting for your next objection.

“Fine,” you say, “where’d you get the money?”

At this, he fully grins. “Didn’t I tell you about that sweet little bonus I got?”

You sit bolt upright, turning to look down at Leander (who naturally doesn’t move an inch from where he’s reclined on the mattress). “You got a merit bonus big enough to book a weeklong trip to Greece, and you chose to spend it on a weeklong trip to Greece?”

“Yep,” he replies, his grin somehow widening, “it was literally the first thing that crossed my mind when Nancy handed me the check.”

“So you just did it?” Your incredulity pitches your voice up an octave in the way you know Leander finds hilarious, but you can’t help it.

He finally sits up, taking your face in his gentle hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know you think I’m stupid, or insane, or some mixture of the two,” he says, his voice softer now, and his lips are on your cheek–“and you’re probably right, because you’re much smarter than I am,”--now your jaw–, “but you’re going to have to trust me on this one, okay?” –your neck, your collarbone, past the neckline of your T-shirt–, “Everything is going to be alright.”

“I believe you,” you say cautiously, “but not because you’re trying to ply me with sex. Got it?”

Leander laughs, soft and warm against your skin. “Look at it this way,” he says, bringing his face back up to train his eyes on yours, “I grew up going to Greece every summer, right? My dad had this timeshare deal with some of his white-collar crime buddies or something, I don’t know. Anyway, those trips were always miserable somehow or another, but I loved the islands–I always thought I’d do it over, do it right. Take someone I love, maybe. So really you’ll be doing me a favor.”

You sigh. You have about six hundred other objections, but you know you’re fighting a losing battle with Leander. He’s the only person on Earth more stubborn than you are, and an undercover idealist to boot. “Are you always so good at keeping secrets?” you ask.

Leander knows he’s won. He kisses you hard before pulling away to answer your question. “No exaggeration, it was literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Why do you think I woke you up before eight? I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, I was actually going to explode. I wasn’t even planning on telling you until Thursday night.” His words are spilling out faster than he can keep up with. His boyish excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning (in exasperation, you’d like to think) while he tells you about tidepools and seaside markets, You’ve never been to Greece; really, you’ve hardly left the country aside from a quick stopover in Canada en route to Alaska when you were eight. Time will tell whether the fluttering in your stomach is anxiety or excitement; for the moment, though, Leander’s nudging you back onto the mattress, ignoring the Chicago heat to tangle his limbs with yours, and you can’t bring yourself to sort it out just yet.

***

A little over a week later, you’re halfway through your trip and stumbling giddily into a hotel room in Mykonos with a tipsy Leander draped around you and your cheeks flushed pink. You’re laughing hysterically, but neither of you can remember what was funny in the first place.

“Go…go sit,” Leander gasps, out of breath from his fit of laughter, “sit right there, and I’ll…I’ll get wine. More wine.”

More wine is the last thing either of you needs, but the world is rosy and the man you love is gliding about the room in a beautiful haze, so you sit on the sofa he’s pointing vaguely at and watch him work.

Two high-pours later, Leander collapses beside you (practically on top of you, actually), miraculously keeping both glasses intact without spilling a drop. He hands one to you, and you hold it delicately by the stem, taking a long sip to get it down to a reasonable level.

“Scoot,” he mumbles, nudging you gently to the side only to pull you back in with an arm around your shoulders. He lets his hand fall idly down your arm, fingers stroking up and down your skin in an absent rhythm.

You turn your head to gaze up at him. “Hello,” you say softly, almost shyly, reveling in the way your stomach flips when he looks down at you.

“Hello, my love,” Leander murmurs, his shy smile mirroring your own. He heaves a sudden, deep sigh and drops his head, letting his forehead rest against your temple.

You laugh softly at his theatrics before you say, “What’s this?”

Leander lets his head fall further, slouching to lean on your shoulder. “I’m feeling so much,” he says softly. His voice is thick with emotion. With the hand that’s not holding your wine glass, you run your fingers through his soft hair. He’s stopped styling it so much since you’ve been here, claiming the salt water will just screw it up anyway.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

“Good,” he murmurs, “just a lot.”

“You wanna tell me about it?” This is your pattern, the two of you. Experience something new, work it out together. Nine times out of ten the “something new” in question is just a completely healthy reaction to something you’ve never experienced in its entirety, but that’s beside the point.

