#i just want things to get better but things just keep falling apart

[captain-huggy-bear]

comforting Quinn after one the awful games the canucks have had as of late

Oh he's had a rough time of it lately our Captain but I do feel like we're on the way up! Winning streak here we come! Fingers crossed, anyway!

The way Quinn storms into the apartment is the first sign that he's taking this run of bad luck hard, that this most recent loss has finally caused him to snap. The door is slammed open, slammed shut, his shoes are practically thrown off, he's stomping around like the entire world is against him. The way he pulls open the fridge is so harsh the door creaks.

All it takes is one little thing, the way a red pepper falls out of the fridge and rolls across the floor when Quinn's going to get something for dinner, for him to lose it a little.

"It's fucking bullshit!" You're watching silently from the couch, the way his shoulders heave, tense, so tense all the muscles in his back are pulled taunt, the way his head falls onto the fridge door, how his hands clench into fists, unclench, and clench again.

Quinn's not an angry person, he's not a yeller or a fighter. He's calm, collected, but sometimes it's all too much. You know he's not yelling about the pepper. He's yelling because this recent loss in a string of losses is the last straw, because he's fed up of carrying his team, because he's fed up of the disappointed fans, the stress of potential trades, all the bullshit and drama when he just wants to play good hockey.

There's not really any words that can help, you know that, so you don't say anything. You just pad across from the living area into the kitchen on quiet feet and slide your arms around his waist from behind. Your cheek presses into the middle of his back while you press as close to him as possible.

At first he seems to tense more and you consider pulling back, maybe this isn't what he needs right now and that's okay. But, when you start to loosen your grip Quinn's shoulders slump, tension leaving even as he grips your arms around his waist and pulls you back tight against him, like the thought of you walking away is too much.

"I love you, y'know? Even if things aren't going well, that's not going to change..." It's the only thing you can think to say as Quinn's forehead rests against the close fridge door, as you mould yourself to his back in an effort to provide some sense of support, some sense of belonging.

You've never seen Quinn cry, but this changes it all. Maybe it's the reassurance, maybe the love in your voice or just the fact that he feels like a failure of a captain, like he can't bring his own team together into a cohesive unit. Whatever it is, he cries in front of you for the first time, shoulders shaking silently as he sniffles and tries to wipe the tears away frantically before you can see them.

"This is so fucking stupid," You know he's talking about crying over the losses and you hate that he thinks it's stupid because it's not. His words are what have you turning him around so that you can see his face, the way his green eyes are red rimmed and water, the wet tracks that run over his cheeks.

"Quinn...it's not stupid. You're allowed to be upset. To be angry. You work so hard for this team...I get it, it feels like it's not paying off...not going your way..." You cup his face in your hands, his short beard scratching your palms as your fingers brush away some of the wetness on his cheeks, brushing away at each new tear that trickles out against his wishes, wetting his long lashes. "I don't know when it'll get better, when the wins will come in, but they will. You work so hard, it'll happen...you just gotta keep holding on a little longer,"

"Fuck..." His forehead falls against yours, leaning down as he moves into you, it's like he's trying to take some of your strength and you wish you could give him it all. Wish you could take every ounce of frustration, anger and sadness he was feeling and weather the storm for him.

His braced hand comes to your waist and you're careful when you put your hand over top of it, but it's intentional as you start the conversation you've been avoiding for weeks.

"You need to start looking after yourself more first. Starting with not playing with this hand until it's better." The way he looks down at you says it all, that he hates the idea, but you know better. Each day his hand isn't getting better, each game he's more worn down. He's going to break himself in two, he's going to cause permanent damage if he's not careful.

"But..."

"But?"

"We'll lose if I don't play...or lose worse anyway," the last bit muttered under his breath with derision, at the fact that even when he's on the ice the wins aren't coming...and when he's not? Oh, it's a whole lot worse.

"Maybe you need to have more faith in them, the guys are good...yeah, you're amazing, you're the best player on that team, but maybe you need to trust that they'll pull through for you? Maybe they need to feel like you can rely on them." Your hands slip from his cheeks, arms sliding to wrap around his neck gently, chest to chest, feet bumping against each other as you sway in the kitchen.

"I just...I don't want to sit out." You know Quinn doesn't. The idea of not playing hockey is like a nightmare to him, but you also know that makes him a bad judge of his own health, his own tolerance, when to quit. Sometimes he needs a reminder.

"I know you don't, baby...you live and breathe hockey...but I'm scared," The look he gives you is startled, like Quinn couldn't comprehend that his behaviour had any impact on you, his arms tightening around your waist as if that might protect you from your own feelings, "I'm scared you're going to permanently hurt yourself, Quinn...please, just...take some time off games."

There's a long pause where Quinn watches you, as if he's trying to figure out if you're truly scared for his wellbeing. Whatever he must see must confirm it for him, that you're worried about him, because as he slides his hands up your spine in a gentle, soothing caress, he agrees.

"Okay."

"Thank you..." You really do mean it. You're worried about him, day and night, but especially whenever he picks up a stick at the moment. Always waiting for the call that tells you he's done something permanent, hurt something beyond repair.

"I love hockey...but I love you more, baby." He hates the idea of sitting out on games, but he hates the idea of you worrying more, of the fear in your eyes at the prospect he's not resting properly, hurting himself more. If taking a few games off will make you feel better? He can do it...the team can't get much worse at the moment anyway.

[flowersforbucky]

either way, i'm going your way

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4k

summary: logan doesn't remember the last time he celebrated valentine's day, and he doesn't have any reason to believe that this year will be any different. then he runs into you, wade's neighbor, who happens to love the holiday despite not having anyone to celebrate it with.

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, sex in a public place kind of, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected p in v, logan's pov, neighbor!reader, reader is afab, reader is described as being shorter than logan, no use of y/n, hints of grumpy x sunshine

this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt & @lubdubology valentine's writing challenge! thank you both for hosting this, i can't wait to read the other submissions ❤️

logan howlett masterlist

Logan has been alive for two centuries worth of Valentine's Days. He can count on one hand how many he’s actually celebrated, and he can't recall the last time he had a reason to even acknowledge the day.

To him, Valentine’s Days have always been just another Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever day it falls on that year.

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

Technically he can't say that he's entirely alone. Romantically? Yes. Sexually? Yes.

Physically, however, he’s lodged between a blind eighty-year-old cocaine addict and a ten pound living tumor - the latter of whom keeps trying to French kiss him.

Wade might be out with Vanessa for Valentine’s Day, but for Logan, this is any other Friday night – watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire reruns with Al and Mary Puppins.

Something about his current predicament makes him feel even more alone than if he actually were alone. Maybe it’s how unfamiliar and foreign this universe still feels in so many ways – he’s been here for some months now, but there’s some things that remind him that he still has a ways to go in terms of adjustment.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

He has no one to blame but himself, and he knows it. He had the perfect opportunity to ask you out just last week, and he didn’t take it. The two of you were both taking the elevator up to your neighboring apartments when it broke down for the third fucking time in the last month. It took nearly an hour for maintenance to get it back up and running, and he couldn’t find the nerve to simply ask if you have any plans at any point during the time you were trapped in the fifteen square feet of space together. Instead, he awkwardly rambled about he had walked in on Wade and Vanessa in a compromising position the day before.

He cringes at the memory, tossing back another swig of whiskey when he realizes the bottle is empty. He sighs, earning a side-eye from Mary Puppins.

If this is how he’s going to be spending his evening, he should at least be a little intoxicated.

“I’m going to the liquor store,” Logan announces as he transfers Mary Puppins from his lap to Al’s before standing up from his position on the couch for the first time in hours. “You need anything?”

“Pick me up a couple of scratchers and a pack of Newports.”

Just her usual requests, then.

Logan throws on his leather jacket, dreading the cold and dreary February night but willing to face it for a bottle of bourbon and some cigars. He’s been out of those since yesterday, so a trip to the nearest convenience store is much needed, anyway.

The door to the apartment complex’s singular outdated elevator is sliding to a close when Logan hears a familiar, feminine voice call out.

“Hold up!”

Logan immediately pushes the hold button, freezing the door in place. A second later, you appear in the doorframe. You’re slightly out of breath, with a relieved expression on your face.

“Thanks,” you greet him as you lean against the wall of the elevator, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your plaid skirt. “I’m running late to my dinner reservations and really didn’t wanna have to take the stairs in these.” You glance down at the heels of the uncomfortable looking thigh high boots that you’re wearing.