At last, Leander lifts his head. As he often does before he dives into the deep end of a conversation, he kisses you. He breathes you in, red wine on his lips, and you feel yourself melt just a little bit before he pulls away. It’s his way, you think, of letting you know that whatever’s about to be said doesn’t change anything, doesn’t have to be a big deal. Maybe it’s also to ground himself, who knows. He sets his wine glass down and you follow suit. “It’s just weird being back here,” he begins, lifting one of your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles before continuing, “like, earlier this week we walked past this pier, right? Just this rickety old thing, you probably didn’t even look twice at it, but I swear I remember standing at the end of that exact pier when I was fifteen, just waiting for my dad to finish screaming at me so I could jump in the water. I don’t even remember what he was mad about–honestly, I probably wasn’t even paying attention at the time. I just wanted to swim away, and the water was so blue…did you see the water, honey? It looked like sapphires, it was so blue.”

You nod, resisting the urge to kiss him again. Sometimes it’s all you can think to do. “It was beautiful,” you agree.

“Anyway,” Leander says, “we walked past that stupid pier, and I swear for a split-second I felt it again. Like I just wanted to jump in and get as far away from all my problems as I possibly could.”

“And?” you pry, worry creeping into your voice.

“And then I realized I don’t have any problems,” he replies in his matter-of-fact way, “I mean it, look at me. I’m wine-drunk in a hotel in Mykonos. I’ve got a beautiful woman in my arms, and it’s only a matter of time before that beautiful woman becomes my wife. Earlier today, I swam in the ocean. And the best part is that it doesn’t have to end when I get back to Chicago.”

“You sure you want to swim in the Chicago River?”

Leander pokes you gently in the ribs. “You know what I mean. When I was a kid, everything was so high-stakes, you know? Coming to Greece felt like a way to escape my life, and even when I was here I constantly felt like I needed to get away. I have nothing to escape anymore, Professor.”

Now you do kiss him again, just because you can’t contain it any longer. “You had me going there,” you say, breathlessly, as you pull away. “I was really worried for a second.”

“I never want you to worry about me,” he says, so sincerely that your whole body aches for him, “I know I’ve put you through the wringer, my Professor. That’s why we’re here, though. Because I wanted to be the one taking care of you for a change.”

“Leander…”

“I know. Just humor me, okay? I’m drunk, just go with it.”

You sigh. You can’t just go with it, and he knows it. “I wouldn’t be the person I am if not for you,” you say simply, “I’m not even sure I’d be a person at all.”

At that, Leander locks his gaze on your face, and you hold his bright eyes with your own. It’s the same silent battle of wills that the two of you engage in semi-regularly (less frequently lately, but there’s still the occasional bout of insecurity). The tension usually dissipates once you realize you’re essentially arguing about how much you love each other, and if that’s not a perfect depiction of your relationship then you don’t know what is. Now, as usual, he takes a deep breath and relents.

“Never stop giving me shit, okay?”

“I promise.”

It’s a vow you intend to stick to, and you’re sure he wouldn’t have it any other way; he needs you, you know, to rein him in, and you need him if only to have someone around who doesn’t mind being lightly needled every now and then.

Leander stretches his body across the length of the sofa, lanky frame draped over your lap like a cat, and resumes his drunken diatribe about the waters of Greece. For your part, you resolve to ask your boss about a promotion. Maybe next year you can try Italy.

[yanderes-galore]

Can I get a Romantic Yandere! Jeremy Blaire (Outlast) with Defiant! Darling who fights back too much? She’s his persona assistant and only tolerated his attempted advances (and creepy personality) because she needs the money to financially support herself.

From what I've seen he only shows up three times in the DLC so I'll do what I can. I'll also make him a creep as this ask suggests since that is the most Outlast thing I could do.

I've been on an Outlast kick lately because I'm replaying the games. So I'm using the brainrot to get Outlast requests done >:)

Yandere! Jeremy Blaire with Defiant! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Abuse of power, Mentioned harassment, Possessive behavior, Poor working conditions, Forced touching/Flirting, Implied intimacy/Intimate actions, Triggering themes because... Outlast is like that, Brainwashing/Experimentation, Forced relationship, Violence, If you can handle OUTLAST and YANDERE you should be fine.

Honestly, working with Murkoff in general can be a pain.

Based on how Mount Massive is run and the fact PROJECT: WALRIDER exists says enough.

Jeremy is the head of the asylum and is in charge of what happens in it.

You are his personal assistant, which means you are subjected to the horrors of the Asylum.