Uncomfortable looking and hot, he thinks, before your words sink in. Dinner reservations – of course you’d have plans tonight. He feels a slight pang of disappointment (and jealousy, if he’s being honest with himself) at the realization, but he isn’t surprised.

“Well, let’s cross our fingers that we don’t get stuck in here again and that you make it to your date on time,” Logan says with a forced laugh and smile as he pushes the button once again to close the door, followed by the button that says lobby.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?”

“You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What’s wrong with how I look? And what’s wrong with going to dinner by myself?”

“Nothing!” Logan begins to backtrack when he realizes how his questions came across. “You - you look great. I'm just a little surprised. Would’ve assumed that you had a date tonight is all—”

He trails off when he realizes that you’re pursing your lips together in an obvious attempt to hide a smirk. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes gives you away.

“I’m just fucking with you, Logan,” you snort with a playful slap to his arm. “I know it’s a little unconventional to take yourself out on Valentine’s Day. But I’ve always loved the holiday despite being painfully single, so I thought why not? Better than sitting at home and sulking all night.”

The corners of his lips threaten to twitch upwards at the words painfully single as he contemplates the rest of your response. He can’t help but admire your way of thinking. He was content with staying holed up inside the apartment and drinking himself into a stupor, but he can’t deny that your outlook on the holiday is far less depressing and boring than his.

“What about you?” you ask as the elevator comes to a stop with a melodic ding. You exit, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Are you on your way to your Valentine’s plans?”

He chuckles at the question. For a second, he considers lying to you. He considers telling you that yes, he is on his way to pick up his date right now, just so he doesn’t have to tell you the truth – that he’s on his way to buy bourbon, cancer sticks, and lottery tickets for him and his elderly roommate. But with his luck, you’d run into Wade tomorrow and he’d open his big fucking mouth about how Logan actually spent his night, and the thought of that is even more mortifying than telling you the truth to your face.

“Not unless you count making a liquor run as Valentine’s plans,” he sighs, averting your gaze as he opens the door to the apartment building for you. “The only thing I plan on doing tonight is listen to Althea scream at her game shows.”

You come to a stop outside of the apartment building, wrapping your coat tightly around your chest to fight off the chilly night air. There’s a peculiar look on your face that Logan can’t quite read – something between amusement and hesitation.

“You could have worse dates, I suppose,” you laugh.

“That’s true,” Logan agrees. “At least I have Vanessa to thank for a Wade free evening. But I’ll let you go, don’t wanna make you late for your—”

“Do you like Korean barbecue?”

Logan freezes, taken aback by the question. He snaps his mouth shut, realizing he’s staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

“Korean barbecue?” He asks lamely. “Don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

He’s had barbecue. He’s had Korean food.. maybe? He’s been alive a really long time, he’s sure he’s had Korean food at some point in the last two hundred years.

But he can’t say that he’s had Korean barbecue.

A nervous looking grin appears on your face, and you cross your arms over your chest before taking a small step towards him.

“Are you hungry?”

••••••

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue.

You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before.

You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face.

“It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.”

Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface.

“Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

“It’s about the experience,” you explain with a shrug. “To be fair, when most people come to a Korean barbecue restaurant, they usually come with a group of people – hence the large amount of meat.” You nod towards the arrangement of the meats that have yet to be cooked.

“It’s a social thing. But all of my friends had plans with their significant others tonight, so…”

You trail off as the server places another tray on the table – this one covered in various colorful side dishes that he’s definitely never had before. He wouldn’t exactly describe himself as adventurous when it comes to trying new foods – for the most part, he lives off of ham and cheese sandwiches and frozen TV dinners. But he tried shawarma when he’d first arrived in this universe and ended up loving it, so he’s determined to try a bite of everything on this table.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing that you ran into me, then,” Logan murmurs when the server walks off.

You take your eyes off of the pieces of meat that you’re paying careful attention not to overcook, looking up at him through your lashes with a soft smile.

“I'd say that you’re right about that.”

••••••

Despite the breeze and the chilly night air, Logan feels perfectly toasty on the walk back to the apartment thanks to your tight hold on his arm and the wine that you had insisted that he try.

He'd learned a lot tonight – a lot about you; your hobbies and your interests. He’d learned all about Korean barbecue, and that he likes bulgogi and buldak.

Most importantly, he'd learned that he was stupid for ever being nervous about asking you out.

He feels at ease with you. He already knew he enjoys your company from all of the times that you’ve joined Wade’s movie nights and get-togethers – but he’d never been alone with you (with the exception of getting stuck in the elevator with you last week). Wade, Vanessa, Al, Peter, Yukio, and countless others always seemed to be present, making it near impossible for him to get to know you in the way that he’s wanted to since he first met you.

But now, with your arm intertwined with his and the scent of your perfume hitting him each time there is a gust of air, he knows that he is going to do all that he can to keep having moments like this with you.

“I have a question,” you state as the two of you turn onto the street where your apartment building is. Logan glances down at you in curiosity, but you’re not looking at him – you’re looking ahead, your teeth biting into your lower lip.

“What’s that?” Logan murmurs.

You hesitate, your eyes flickering up to him before quickly looking away again. “Did you actually like the kimchi?”

Logan can’t help but cackle, taken off guard by the question.

“That’s your question?” he laughs, thinking back to the spicy and tangy flavor of the fermented vegetables.

You come to a stop next to a streetlight outside of your apartment building, pulling your arm away from his to stand just inches in front of him.

“No,” you admit with a smirk. “Though I am curious about that, too.” You take a step closer to him, your chest ever so slightly brushing against his. He feels his breath catch in his throat at the way that your eyes twinkle in the glow of the streetlight.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

He thinks back to his nervous rambling in the elevator, to how you looked so pretty that he found it difficult to hold direct eye contact with you, and to how it felt like half of his brain was screaming at him to ask you out and the other half was screaming at him to not make himself look like an idiot.

Yeah, nervous is accurate.

“That obvious, huh?” he sighs.

“Just a little,” you shrug. “But don’t worry. I was too.”

“Is that right?” Logan asks, trying not to give away just how happy the confession makes him. “And what about now?”

He doesn’t have to ask – he's standing close enough to you that your increased heartrate is easy for him to detect.

“Something like that,” you whisper, and before he fully process what’s happening, you’re raising up on your tippy toes to capture his lips in yours.

The taste of the fruity wine from dinner still lingers on your lips. He places his hands on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands cradle his face, pulling him down closer to you. The warmth of you is a balm against the brisk night air, making him feel like he can’t get close enough to you. You don’t pull away until you’re breathless, looking up at him with dilated pupils in the florescent street lighting.

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building.

“What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance.

“As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead.

The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

It isn’t until he pulls away for air and opens his eyes that he realizes the elevator has come to a stop. It couldn’t have been moving for more than ten seconds –

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

Logan looks at the panel of buttons to his left. Sure enough, the number reads that you’re still a floor beneath your apartments. He beats his fist against the elevator wall, as if that’s actually going to help the matter.

Still pinned between his body and the wall, you pull your cell phone out from an interior pocket of your coat. You quickly find the number for building maintenance in your call history, but it just rings, and rings, and rings.

“I could probably pry the doors open,” Logan muses as he begins to pull away from you. He thinks back to how it took maintenance nearly an hour to get the elevator back up and running last week, and knows that he wouldn’t have the patience for that now. The thought of having to wait even a fraction of that long to get back to your apartment…

“Let’s not do anything that could potentially put the elevator out of commission permanently, yeah?” You pull him back to you, grabbing his face in your hand and making him look at you. “I think that we'll be just fine right here for a while.”

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans.

Oh.

All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down.

“This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

He nods, his mouth suddenly feeling too dry to speak. He helps you shimmy his boxers and jeans down enough for his cock to spring free. He glances around the elevator, double checking that there aren’t any security cameras. Considering this elevator is ancient and doesn’t even function half the time, he isn’t surprised to see that there aren’t any.

You take the base of him in your hand, languidly massaging the length as you tease his slit with your tongue. You lap up the beads of pre-cum before easing him past your lips.

The sight of you on your knees for him is enough to have him twitching in your mouth. Add in how your soft lips and tongue feel working his length, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

You bob your head around him, gagging when his head juts against the back of your throat. You pull off of him, leaving a thick rope of saliva that trails from his cock to your mouth.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything prettier. He could spend hours looking at you like this.

But this isn’t how he wants to finish – in your mouth, before he’s even had a chance to make you feel good. So as much as it nearly kills him to do it, he pulls himself away from your sweet lips and yanks you back up by the tops of your arms. There’s the slightest hint of disappointment on your face, but it quickly disappears when he pushes your coat off of your shoulders and down your arms. It falls to floor, leaving you in still too many articles of clothing for Logan’s liking.

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

For now, he settles for pushing the restrictive fabric of your skirt upwards, bunching it around your waist. He sinks to the ground in front of you, splaying his palms on your inner thighs and spreading your legs open for him. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft material of your panties, right over your clit. He feels shudder at the sensation, and notices the goosebumps that appear on the skin of your thighs.

He hooks his index finger through the cotton fabric, pulling it to the side. He looks up to see if there’s any kind of hesitation on your face, but you quickly pull him to your center by the back of his head, erasing any doubt. He chuckles lowly, and flattens his tongue over your slit.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud.

He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

His name slips through your lips, your voice strained with desperation. He loves the sound of it, and wants more than anything to hear you keep saying it. He snakes one of his hands between your thighs, and teases your hole with the tip 9t his finger. You involuntarily sink down, nudging the tip of it past your entrance.

He groans against your clit at how fucking tight you feel around his finger. God, he can’t wait to be inside you. He pumps the digit, your walls already clenching around him.

“Logan,” you moan from above him. “I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he hums against your clit. “Let go. I got you.”

Your climax washes over you with a sharp cry of his name and Logan mentally prays that the elevator walls aren’t as thin as the apartment walls.

When you go still above him, he reluctantly takes his mouth off of you and stands up. His jeans and boxers are still bunched just above his knees, his erection painfully hard and his balls full. He wipes the excess of your slick from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then begins to stroke his own length in his fist.

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?”

“God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

His lips crash against yours as he nestles himself in between your legs, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. He coats it in your juices and eases into you slowly. You groan into his mouth and he has to try not to cum on the spot.

You’re tight, and warm, and your walls flutter around him just right. He hikes one of your thighs over his hip, deepening the angle before he pulls almost all the way out. He rocks back into you, working up to a steady pace.

The small, confined space is filled with the sound of your body meeting his and the sweet noises you make that are music to his ears. You grip around him like a velvet vice and he knows that he isn't going to last long.

“Gonna cum, honey,” he warns in a grunt next to your ear. “Ya feel too fuckin’ good.”

He feels your walls pulse around him at his words and he can tell that you're just as close as he is. A few more deep thrusts that hit your cervix just right and he’s spilling into you as you cum around him.

When he’s empty, his movements cease but he doesn’t pull out. He nuzzles his face against your throat, pressing kisses to the soft but sweat-slicked skin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you murmur in a borderline delirious voice. He laughs, pulling back just enough to press his lips to yours.

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.”

You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place.

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

not my favorite thing i've ever written by any means, i've been feeling really unmotivated to write and have felt kinda burnt out, but i still wanted to get this out before valentine's day bc if i didn't then i never would have finished it at all, lol. so i'm sorry it's short 😭 hope you still enjoyed

reblogs/comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading!

[hy6erion]

hiii i have a request! could we get some pervert!jayce who stays up late at night touching himself to the thought of you? i wanna know what he fantasizes about ;__;

thank you ily!!!

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞, 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧/ 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 ⇰ 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝/ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

It's late. The lab is empty, and he's alone-just him, his thoughts, and the unbearable ache between his legs. You left hours ago, but your presence lingers, burned into his brain, into his skin.

The way you stretched before you left, arms above your head, spine arching just enough to make your shirt ride up. The sliver of bare skin, the subtle dip of your waist. The waistband of your pants sitting low, teasing him with just a hint of something lower.

You didn't even notice what you were doing to him. Didn't notice how he'd stopped mid-sentence, lips parting, gaze shamelessly trailing down your body.

Didn't notice the way his hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palm, the only thing keeping him from dragging you back and pressing you against his desk.

You'd smiled at him before walking away. Something simple, something casual. But it wrecked him. That fucking smile. Like you weren't the reason he was going to spend his entire night restless, hard, and frustrated.

Like you weren't going to be the reason he ends up here, in his chair, breath heavy, cock in his hand, pumping slow strokes because his mind won't let him think about anything else.

Like you hadn't just left him with an impossible craving, an ache so deep it burns, curling low in his stomach, making it impossible to think about anything but you.

His hand tightens, his thoughts spiral. He imagines you just like that, bare and waiting for him.

How easy it would be to pull you close, press his mouth to your stomach, kissing his way lower. How he'd peel your clothes off, watching the way your body shivers under his touch.

The sound you'd make when he finally drags his lips between your thighs, tasting you, groaning against your skin because you're better than he ever fucking imagined.

Would you be shy about it? Would you squirm under his gaze, cheeks burning as you try to press your thighs together?

Or would you be bold, spreading them wider, teasing him with that wicked little smirk that drives him insane?

His grip on himself is rougher now, jerking faster, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

He groans at the thought of stretching you open, watching as you take him inch by inch.

The way your legs would wrap around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him like you'd fall apart without him.

Your body rocking up against his, desperate, breathless. Your voice cracking when you whimper his name-"Jayce, please."

Fuck, he wants to hear it. Wants to hear you beg for him, wants to make you desperate, make you so fucking needy that you can't think about anything but him.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you. He'd start slow, deep, making sure you feel every inch of him. He'd murmur against your lips, his voice rough, telling you how good you feel.

He'd push your legs further apart, watching the way your back arches, watching the way your mouth parts with every thrust.

And then he'd ruin you-gripping your hips, pounding into you, swallowing every gasp, every moan, every desperate sound you make.

He'd make you scream his name, make you sob from pleasure, make you come so hard you're shaking beneath him.

Would you be able to take it? Would you let him fuck you until you can't think, until you're wrecked and whimpering, begging him to stop because it's too much-but he knows you don't really want him to stop?

He's Close. Too Close. His strokes are faster, sharper, chasing the edge as his muscles tense. He groans, head tilting back, sweat beading along his brow.

His other hand grips the armrest, knuckles white as he imagines how tight you'd be, how perfect, how fucking good.

His name falling from your lips. The way you'd beg for more, for him. The way you'd look at him after, wrecked, ruined, utterly his. But fuck—he can't stop there. Not in his head.

Would you let him take you again, even after the first time?

Would you let him flip you over, press your face into the pillows, pull your hips up and push himself back inside, even when you're still sensitive?

Would you let him fuck you like that—his hands gripping your waist, his weight pressing down against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he tells you how fucking perfect you are?

Would you let him come inside? Fill you up, let it drip out of you, let him push it back in with his fingers, his cock, keeping you full because you're his?

Would you let him keep going?

Would you take it? Would you let him wreck you completely?

And then he's gone. His breath stutters, his body tensing as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over his stomach.

He shudders through the aftershocks, his name still echoing in his head, your touch lingering like a phantom on his skin.

His heart pounds, his body lax, utterly spent—but his mind is still filled with you. Even as he cleans himself up, the heat still lingers.

Because tomorrow, he'll see you again.

And he already knows-he won't be able to stop thinking about you.

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 3)

Agatha and you have a talk about the future

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 69, oral, smut, angst (hopefully not as much), why would you ever talk about feelings/problems when you could just fuck instead

“What? What part?” you ask, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. “If it’s the City, it’s fine, that’s not far away, you could even stay here.” 

Agatha purses her lips. “It’s in Albany.” 

Your stomach drops. Two hours away by car on a good day, about four by train. Agatha has a pitiful look on her face and you want to scoff. 

Of course she’s feeling sorry for you. 

“Honey,” she starts, cool and calm as ever and it makes you fucking enraged. She reaches out to touch you again — why does she keep trying to do that? why doesn’t she realize that she isn’t going to fix anything? — but you shove her aside and scramble off the couch, beginning to pace with your head in your hands. 

Is this better than the affair? She still lied to you. She still didn’t tell you about it, she’s still looking to get out. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you demand, pausing to look at her. 

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t — I didn’t want to before it got real. I wasn’t even sure I was going to go, but my friend reached out and it’s a really good opportunity. The company took me out to dinner last night as an informal interview and I ended up staying the night. I didn’t think you’d come here, I thought you were mad at me or something. Baby, I was really worried about you.” 

In any other situation, you’d feel touched by her concern, but it really just pisses you off even more. This isn’t about you. “I thought you were having an affair,” you say again and her face falls. 