Not only do you see how "patients" are treated, more like experiments, but Jeremy isn't necessarily all that easy on you either.

Jeremy picked you as his personal assistant for his own reasons.

Sure, you're good at following orders... but you're also to his own tastes.

Jeremy is a horrible person, that's easy to tell based on how he treats Waylon or... anyone in the series.

He's someone who looks out for himself and his own interests.

I wouldn't doubt it if Jeremy was the type to pick out an assistant based on looks or anyone that gets his attention.

You put up with Jeremy because the money is enough to keep you hooked.

That is the only reason you put up with his abuse of anyone.

It's not like you can report him, either.

He runs this asylum and wouldn't allow you to get an email or call out to Murkoff about any of this.

Jeremy will use his power over you to get you to do what he wants.

He'd use his power over you to coax you somewhere private and... have a look at you.

He does seem like the type to be a creep, which is just peak Outlast character based on what I've seen.

Everyone's a creep in the asylum, especially to, well, women (seriously, have you seen how all the variants act? HAVE YOU SEEN GLUSKIN?).

No one is safe, however.

Essentially, Jeremy would feel you up at times but that's as far as you let him get.

He'll try to flirt with you, trying to get you in the mood, and you'll turn him down.

You refuse to do such actions with your boss.

This disappoints him, yet part of him likes your defiance.

He'd be the type to see it as "hard to get".

See what I mean? He's persistent with his intentions.

You only let him degrade you so far before you tell him off.

You care for yourself better than to deal with this harassment.

Jeremy could put up with you fighting him for a while.

He'd probably try other methods, like pinning you to areas to see how you react.

It's actually intriguing to see you get physical with him.

He tries so hard to manipulate and force you into submission.

Yet you have a fire within you that won't extinguish.

You hate your boss, but the money is all you want.

Jeremy has a feeling you just want money, so he tries bribery.

Come on, doll... just a little favor for a couple hundred dollars?

Won't you just give him a taste?

Honestly, if you end up kicking, slapping, or ignoring him too much... Jeremy may lose his patience.

Look... he was hoping to willingly make you his.

He was giving offers.

Now you're wearing him and his patience thin....

So would you like to volunteer for experimentation?

That's right, if his previous attempts aren't working, he'll use threats.

He's tired of your defiance, as cute as it is.

You're fueling a monstrous hunger within him, dear...

You need to stop keeping him waiting....

If you don't submit to his advances he may ask that you be brainwashed just enough to listen to him.

You'll become the newest experiment, you'll be all his.

No need for money now, he'll provide you everything.

Just as long as you listen to his orders and give him what he wants...

It's what a personal assistant SHOULD do, right?

[toomanythingsandnotenough]

My parents, mainly my mother, use their kids as tools.

Our needs were not important enough compared to theirs. They didn't know how to help and/or didn't want to. They overworked us, didn't give us ANY space to push back, to be tired, whiney, to be a kid, or to be disabled. We were emotionally responsible for them and the entire families grief. And oh yeah! The kids that needed a diagnosis were told it was in their head! The kids that didn't want one, that felt secure without that identity, where bullied with a fake diagnosis.

They screwed me and my siblings up on such a fundamental level that we barely know how to help ourselves because we're such an internal mess. We do our best, but the needs are still too high to get enough from others' support. It's that meme of pouring tea into a cup during fast wind. The cup never fills because we're using all our capacity to survive still. So, none of us thrive/have thrived. All 5 of us are like this in different ways.

I remember feeling so small as a child. I didn't feel allowed to speak, to be physically present, to ask for any of my needs to be met. I still feel this way. I am still insignificant in my own mind.

I've lived away from my parents for about 6 years now. Coincidentally, that's also the longest we have ever lived in one place. I stopped all communication with them 2 years ago, last December. I'm still healing from their words, their actions, their abuse, and their half-hearted love, and I don't even see or hear from them.

Currently, my youngest biological sibling is still living with them. She's a heart patient, also high needs, and has been struggling with self-harm and suicidiality in these past 5 years, completely because of how piss poor of a job they've done to get her needs met. Instead of admitting that they need help with her, that they don't know what they're doing, they threaten to call the police on her. They make her take care of all the inside household needs like cleaning, pet care, groceries, and cooking (just as they did with their other kids.) She gets overstimulated by it all extremely fast, and the environment she's in has no space for her to regulate, even when they let her stop working.