“I would never—”

You don’t even want to hear it. “Look, don’t change the subject, okay? The point is, you did this huge thing without even telling me and now — what? You’re moving to New York?” 

Now she seems unable to meet your eyes, an uncharacteristic shyness radiating off her. “I haven’t even gotten the job yet.”

Your mind starts to whirl with the possibilities. “If you get it, are you going to take it?” 

There’s a thick silence that hangs over you two for a moment and you can see the vein in her forehead pulse as she thinks about it. But her hesitation is all the answer you need. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You don’t even know where your head is at — you’re so fucking mad, but you’re also so relieved that she isn’t cheating, but then now there’s this wrench that could possibly mean the end of things. You’re not going to let that happen. Dropping to your knees in front of her and finally touching her of your own accord with your palms flat on her legs, you earnestly look at her. “We can…we can figure it out, we will figure it out. I can come down on the weekends or you can come here or — I can transfer! I’ll transfer to somewhere in New York and we can get an apartment, just the two of us, and obviously I won’t be much help with the rent because it’s expensive as shit there—”

Agatha pulls you up by your cheeks and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. You lose yourself in the feeling of her lips against yours and you moan softly, everything slipping away for just a moment. In these five seconds, it’s just the two of you and nothing else can come between you. 

But then she breaks away and sighs heavily, resting her forehead against yours. “You just started school here,” she says gently. “I can’t make you give that up. Don’t you like it?”

You shrug lazily. “It’s the first week. I’m not too attached. I’m sure somewhere there will be just as good.” 

“What about your parents? What would you tell them?” 

Why does it feel like she doesn’t want you there? You can’t help the frown tugging on your lips. “I’ll just say that I don’t like it at Westview. I’m sure I can come up with something. They’ll just want me to be happy.” Agatha makes you happy, but there’s a flicker of doubt growing in your stomach.

She cups your cheek and leans back so you’re able to see her eyes. They’re blue as the ocean, full of emotion, and glassy. “Why don’t you give it a few months, hm? I don’t want you to throw away your school and your family just for me. If you really don’t like it, then we can talk.”

“What if I just drop out of school and become your trophy wife? I’ll be such a good one, I’d wear nothing but an apron all day and make your favorite foods and then I can sit on your strap while you eat dinner.” You play it off like a joke, but deep down, you would be more than willing. You hope she says yes. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh and sniffs, tracing a finger down the skin of your face like she’s trying to memorize it. “Wear a short little maid outfit that just happens to ride up and show off your bare cunt when you’re on your knees cleaning the floor?” 

You hum and close your eyes in pure bliss at the thought. “See, now you get it. It would be so perfect, right? 

“So perfect,” she agrees, but her smile lingers until it’s wistful. There’s a longing pang inside you, one that threatens to tear you open, but you push it down. “I know I haven’t gotten it yet, but I won’t take it,” she says quietly after a moment and your brows furrow in confusion. “If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t.” 

Every single morsel of your body is screaming for you to ask her to stay. It would be so easy, and then you could just pretend that none of this — the suspicion, the lies, the sneaking around — never happened. Everything could go back to the way it was before. 

But the slightest fear that she would start to resent you for it creeps into the back of your mind. Sure, she might not mind at first, but over time when her job here gets old and she’s unhappy, she’s going to blame you. She’s going to start to hate you for holding her back, and what if you’re not worth it? 

The last thought hits you like a punch to the gut. Are you enough to keep her content if she stays? Are you enough to keep her happy? 

You’re paralyzed and she’s looking at you expectantly, like it’s an easy fucking decision. You want to complain that it’s not fair for her to put this on you, that she should want to be with you so badly that she willingly gives up the new position for you, but maybe she’s having the same doubts.

The only thing you know is that you don’t want to end up like your parents, with a loveless marriage and a cold, empty house despite the family living in it and the bitter silence of words left unsaid haunting every moment. You don’t want this to become an open wound that festers until Agatha hates you for it. 

“If it’s a better job and if you want it, you should take it,” you say, almost surprised by how eerily calm your voice sounds. 

Agatha looks taken aback for just the slightest moment but nods. “You’re sure?” 

No! Stay with me! I fucking love you! 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she bends down to kiss you again, so sweetly that it hurts. She murmurs something against your lips but you don’t even think to ask what she says because you can’t stop the nausea climbing up your throat. 

You jump back and run to the bathroom before vomiting in the toilet. You sink to the floor, shaking and sweating and trembling, and you’re vaguely aware of Agatha’s hands in your hair, holding it back, and telling you that everything is going to be alright. Is it?

She gets a wet washcloth and holds it against your head while you don’t move from your position, waiting to see if you have to puke again. 

“Had too much to drink last night,” you mutter, feeling like you’re drunk all over again, when she asks if you’re feeling okay. “Thought you were cheating.”  

You hear a heavy sigh behind you and tears prick your eyes. Is she disappointed? Does she think you’re being just a stupid kid? “I wouldn’t, honey. I wouldn’t do that. I promise. I—” She stops and strokes your hair instead.

It feels like there’s something she’s not saying, but maybe you’re just reading into it. 

And then there’s your I love you while she was fucking you, still fresh in your mind. Do you say it again? Do you ask if she heard it? Or just wait until she says it first?

If she does. You can’t get these stupid insecurities and doubts out of your mind and it’s killing you. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?” she asks gently and you shake your head. “Come on, why don’t we get you into the shower and then into bed?”

You want to protest just to be petulant, but you’re just so fucking tired. “Okay, mommy,” you say and she sharply inhales, but pretends to be unaffected. Good to know that you can still get to her after you look like you’ve just been through hell. 

She turns the water on and you numbly wait until she guides you up and helps you undress before you step into the shower. You almost buckle to the ground but Agatha holds you up, the sleeves of her blazer getting soaked, but she doesn’t even notice it. 

It’s an awkward position, her on the outside of the tub and you barely standing up inside it, but she rubs your skin and you slowly feel warmth returning to your body. 

You’re about to ask if she’ll get in with you — you see the way she can’t stop looking at your tits and you’re suddenly longing to feel her on you, a reminder that she is yours — when a phone rings. 

Definitely not yours; your phone is always on silent. 

Agatha curses and tells you she’ll be right back before disappearing from the bathroom. The cold feeling starts to grow back in your stomach, creeping up to your throat and gripping tightly. 

“Yes — this is she!” you hear her say from the other room, her voice getting louder as she comes back into the bathroom. You look at her with wide eyes and she gives you a tight smile. “Oh, I did? Well, thank you very much, that is wonderful news.”

The person on the other line starts talking and you can only catch quick muffles of it, but from Agatha’s face, you already know. 

“Of course, yes, hang on just one second,” she says and presses her phone against her shoulder to give you her full attention. Eye contact with her feels like a stab to the gut. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay with this? You can say no.” 

Can you? 

It’s on the tip of your tongue — it would be so easy to ask her to turn it down, so easy to ask her to choose you. She’s waiting for an answer but each drop of water on your skin feels like a chant: no. no. no. You know Agatha’s trying to remain neutral, but you can tell she wants the job, by the way she’s twitching her fingers and the barely concealed pleading look on her face and the way she’s holding her phone so tightly it’s making her veins pop out all bluish and purplish. 

It’s clear that you cannot say no. 

You’re not sure she would ever forgive you, and you’re not sure you would ever forgive yourself. You can’t ask her to throw away this opportunity, not for you. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you say hoarsely, feeling a lot like you just signed a death warrant. 

But plenty of people do long distance, and two hours really isn’t that bad. Plus it just means that with all the waiting, the sex will be even hotter. Her moving away doesn’t mean anything. 

And you can transfer at the end of the semester, so really you just have to make it a few months. 

Agatha’s beam is one of pure gratitude and you know you made the right choice, but she’s back to talking on the phone and your little moment is interrupted. “Oh…two weeks? Of course, I can totally do that.” 

A flash of panic bolts through you and you mouth two weeks? at her. She purses her lips and shrugs apologetically, like that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

The rest of her phone call is blurred out by your sudden inability to hear anything but the rush of the water that has suddenly become so loud it’s taken over all your thoughts and you don’t even realize that she’s hung up and cleaned you off and gotten you out of the shower until you’re shivering and naked and Agatha’s wrapping a towel around you. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she murmurs because you’re now uncontrollably shaking and you think you might be crying a little. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She presses kisses to your forehead and cheeks and nose, muttering the same sort of sentients, while the towel around you slips to the floor when you throw your arms around her and cling to her like she’s your lifeline, like she’s everything you’ll ever need, and she holds you back so tightly you think you might fuse into one being. 

The two of you stand there like that until your skin gets clammy and pruney and your eyes are raw. When you finally pull back, your muscles ache and the front of Agatha’s clothes are absolutely soaked, so you tug on them until she gets the message and begins to strip. 

Her blazer comes off, and then she untucks her blouse from her pants and slowly begins to unbutton it, each time revealing more of her perfect pale skin. You can see the faint outlines of her ribs and then her stomach, the red bites from two days ago still there, albeit faded. 

There’s no mistaking the “M” though. A hot thrill runs through you despite the solemn air between you and a fire starts to flicker to life in your stomach. You reach out to trace your mark as if in a trance and Agatha’s breath hitches. 

Swallowing roughly, your eyes dart up to meet her already-dark ones. “We should talk about the job, right? Figure out what it means for us?” you ask, but even as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the atmosphere shift into something else. 

“Right,” Agatha nods, but she can’t stop looking down at your pebbled nipples — from the cold or from her? 

When she surges forward, clasps your cheeks, and pulls your mouth to hers, you know that it’s both. The kiss is messy, teeth knocking against each other and her tongue invading your mouth and breathing each other’s air, and you wrap your arms around her neck to bring her even closer. She didn’t get to take her pants off yet, but it feels absolutely delicious when she slides a thigh between yours and you grind down onto it. Your nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and you can’t help but moan into her open mouth. 

Fire roars beneath your skin, spreading to all over your body, and you suddenly just need more. You need her to overwhelm all your senses until you can’t fucking think about anything else, not the job, not her moving, not the fact that you could’ve stopped this but didn’t — you just want her. 

She grabs onto your hip to guide you against her leg and you whine as she sucks on your tongue. Her other hand comes up to cup your right breast and roll your nipple and you mewl and jerk against her. She tugs and it feels directly connected to your cunt because you pulse and it only gets worse when she flexes her thigh underneath you. 

“Bed — bedroom, please,” you choke out and her mouth doesn’t leave yours, walking you backwards into the bedroom and not stopping until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

Agatha pushes you down onto it, the duvet beneath you instantly getting wet from your dripping pussy, and she shimmies off her pants and underwear and sinks to her knees in front of you. It’s a sight to behold, her looking up at you from the floor like she wants to devour you, like she would hang the stars and the sun in the sky for you and it still wouldn’t be enough. The power running through you from the heat in her eyes and the ragged heaving of her red chest and the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder is enough to drive you mad. 

“You’re so perfect,” she breathes and it only makes you wetter. You buck your hips against the bed, trying to get some stimulation to your now-aching clit, but it’s not even close to enough. 

But it’s not even five seconds later when she leans in, inhales the scent of you deeply, and then drags her flattened tongue through your folds, making you keen and arch your back. She is so good with her mouth and she never fails to remind you. 

“Fuck, Agatha,” you gasp, and you usually don’t call her by her name during sex, normally opting for mommy, but you need the intimacy right now. You need to feel like this is real. 

She groans into you and teases her tongue around your clit, never quite touching it, and you bury your fingers in her hair and gently pull on it. Her eyes flick up to yours as a warning and you loosen your grip. Agatha gives you an almost imperceptible nod and rewards you with one long lick to your clit and your head falls back. 

You can no longer hold yourself up when she thrusts her tongue inside you, and you fall back onto the bed, instantly clenching around you. She feels so fucking good, her tongue curling inside your cunt and her nose brushing against your clit, and you angle a leg up on the bed so she can reach deeper inside you. “God, yes,” you sigh, and your orgasm is slowly starting to build up with each roll of your hips and each time your stomach tightens. 

But something is missing — you can’t help your thoughts from straying and you just need more. 

So you stop her and she looks up at you, the entire bottom half of her face and nose absolutely covered with you. Your clit throbs and you sit up.

“I need — I want — wanna taste you too, Aggie,” you whine and you’ve never used that nickname before, but you think she likes it because she lunges up, capturing your lips with hers again, and knocking you straight back onto the bed. 

She nods while still kissing you, whispering, “Fuck, honey, how are you so hot? How are you so perfect for me?” 

You clench around nothing and you claw at her shoulder blades frantically, knowing what you need but not how to ask for it. 

But Agatha knows — she always knows what you want, except for when it really counts apparently. She gets off of you and scooches on her knees until she’s situated behind your head, facing your body. And then she moves to frame your face with her thighs, her glistening cunt hovering right above your face, and she bends over to pry your legs open before leaning down and sucking on your clit roughly. 

You squirm and palm her ass to pull her down to your mouth, and at your first lick through her folds, she moans right into you, the vibrations making you jump. Eating her out while also being eaten out is an experience like no other you’ve ever had. Every single thing you do to her affects her, which in turn, affects you. 

The positive feedback loop has both of you sloppily mouthing at each other’s cunts, mimicking motions while also losing all sense of rhythm, and when she digs her fingernails into your thighs and scrapes her teeth against your clit, you let out a high-pitched sound that has her riding your face furiously. 

Agatha is getting louder too — you can feel it more than hear it, and you are completely drunk on her smell and her taste and how good she’s making you feel. You dip your tongue into her entrance, stroking against her convulsing walls before swirling around her clit and she pauses what she’s doing for a moment to just breathe heavily against your pussy before diving back in. 

All thoughts of anything else are completely out of your foggy mind and you feel like you’re floating, not able to focus on anything else besides Agatha. 

If you would’ve known that your dad having an affair would have led to you having the hottest sex with the hottest woman ever, you definitely wouldn’t have been so mad about it. 

“Oh, god, baby, you’re so good,” she says into your cunt and it only makes you grind up harder. She matches your intensity, riding your face fast, her clit dragging against your tongue. You groan in agreement and her stomach glides against your nipples while hers do the same and you know that it won’t be long before either of you cum. 

She nips at your inner thigh before plunging her tongue inside you and it has your hips bucking. “Fuck — Agatha,” you cry, barely able to keep eating her out because of how stimulated you are. Pleasure is racing through every ridge of your body and your head is spinning. 

“That’s right, honey,” she pants, lathering her tongue all over your clit. “Cum for me.” 

The tension inside you snaps and you cum, riding out the immense wave as she continues lapping at you and you suck on her clit, triggering her own orgasm. There’s a gush of wetness all over your face and she keeps rolling her hips, chasing the last tendrils. 

That was one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, you think, and when Agatha flops down onto the bed next to you, breathing heavily, you think she might agree. 

“Fuck,” you say, completely wiped out, and Agatha chuckles weakly in response, reaching a hand out to rest her fingers against yours, not quite interlocking them. The two of you lay like that for what feels like forever, just soaking in the silence and the comfort of being right next to each other. 

You’re not sure who moves first — maybe it’s a mutual decision, but eventually you slide up to the pillows and Agatha turns around and moves next to you. Rotating onto your side, you hear the sheets rustle behind you and right on cue, Agatha’s arm snakes around you, holding you close enough to her that you can feel her heartbeat against your back and her breath on your neck. 

She kisses the top of your ear and you snuggle back against her. You know that you should put on clothes and clean up your mess, but for right now, you just need to feel her against you. 

“We’re going to be okay?” you ask timidly. It seems like it was so long ago that you were spiraling out of control because you thought she was cheating. 

Agatha’s arm tightens around yours. “We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

And you think you might actually believe her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg

[ivyues]

Sleeves Pulled Back: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O's s/h scars

if you’re struggling: findahelpline | befrienders

request: “Skz finding out you did s/h or saw your s/h scars…” (i changed it up for some but i hope you like it :3 )

Bang Chan

Chris gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your wrist as he pulled you to sit with him on the couch.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “Talk to me, yeah?”

You hesitated, looking away. “It’s nothing, Chris—”

“It’s not nothing.” He shook his head. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to know something, okay?”

You finally met his gaze, and his eyes were full of nothing but love and understanding.

“You can always call me. No matter the time, no matter where I am. Even if I’m in the studio, on tour, in the middle of a meeting – I don’t care. I’ll answer.”

A shaky breath left your lips. “I don’t want to bother you…”

Chris scoffed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Bother me? Please. I’m an insomniac anyways.” He nudged you lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Might as well spend my sleepless nights talking to my favorite person, right?”

You let out a small laugh, and his heart swelled with relief. But then, his face turned serious again.