They treat her like some violent enemy, instead of their own duaghter. It's disgusting, and my family has excused this for far too long. They threaten that she'll be locked up without her medications and will die. They hit her, drag her around by her limbs and clothes, slam her fingers and body in and against doors, tell her she's selfish and evil, and all because she's an autistic and trauamtized person who has no idea how to help herself. Which was their fucking job to build for her. Don't get me wrong, she's reactivity abusive, as a lot of autistic people are in chaotic environments. That is to be expected, though. Being a parent is an impossible job, but it is what they chose, which means no matter what, their kids should have come first. They just act like she was supposed to grow out of it and become self-sufficient. They knew damn well she'd need a caregiver for most or all of her life. They're just tired of her needing them. They don't want to deal with her anymore. They want to have her be a ward of the state, put in a home. Away from them, they don't care as long as they don't have to address their neglect. This is the tippy-top of the iceberg.

Sidenote: I don't care that they have their own issues and disabilities to handle. All I've done my whole life was over-empathize with them while trying to make them empathize with us. They had their chances. If their young, anxious, depressed, trauamtized, dissabled children can find it in themselves to be empathetic to abusive parents, the parents could sure as shit do more.

Now, my parents live in my grandparents' basement apartment type thing due to financial problems. (We've had insecure housing all my life.) Both my parents and grandparents are conservative Christians. My grandmother is an unmedicated, schizophrenic, narcissistic, abusive person. My grandfather is a hard-ass with special interests in government programs. He's paralyzed from the waist down but still insists on driving and refuses to leave his abusive and horrid wife. Both their health is very poor because my grandmother manipulates everything and everyone and won't accept help. They own dogs that they can't take care of, to the degree that their dogs have killed other animals, and are obese before developing more physical health problems, in addition to them being aggressive towards people. When their pet passes, they get another untrained puppy they can't handle and repeat the cycle.

My mother and grandmother hate each other. It's an extremely toxic place to be. We warned her it was a bad idea to live with her mother, she didn't listen. Add aaalll of that to the fact that it's a small town in Missouri. 'Miss-erri' never fit so right.

Recently, they started fostering 2 high-needs autistic kids that are distant relatives. They plan to adopt. They plan to adapt these babies that need a ton of support, affection, and constant attention. They can't even support/give proper care to their adult, high needs child after all this time. How do they expect to be able to manage two babies, just like or more intense than her, in a household with abuse and neglect from every angle, even outside of their own. How is an impossible question to answer here, and an enraging one at that. An even more pressing question, though, is why?

Parents, take care of your own shit. Stop using kids to fulfill your needs to get shit done. Children are people, not tools.

[master-john-uk]

I am not a farmer... I am just a silly businessman who bought two struggling farms for all the wrong reasons! But, I am learning.

In 2007, following a military exercise on Salisbury Plain I accepted an invitation from a British Army General to join him for dinner at his Dorset home.

I immediately fell in love with the area. It was like stepping back in time without the aid of a TARDIS!

The General took me to a local pub. After a lovely meal, he introduced me to a local farmer, also named John who was sitting at the bar, looking very tired and emotional. I got chatting with Farmer John... He told me that he was struggling to cope with his workload and wanted to retire. But, his wife loved farm life so much that he felt he could never leave the farm, even though they were struggling to make ends meet.

Farmer John was quite intelligent even in his inebriated state, and had calculated that he needed to work 27 hours a day in order to bring the harvest in before the rain that was forecast. I volunteered to help.

The next day I had to go to Dorchester to buy some clothes (I only had an overnight bag). I then drove to the farm. To cut a very long story short, I ended up staying on the farm for three weeks.

I had been there a few days before I had the chance to talk to the farmer's wife on her own. She wanted to get away from the farm, but thought that husband John loved the farming life so much that he would never leave.

Husband and wife both wanted to leave the farm, but thought their partner didn't! This gave me a headache!

Ignoring my business and financial advisors, I made an offer to buy the mainly arable farm.

Both Farmer John and wife Barbara were a bit surprised at my offer... but, it forced them to talk honestly to each other, and they agreed to the deal in principal. In exchange for a reduction on the purchase price of the farm, I bought them a new luxury apartment on the outskirts of Dorchester... and they still live there today.

Ten years later in 2018... The neighbouring dairy farmer told me that he was selling up. They only had 67 cows, and they were all nearing the end of their productive life. All of the cow sheds needed renovating, or replacing. BUT on the plus side... the dairy farm had a huge amount of unused land, and also had a terrace of eight cottages (which also needed renovating.)