“I mean it,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I don’t want you to go through this alone. And if it helps, why don’t you stay at the dorm for a while? I.N won’t mind, and I’d feel better knowing you’re close.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his tone gentle. “And… maybe we can look into getting you someone to talk to—like a therapist? Just so you have more support.”

Your throat tightened, emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His arms wrapped around you in an instant, holding you as if he could take away all your pain just by being there. “Good,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Lee Know

You had been reaching for your cup, your sleeve sliding up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the faint, fresh marks among the old ones on your arm. His heart clenched. His mind raced. But he said nothing – at least, not at first.

Instead, he waited, watching you as you kept talking, pretending like nothing was wrong. But he wasn’t pretending.

When you finally noticed his silence, you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Lee Know’s eyes flickered to your wrist. “Show me,” he said, voice low.

You blinked, following his gaze, and quickly pulled your sleeve back down.

His jaw tightened. He reached forward, carefully, fingers grazing over your arm. “Don’t do that.”

You shook your head, shifting away slightly. “It’s not a big deal, Minho.”

When you didn’t move, he reached for your wrist, this time with more purpose. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to keep you from pulling away. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed your sleeve up.

The sight of the fresh lines against your skin made something break inside him. He traced them with his thumb, barely touching, as if afraid he might hurt you more.

“Why?” His voice cracked. “You promised…”

Your eyes stung. “I know.”

“Then why?” His gaze was filled with hurt, with love, with something deeper – something that made it impossible to lie.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you bit your lip. “I just… I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how else to cope.”

Lee Know let out a shaky breath before pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, as if trying to hold you together when he felt you falling apart.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” he whispered against your hair.

Changbin

The night was late, the kind where the world outside felt distant and made it easy to speak the truths hidden deep inside.

You hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “Binnie…”

He hummed in response, turning his head slightly to look at you. 

“There’s something I want to tell you.” You swallowed, your hands gripping each other. “I used to… self-harm.”

“I don’t do it anymore,” You reassured him quickly, seeing the shock in his face. “But… I won’t lie. Sometimes, when things get really overwhelming, I get scared. Scared that I might—” You took a deep breath. “That I might do it again.”

Changbin exhaled softly, his fingers brushing over yours before taking your hands in his own. He squeezed them gently.

“I appreciate you telling me,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“I just… I don’t want to. I don’t plan to. But sometimes, it’s like the thought lingers, you know?”

He nodded, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. “I get it.” He paused for a moment before his eyes lit up with an idea. “It might be stupid… but you my stress ball?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in conversation. You’d seen him use it often – squeezing it absentmindedly when stressed, rolling it between his hands to focus.

“Would you like one too?” he asked. “Not because I think it’ll fix everything, but because… if you ever feel like things are getting too much, maybe it can help. You and I—we can match.”

Something about the idea made my chest ache. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was his way of saying he wanted to support you, to help you find ways to cope that weren’t harmful. To remind you that you weren't alone.

A small smile formed on your lips. “Matching stress balls, huh?”

Hyunjin

Today, Hyunjin decided to visit you unannounced. "Y/N?" he called out, expecting to hear your voice from the living room, maybe the kitchen. Silence.

He glanced around. Your shoes were by the door. Your phone rested on the couch. You had to be here. Then, faintly, he heard movement from the bathroom.

He approached and knocked lightly. "Hey, you in there?"

No answer.

He knocked again, firmer this time. "Baby?"

Still nothing. But he could hear you. Breathing. Something shifting. Something that didn’t sit right in his gut.

"Okay, I'm coming in," he warned, turning the knob. The door wasn’t locked.

The sight before him made his breath hitch.

You were standing by the sink, your sleeves hastily pushed down, hands shaking slightly as you gripped a damp washcloth. Your eyes went wide, frozen in place.

Then he saw it. The slight redness peeking from under your sleeve. The discarded tissue, faintly stained.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

He swallowed thickly, willing himself to stay steady. To not let his emotions spill over.

"Y/N," he said softly, stepping closer. You flinched, instinctively taking a step back, but he didn’t stop. 

"Why…" His voice nearly cracked, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Looking away.

Hyunjin inhaled deeply, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not now. This wasn’t about him.

He let out a shaky exhale and, instead of saying anything else, pulled you into him. Holding you. Just holding you.

You were stiff at first, but then – gradually – you melted against him, gripping his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to the world.

"I'm here," he whispered into your hair. "Okay? I'm here. Always."

Han

It was late, the dorm quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. You had come over after a long day, curling up on his bed with one of his oversized hoodies. He was playing a melody on his guitar, when he noticed you tugging at your sleeve again.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

But when you stretched your arms above your head, your sleeve slipped for just a second. It was enough.

Enough for Han to see the faint but undeniable lines on your wrist.

His heart clenched. "Wait—" He reached for your hand gently, as if you might shatter. You tried to pull away, but he held on. "What… what is this?"

Your breath hitched, and you quickly yanked your sleeve back down. "It's nothing," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

But Han wasn't buying it. His fingers trembled as he traced over the fabric where the scars were hidden. "No, it's not," he said, his voice breaking. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Tears welled in your eyes. "Because I didn’t want you to worry. You already have so much on your plate—"

"That doesn’t matter," he interrupted. His gaze was filled with so much emotion it made your chest ache. "You matter. If you're hurting, I want to know. I need to know."

You looked away, ashamed. But Han cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. There was no judgment in them – only pain, only love.

"You don't have to go through this alone," he murmured. "Please… let me help."

Felix

Felix’s fingers traced the ink on your forearm, his touch featherlight as he admired the delicate design. You both sat on the couch, his head resting against your shoulder as he held your arm in his hands, turning it slightly to see the details.

“I never asked before,” he murmured. “Is there a special meaning behind your tattoo?”

You stiffened slightly but forced yourself to relax. You had always known this question would come one day. 

“It covers old scars,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t dare to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find there.

“I… used to struggle a lot. But I didn’t want that to be the first thing people noticed about me. And I wanted to see something beautiful when I looked at my arm.”

Felix didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned your arm over gently, his thumb grazing over the tattooed skin. You finally lifted your gaze to see his expression, only to find his warm eyes filled with something that looked like both sadness and love.

“You went through that alone?” he asked quietly, his brows furrowed as if the thought of you hurting alone physically pained him.

“I don’t anymore,” you said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m okay now, Lix.”

He nodded, but you could tell he was still processing. He lifted your arm and pressed a lingering kiss over the inked petals, then another to the inside of your wrist. “I wish I could have been there,” he murmured. “I wish I could have held you through it.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “And that’s what matters.”

Seungmin

Upon seeing the scars, Seungmin’s heart clenched, but his face remained calm.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice soft. "Can we talk about this?"

You hesitated, looking anywhere but him. Shame curled in your stomach, a familiar, bitter weight. "I don’t know," you murmured, trying to tug your sleeve back down.

But Seungmin didn’t let go – he wasn’t forceful, just… present. "You don’t have to tell me everything, but please… let me be here for you", his tone steady

Your lips trembled as you exhaled shakily. "I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it just… feels like too much. And this helps."

"I’m not going to tell you to stop," he said carefully. "But I need you to know… you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."

Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "Aren’t you upset? Or angry?"

He gave you a small, sad smile. "This isn’t about me. Right now, you don’t need my emotions weighing on you—you just need to know you’re not alone."

Later that night, after he made sure you ate something, after he hugged you just tightly enough to let you know he was there, after you fell asleep with your fingers loosely curled around his, Seungmin slipped out of bed and into the bathroom.

He shut the door softly, pressing his hands against the sink, his knuckles turning white. His chest heaved as the weight of what happened finally crashed over him.

Silent tears fell, his shoulders shaking as he stifled his sobs with the back of his sleeve. He hated that you hurt in a way he couldn’t just fix, that he hadn’t noticed sooner. That you had been carrying this pain alone.

I.N

You sat on the dorm floor, your back against the couch, while I.N sprawled out beside you, his head resting comfortably on a pillow. He had been scrolling through his phone, laughing at some ridiculous meme, when his hand absentmindedly reached for yours.

His fingers toyed with the loose sleeve of your hoodie, tugging at it as he always did when he was relaxed. But then – his laughter faded. His grip stilled.

The fabric had slipped up just enough. Just enough for him to see.