My mother had recently passed away... and she loved cows. I had to make an offer on the dairy farm (on my mother's behalf), or risk the site being sold to property developers. (MY financial advisor shook his head in disbelief... again!)

It cost me a fortune to renovate the dairy, and the cottages. But the extra land has allowed us to increase our crop production.

Both farms are now returning profit... albeit small. Our dairy herd has increased from 67 to 327. The anaerobic digestor makes both farms self-sufficient for electricity, and we are constantly working with researchers and universities to develop new ideas.

[the-oc-lass]

Nimona OC - Charlotte Swiftheart/Corova

Aaaaand HELLO! As a special treat for this being the last part of my canon + Charlotte storyline, you get to have it an hour earlier than usual.

Reminder that the poll to vote what I write next should (if I've done my math correctly) have about one hour left, so vote while you still can!

But all that aside, here we go! By the way, was no one going to tell me that there's a damn WHALE PLUSHIE in front of Nimona's memorial wall? I'M GOING TO CRY SOME MORE, DAMN YOU.

First, Previous

Golden "Twins" Rebellion AU

Snippets?

Knight Charlotte AU

Whatever else comes next?

"Mom?"

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Why are things the way that they are?" Minara purses her lips as she thinks, and Charlotte watches her carefully. Her mother looks so very tired, and Charlotte is old enough to know that she has a great deal on her shoulders. Minara Corova is much too young to have seen as much as she has. Finally, she speaks again.

"This kingdom is broken in ways that its people simply don't understand, my love. These cracks have been woven into our society for longer than any of us have been alive. It was always doomed to be this way," she says. Charlotte tilts her head.

"What do you mean?" she asks. Minara hums softly, closing her eyes for a moment as she thinks. Then, she looks down at her daughter.

"Look at how people treat Ballister, dear. Look at the lies we had to tell so that you could join the Institute. Does any of that seem right?" Charlotte shakes her head.

"No."

"But do you know why that's how things are?" Charlotte frowns, casting her eyes down.

"Because we're commoners. They think we're less than them." Her mother sighs.

"Yes, my love." After a few moments, a hand reaches out and gently tilts Charlotte's chin up. "Our ways of life are broken, Charlotte, but they don't have to be. They can be changed and fixed. It may not happen today, nor tomorrow, but one day, you will stand in this kingdom as you are, not as the lie that we've woven for you, and you will be seen for who you are, not by what blood runs through your veins."

"You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so. You will be there to help bring in a new era of this kingdom, one that's better for us all. It will take time, but in the end, it will be beautiful."

The past few weeks (months?) have been like a dream, but the type of dream where you know that something is missing. She knows exactly what (or, rather, who) that missing thing is, but she tries not to linger on it too much. She mourns, but she lets life move forward. The wall had been broken open on that fateful night, and a thousand years worth of knowledge and history had been brought to light and questioned. But they've been healing, rebuilding. Ushering in a new era for their kingdom, just as her mother once said. Things have been getting better every day. People are traveling beyond the wall, and the Institute is being reformed into what it always should've been. The wall itself is no longer simply a structure to protect them, but has been transformed into somewhere lively and beautiful. The cannons are still coming down, but soon, even those will be gone and forgotten. The Knights Betrayed have disbanded, instead turning their attentions on these reforms, and on the new sanctuary. A sanctuary that no longer needs to hide in the shadows. She still heads it, of course, but Ambrosius has been there to back her, financially and otherwise. After he and Ballister had both recovered, the three of them had gotten to work, working to fix not only the kingdom, but their relationships with each other. Ballister and Ambrosius's romance had rekindled as if it had never gone out, and Charlotte has found herself just as close with her two best friends as she once was. And the kingdom knows Ambrosius not only as her friend, but as her brother. He'd been adamant about it, actually.

"They should've always known. I never cared what it might cost me. I just wanted my sister."

And the reception had been mixed, but that's always what she expected. What matters to both of them is that it's not a secret they feel that they have to hide anymore. Maybe things would've been different if the truth had been known sooner, but they'll never really know.

But she has to return to the elephant in the room sometimes. Or, rather, the lack of elephant. Nimona is still gone. The kingdom is finally changing for the better, seeing her for who she truly was rather than what they'd all been brainwashed into seeing since birth. But Nimona isn't here to see it. She's still gone. And Charlotte's very being aches when she thinks about that for too long. Yet here she stands, before the memorial wall made in Nimona's honor. Covered in drawings from the sanctuary's kids and others, gifts lain at its base. Charlotte cradles her bouquet in her arms, staring at the wall for a moment before she looks at the flowers. Paper, made by her own hands, in all of the most beautiful colors.

"I hate the way the real ones make me feel, but I don't know how to tell the kids no."

She's only broken from her thoughts when she feels a gentle nudge against her shoulder, and she lifts her head. Ambrosius smiles softly at her, and she smiles back just as softly, leaning over and nudging his shoulder back. They both look toward the wall again, and they linger in silence. Eventually, she sees him lean down in the corner of her eye, and she looks down at him. He lifts a drawing from the ground and holds it out in front of Ballister, who takes it carefully and looks at it. She watches a small smile appear on his face, then a look of scrunched contemplation. Finally, though, the smile returns and he looks up at the wall. Eventually, he looks over at them.

"There's something I need to do," he says. They smile back at him, and Ambrosius nods in understanding. Ballister's eyes find Charlotte's after a moment, and he tilts his head. "Do you want to come?" Her smile saddens slightly, and she shakes her head.

"You go. That place belonged to you two, not me," she says. She moves around Ambrosius, however, to set her hand on Ballister's shoulder. "But if you need us, need me...Just ask." His smile softens, and he reaches up one hand to place it over the one on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you," he says softly. She smiles back, then leans forward and kisses his cheek. When they step away, she plucks a light pink paper flower from her bouquet and offers it to him.

"These were her favorites," she says. He takes the flower, holding it like a treasure, then gives her a final nod before he turns away and heads off on his own. Charlotte turns away as well, finally walking forward to set her bouquet among the dozens of other gifts. She looks up at all of the artwork lovingly decorating the wall, and her heart aches. A hand settles upon her shoulder, and she rises, turning to look at Ambrosius.

"Let's go home." She nods, settling against his side and slipping her arm around him as his wraps around her shoulders, guiding her away from the memorial.

Although she and Norshe finally have a home of their own, Charlotte admits that Ballister and Ambrosius's place feels a lot more like home to her. She's here a lot, both with and without her fiancée. Being here, with them...It helps.

"Do you think he'll be back soon?" Ambrosius asks, his mug of freshly brewed tea between his hands. Charlotte sips at her own tea for a moment, then finds herself staring down into the mug.

"I think it depends on how he feels now that he's there. It's one thing to be somewhere she never was. It's another to stand where she should be," she says. She had almost broken down when she'd returned to the sanctuary after that night. She had broken down when she'd found Nimona's stash of trinkets and gifts in the small nook she'd once commandeered for herself. She takes a deep breath and lifts her head, looking over at Ambrosius. "But he needed to do it. For himself as much as for her." Ambrosius looks at her with a sad, sympathetic gaze.

"I wish I'd gotten to know her how you and Bal do," he says. She blinks back tears.

"Me too." She can't help but smile a little. "When you weren't fighting on opposite sides, I think you would've really liked her." She lifts her hand to brush away a tear, but she quickly realizes that the tears aren't stopping. Ambrosius takes her mug and sets their tea aside, then tugs her into his arms. The cry isn't as bad as others have been, but she still loses track of time. They might sit there for hours before she finally pulls away, sniffling slightly. Ambrosius gently wipes the remaining tears off her cheeks, shushing her when she tries to apologize for crying.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says, soft yet firm. It's what he always says when she cries these days. She's tried to argue with him before, but he shuts her down in the way that only he can. Once she's properly calmed down, he reaches over and picks up her mug, handing it back to her. As she takes a long drink, she hears the front door being unlocked, and it opens shortly after. Ballister must be home. She lowers the mug from her lips to call out, but whatever her words might've been die in her throat. She must be dreaming.

"Nimona?" she all but whispers. Nimona smiles softly at her.

"Hey, Chari." Ambrosius takes Charlotte's mug from her before she can drop it, and she rises and rushes around the coffee table, practically tackling Nimona in an embrace.

"Nimona." When she squeezes the shapeshifter, she's squeezed back just as tightly, and the tears begin to flow again. Nimona's alive. She's back. She's home.

Perhaps Ambrosius will get the chance to know her after all.

Fin.

Lovely tagged people:

@ammonitetheseaserpent @perfectkittystranger @madlad06 @xxlunadrawsstuffxx @floxu