I.N’s movements halted. The playful smile on his face faded as his eyes landed on the faint scars that lined your wrist. He blinked, his brows furrowing as his fingers hesitantly traced over the marks. You tensed, but let your arm stay in his hold.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something you couldn’t quite decipher – concern, sadness, love. “These…”

You swallowed. “They're old. I don’t do it anymore.”

He was silent for a moment, his thumb grazing over the faded scars like he could erase them. Then, finally, he spoke. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, I didn't tell you,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

He exhaled softly, leaning his forehead against your arm, his breath warm against your skin. “Promise me,” he murmured, “if you ever feel like that again, you’ll talk to me?”

Your heart clenched. You had been used to people seeing the scars and looking away, pretending they weren’t there. Or telling you you just wanted attention. But I.N saw them, acknowledged them, and still looked at you like you were whole.

“I will. Thank you.”

masterlist

[gh0stly-mp3]

do me a favour

michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis: you finally decide to stand up for yourself and put an end in your toxic relationship with kaiser

tags: music fic, song fic, angst, kaiser is an asshole

warnings: break up, hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mature language

a/n: hey! i'll be less frequent (cause i have to live), but one or two times a week i might post something! see y'all! - btw requests are open :)

masterlist.

The rain outside seemed to match the storm inside you, and as the minutes passed, it felt like every drop falling from the sky mirrored the tears falling from your eyes.

Kaiser is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that look in his eyes. It’s the same look he used to give you when (he thought) he knew what you were thinking. The one that made you feel like you were under a microscope, always being judged.

You can feel the familiar tension in the air, that awful, charged feeling that always came before a breakdown. The kind of breakdown that left you both bruised, but never quite broken. Not until now.

"I’m not playing anymore" - You say, your voice shaky. - "It’s over. And honestly, I don’t care what you think about it. I don’t want this anymore."

Kaiser doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at you with that look you know all too well — the one that always made you feel small, as if you were nothing more than an accessory to his life. But today, you won’t be that. Not anymore.

“Is that what you think?” - He raises an eyebrow, voice smooth, but the seriousness in it’s clear. - "You really think you're better off without me?"

It’s almost laughable, how easily he dismisses everything.

"Do me a favor and stop flattering yourself" - You reply, standing still, even if your heart feels like it's being torn apart. - "I’m better off without pretending to be someone I’m not just to please you. Without you thinking you're the only thing that matters."

Kaiser takes a step closer, his eyes scanning your face, as if looking for any sign of weakness. But you’ve made your decision. You won’t break this time.

“Oh, so that's how it is, hm? Now I’m the bad guy here” - He’s taunting now, but there's something in his voice that catches you off guard, something that almost sounds... frustrated. - "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t get it."

“Save it, Michael” - You whisper. - “I can’t keep pretending you care when all you do is tear me apart. This... us... it’s over.”

His expression shifts again, but it’s not the anger you expect. Instead, there’s a flicker of something darker — a mixture of frustration and something else. Maybe it’s regret. But it’s fleeting. His complex smirk returns almost immediately. - "You’re making a mistake, you know it."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. The tears sting the back of your eyes, but you won’t let them fall. Not for him. Not this time.

“I’m not” - You reply. - “You’re the one who’s been making mistakes all along. You just never cared to admit it."

Kaiser steps back, running a hand through his hair. He’s trying to regain his composure, to return to that untouchable version of himself, the one that never showed weakness. But even now, there’s something there — something you almost wish you could have held on to. Something that might have meant more, if only he had let it.

He pauses, and for a fleeting moment, you think you might see something shift in his eyes. But then, that mask is back. His expression hardens, and the Kaiser you’ve known — the arrogant, invincible version of him — is back.

“Fine" - He says with a sharp exhale, the word almost like a challenge. - "Do me a favor." - His voice softens just enough for you to catch it. - "Tell me to go away."

You finally turn to face him, holding your ground. The weight of the moment presses on your chest, but there’s no turning back now. Kaiser stands there for a moment, looking at you like he's trying to find something in your expression — some trace of doubt, some spark of the person he used to have under his control. But it’s gone. You’ve made your choice, and he made his.

"I already did."

He stares at you for a long moment, trying to process what you just said. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re finally strong enough to walk away. Maybe it’s something he’s never fully allowed himself to acknowledge: that he’s lost you.

"Fuck off, Michael."

The finality of the words cuts through the silence. And this time, you turn your back without hesitation. You know he’s not going to chase you this time. He doesn’t need to. This is the moment that was always going to come, the one you both avoided, but now it's here. And you won’t look back. He had forced you to be cold.

You turn away before you can hear him say anything else, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given him everything — your love, your time, your heart — but you won’t let him break you anymore.

Curiosity had once pulled you in, made you think you could unravel all the pieces of Michael Kaiser. But now, you understand. The truth is simple. He had always been too much of a mystery to solve, and in the end, it was that mystery that kept you trapped in a cycle of longing, pain, and false hope.

Later that evening, as the rain continues to pour outside, you sit in your room, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on you. The silence is overwhelming, but there’s something good about it now. It’s not the quiet that suffocates; it’s the quiet that heals.

"Perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind." - You think to yourself, remembering everything he has done to you all along. But now, you’ve learned that walking away doesn’t always mean losing. Sometimes, it means saving yourself.

[satoruswifeyyyy]

lover, you should've come over (r. zoro x fem! reader

chapter 1

chapter 2: snuff

official playlist

masterlist

sypnosis: reader and zoro are dating but it's not the same as before- something has changed.

the night air was heavy. the silence between you and zoro was suffocating.

you waited for zoro to say something. tell you that what you had blurted out was wrong, that you were just paranoid and nothing had changed between you and him.

however, zoro didn't say anything.

you took a deep breath in, taking a deep breath and clenching your fist. your voice was barely above a whisper, as you asked the question that had been eating you alive.

“…do you not love me anymore?”

zoro tensed.

his jaw clenched, his fists tightened, but he didn’t answer.

you felt your stomach drop.

“zoro,” you tried again, stepping closer. “tell me.”

still, nothing.

for the first time in your life, you felt… desperate.

“i—” you swallowed hard. “i know things have been different. we don’t talk like we used to. you don’t even look at me like before.” your voice cracked slightly, but you forced herself to continue. “i keep trying to tell myself that it’s just in my head, that maybe you’re just stressed or tired. but…” you hesitated, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “but if you don’t love me anymore, just—just tell me.”

zoro closed his eyes, inhaled sharply… and exhaled.

then, in a voice so quiet, so wrong for someone like him, he muttered, “…i’m sorry.”

you felt the world tilt.

“…what?” you breathed, stepping back.

zoro finally looked at you. his face was unreadable. stoic. cold.

“i'm sorry,” he repeated. “i can’t do this anymore.”

a sharp, painful sting stabbed at your chest.

“no.” you shook your head. “no, what the hell does that mean?” your voice rose, panic settling in. “you can’t do what anymore? what—why?”

zoro didn’t answer. he just stood there, stiff and unmoving, as if this wasn’t killing him too.

you felt like you were suffocating.

“no,” you snapped. “you don’t get to do this—you don’t get to just leave me like this!”

your voice cracked at the end, and you hated how weak you sounded.

zoro looked away, avoiding your gaze. “it’s better this way.”

“better for who?!”

he didn’t respond.

you felt your breath hitch. your eyes burned. you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay strong, to not fall apart.

“so that’s it?” you whispered. “you’re just… walking away?”

zoro didn’t say anything for a moment. then, after what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “yeah.”

you clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“why?” you choked out. “just tell me why, zoro.”

he inhaled. then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said the only thing you didn’t want to hear.

“i’m sorry.”

a heavy silence fell between you and zoro.

and then—without another word, without looking back—zoro turned and walked away.

you stood frozen, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath shallow.

you wanted to scream, to yell, to chase after him—but your body wouldn’t move.

the one person who you thought would never leave you had just walked away.

and you did not even get a reason why.

a/n: i love angst. i don't know what i wrote in here, this is just pent up frustration istg 😭

[always1star]

uncle!sukuna

my take on uncle sukuna :)

fluff, normal world au

no bad warnings (profanity)

just sukuna and yuji lol.

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

unclesukuna! who has been accurately ranked on yelp as the #1 best babysitter (this is a lie). when yuji became a babbling toddler, his parents finally had time to themselves again. so, to not waste their little money, they would phone sukuna. “hey man, i was wondering if you could watch yuji tonight? kaori and i were going to go to this new restaurant,” jin asked. sukuna groaned, because he was on his couch shirtless in his sweats doing absolutely nothing but drinking a beer, and he wanted to keep it that way for the rest of the night. nonetheless, he agreed. “send the brat over, and you owe me.”

unclesukuna! who opened the door to his brother and nephew. jin was frantically explaining what to do with him, how he already ate but what to give him if he wanted a snack, how to bathe him, what to do if he was sleepy, and what to do if there was an emergency. he kept digressing as he dropped yuji off, but then sukuna shut him up with a “yeah yeah, i got it.” and shut the door.

unclesukuna! who had to watch his energetic nephew until late, his previous rotting plans ruined. he watched from the couch as yuji jumped around. he sighed, wishing he could have a cigarette or glass of wine right now but he knew better than that. instead, he opted for the orange juice in his fridge, pouring two glasses to share with the little one. he also grabbed a couple ice cream bars from his freezer (the kid can have some sugar, it's fine, right?)

unclesukuna! who was so bored out of his mind he actually started listening to yuji’s ridiculous ramblings. “and so, when dad home from work, and when we have udon, he will.. um eat it very loud and he slurp like this” the toddler mimics his father “and he eat messy.” sukuna listened with his chin resting on his hand. he laughed, imagining his “prim and proper” brother be an absolute glutton.

unclesukuna! who noticed that yuji was losing his energy, no longer jumping around sukuna’s small apartment or babbling on and on about his life at home. yuji sat on the couch and was watching the cartoons his uncle put on, but his eyelids were getting droopy. sukuna took note of how yuji was slowly nodding off, and picked him up to take him somewhere more comfortable than a couch. “are you tired brat? did you waste all your energy annoying my neighbors by jumping off my walls, hm?” yuji laid his head on sukunas shoulder, falling asleep as sukuna walked to his bedroom.

unclesukuna! who tucked a now asleep yuji into his bed, and took his own spot next to him. sukuna smirked as he snapped a photo of his nephew, and sent the photo to jin and kaori, to prove to them that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t so damn terrible at this.

unclesukuna! who had such a successful babysitting experience that it had yuji begging his parents to see “uncle kuna,” as he calls him. sukuna acted like he greatly detested it every time, knowing that he would give in and watch yuji anyways. plus, maybe yuji isn’t so bad either. maybe he does fuck with his brother’s kid, just a little (that sleeping photo of yuji is sukuna’s screen saver)

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

bonus of when infant yuji was a thing

unclesukuna! who did not fuck with his twin brother’s kid when he first met him. why are babies so… small, helpless, and defenseless. “don’t look at my kid like that…” sukuna raised his eyebrows, his face all up in yuji’s like he was pondering something. unamused at yuji’s smiling face and coos, he said, “what’s he so happy for? life is full of shit.” yuji giggled as jin reprimanded sukuna for saying such things in front of his infant.

unclesukuna! who does not know how to hold babies. sukuna awkwardly held his jin's infant the way he taught him to. he was trying his best, although his best was dogshit. sukuna’s shoulders were tense, his hands supported the wrong spots, and he held the baby a little too far from his body. he really didnt know what to do. poor yuji was flailing in sukuna’s grasp.

[avastyetwats]

This feeling within Fet’s heart, though it wasn’t new, he’d been hesitant to let himself feel it again. He’d been afraid. Because everything that happened with Dutch, it hurt. It hurt like hell and Fet didn’t want to experience that kind of heartbreak again. It was why he didn’t welcome her back with open arms when she tried coming back to him, after she left Nikki, or rather after Nikki left her, because he just couldn’t trust her like he once did. So he closed off his heart to keep himself safe and to focus on the mission at hand: the strigoi. But then Quinlan entered his life and… well, this. Holding his hand, opening himself up to him, the walls around his heart completely falling apart. Although he didn’t say those exact words, the words he wanted to say, but the meaning was there.

They were still trying to navigate it. Especially since it was new, or rather foreign to Quinlan. He, too, had been hurt. Far worse than Fet, and since those… what? Hundreds of years ago? He hadn’t loved again. Hadn’t been loved either, but here Fet was, doing just that. Both men tried to protect themselves, vowing not to give themselves to anyone again, or at least not for a while, but it was happening. And it felt easy. It felt good. Right. He didn’t feel worried with Quinlan like he did with Dutch. He didn’t feel uncertain or hesitant. If he was, it was only because he wasn’t sure what Quinlan knew or what he wanted, but they were… certainly something. Something they hadn’t put into words, and something that wasn’t exactly physical, save for the holding of hands, but… they were getting there. Because with each day, with each moment, Fet found himself wanting to be closer, wanting to experience certain things with Quinlan…

He snapped out of his thoughts when Quinlan mentioned Eph and he snorted. “Nah, definitely not. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the Doc enough, but he’d be goin’ on and on about… biology and scientific facts and all that. Which, some of it is cool, I’ll admit, but I’m more an architect guy. And music,” he smirked. “Besides, I enjoy kicking muncher ass and you’re much better than him at that, too.” A compliment towards Quinlan, and though his tone was playful, he meant it. “And it’s fun, you know? Getting uh, getting to know you and show and teach you all these new things.” A wide smile, squeezing his hand again.

Though that smile faded when they pulled up to the meeting spot where his crew was waiting. The man’s eyes looked from Quinlan to Fet and he stepped back, letting Fet exit. “More strigoi.” He informed, his tone one of disappointment. “Still not a lot. Not like we’ve been seeing, but more than when I radio’d you.”

“So either they’re already at the silo trying to take it, or they’re just getting there.” Fet hummed, looking to Quinlan once they were both out. “What do yo think? Think we should still go check it out? If it’s a few munchers, I think we can take ‘em. We’re already this far.” And he really didn’t want to keep driving, but if they had already taken this one, then they’d have no choice.

On their way out, Quinlan did snatch up a Snickers bar without Fet noticing. He’d give that one a try too, but as for now he was set on Twix. Fet was teaching him a lot, just like how Louisa had taught him about the human world, and he was grateful. It felt good to be completely accepted and welcome in Fet’s world.

Within moments Fet had started the first song and admittedly when he first heard the drums he’d winced. He remembered the loud thumping bass from Elizalde’s music choices and he’d hated it. But the guitar was definitely different and there was actual singing.. well, singing and what sounded like screaming, but it wasn’t anything like the rap he’d been exposed to. He wouldn’t say he loved this song, but he wouldn’t say he hated it either.

What he really loved was listening to Fet sing. He tried not to full on stare at him, knowing it might make him uncomfortable, but he was glancing to him quite often, watching him drum on the steering wheel and sing his full heart out. It was.. cute? Yes, that was the word for it, as he chuckled softly and relaxed a bit into his seat. He was in his own little world, a smiling, dancing fool and he wouldn’t dare interrupt him. Instead, he pulled the candy bar from his pocket and had a bite of the Snickers. He moaned.

[rinnysmuses]

I'm going to get my shower]

[lbhslefttiddie]

suddenly seized with the desire to write/draw a few short little scenes from the world after the events of You Can (Not) Redo (the uh. the yqy timeloop fanfiction. not the evangelion movie which i named it for) because it is, generally speaking, a happy ending, but also yqy is left deeply, deeply broken in ways that would be both fascinating and hilarious to explore

[skwivr]

-

[flowercrowngods]

i don't know how to be merely acquaintances when we used to be friends. or i think we used to be. i don't know how to yearn for a simple hello when you've been heaping your affection on me months ago, and i don't know how to talk to you when you won't say anything. when suddenly it's all about me. you know i have nothing to say, you know my brain is void of everything but horribleness and i cannot tell you about my day because i don't even know about my day. i cannot tell you about my day when i know you won't listen, when i know you'll apply your philosophy to my world and don't believe me when i say that everything is terrible. i don't know how to be the person you seem to think i am, or the person you want in your life. i don't know if you want anyone else in your life now that you're in love and sappy, found another recipient for your affections, leaving me empty and wounded and yearning.

you said you missed me. said it many times, while i was gone. now i'm back, have been back, and i wonder how you missed me, why you missed me, when you won't talk to me. i think you mistook missing for worrying. i think you mistook caring for a feeling of obligation. i think you like missing me more than talking to me.

and i think i can't breathe with how much that hurts

[lesbiansanemi]

I'm so tired

[hyrulesfav]

♟️🐈‍⬛ is so perfect to me because they just. Get. each other. also they come into the relationship with kids who aren't their kids but one of them is basically their kid so they fall asleep watching bluey or blues clues a lot

[jemmo]

.