#i promised myself when i started that i wouldn’t shade anything

[xskyll]

It was a critical hit. (Why yes, I do play Kingdom Hearts.)

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First

[forever-rogue]

Hey hopefully you’re still taking Joel requests! Could I have one where reader gets hurt protecting Ellie and Joel tells reader he loves them for the first time? Thank you!!

AN | Someone asked for pain and angst, so here we are. Trust me, it’s going to hurt 😏

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language; TLOU typical violence

Word Count | 3.4k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you really think this place is safe?” there was a hard edge to Joel’s voice that caused you to roll your eyes at him. Once he spotted the gesture, he huffed and gently nudged your side with his elbow, “this is not a joke.”

“This is not a joke,” you teased and he was clearly not amused. That did nothing to deter your mood, “first of all - nothing in this world is safe. Second of all - relax a little bit. Stressing all the time doesn’t solve anything, handsome. Besides, this place is as safe as anything to stop in for a rest.”

“I say we listen to her,” Ellie took a step closer to over you and this time it was Joel’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, “fine. If that’s what the two of you want, go right ahead. We’ll stay here.”

“Yes!” Ellie grinned happily as she started to head towards the front of the old building. It was the remnant of an old department store; it was strange to think that Ellie had never even been in one before. You exchanged a look with Joel and he sighed lightly and shrugged his shoulders.

Before he could go to follow the young girl, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and stopped him, tugging him back towards you, “you know I wouldn’t do this - anything - if I thought it was too dangerous, right?”

“I know,’ he promised with a curt nod, and despite his reassurance, he didn’t seem to relax, “it’s not you I don’t trust. It’s everything else.”

“I can handle myself,” you reminded him, “besides, I learned most of what I know from you. I’m not too worried about it.”

“I know you can handle yourself,” he reached up and tenderly brushed some dirt off your face, “the thing is, I don’t want you to have to handle yourself. I want you safe.”

“Unfortunately that’s not the world we live in,” you sighed softly, putting your hand on top of his where it rested on your cheek and gave a squeeze, “so we’ll just have to keep our eyes and ears open. Besides, Joel, you should have seen her face light up when she saw this place. She’s never even been in a store before it’s all new to her.”

“I know,” he nodded, exhaling slowly as he focused his attention on his feet, “we’ll just be extra careful.”

“We always are,” you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, unable to stop yourself. You noticed the way his face flushed a light shade of pink, “come on, handsome. Who knows, maybe this could even be fun!”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him along; if you’d been looking at him you would have noticed the smile on his face. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“So people would come here and buy all the things they needed?” The girl’s eyes were huge as she walked around a rack of clothes, touching the clothes in wonder. Everything was in pristine condition, just dusty and covered in small holes. You nodded as you pointed at a jewelry display case, “wow. It’s so strange.”

“You’d come to a place like this for clothes, beauty products, shoes, sometimes furniture and all of that,” you explained; of course she knew of places like that, but to actually be in one was a different story. It made your heart ache to think that more than likely she’d never get to fully experience going to a store…or a normal life. This life was normal for her; to you and Joel it had been a matter of adapting, “and then, you know, grocery stores for food, and other specialty stores. The best place, though, was always Target.”

“Target,” she echoed as you nodded, earning a small groan from Joel. You shot him as an amused little smile before sticking your tongue out at him, “what was at Target?”

“Everything,” despite your best efforts a wistful little sigh escaped your lips, “clothes, beauty stuff, home stuff, food - it was magical. One day, when this is not the world we live in anymore, and we have regular stores again, I’ll take you to a Target and you’ll get to experience it for yourself.”

“You think it’ll be like that again one day?” she was already through a display of earrings, brushing her fingers over them gently. You didn’t want to get her hopes up, but you also liked to remain optimistic. It was always funny that you and Joel meshed so well; you were eternal optimist while he was a grumpy realist. Balance, you liked to think, and love. 

“I have hope that yes, one day things will be different,” you affectionately brushed a few stray locks of hair out of her face. Despite the hardened exterior she’d first presented, she was slowly opening up to the two of you. You figured that everybody just needed a little love sometimes. 

“Me too,” she let out a huff, quickly enamored with another display. 

You kept an eye on her, but shuffled back over to Joel, hopping up to sit next to him on one of the counters near an old cash register. You set your hand down and felt him move his hand closer, his pinky brushing against yours, “you alright?”

“Yeah,” you glanced at him and found him watching you with a soft expression, “it’s just weird out here sometimes. It’s odd to see things just perfectly preserved and basically frozen in time. It’s like normal - it’s just so close but so far away. It makes me sad a little bit…we all lost so much.”

With that he put his around your shoulders and pulled into the side of his body. You slumped with relief and felt yourself melt into him. There was something so reassuring and comforting about his presence that always made you feel better. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as you rested it on his shoulder. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while as you watched Ellie roam around the store, mesmerized by so many things. 

“What do you think?” you asked softly as he hummed in response, “do you think the world will go back to normal one day?”

“Do you want the real answer or the answer I want to give you?” he asked, his gruff voice reverberating in his chest. You laughed, but it was a bitter and sad thing. He reached for your hand, threading his finger through yours and giving yours a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m feeling very optimistic,” your voice was thick as a wave of feeling welled up in your chest, “give me the answer you want to tell me.”

“Well,” he started off softly, “I think everything will slowly go back to the way things were. And we’ll move back into the cities and suburbs, and life will go back to being normal. We’ll move into a nice house, we’ll get a dog and maybe even a cat, I’ll make sure you get that garden you always wanted. We’ll have neighbors we hate but we’ll invite them for barbecues and we’ll make cookies for everyone. We’re going to go all out for the holidays and everyone will remember us, the best  Halloween spooks and brightest Christmas displays. Maybe we’ll find a kid that needs us along the way or something. It’s going to be so boring and quiet, but it’s going to be amazing.”

“I love the sound of that,” your eyes were stinging with tears that you tried to blink back to no avail, “can I have that bay window in the kitchen and a little reading nook in our bedroom?” 

“You can have whatever you want, baby,” he promised and you knew that he meant it. Joel would do anything for you, just as you would do for him, “you name it and its yours.”

“As long as I have you, I’ve got everything I need,” you wiped at the tears that had pearled up and rolled down your cheeks before clearing your throat, “now give me your real answer…please.”

Joel paused, mulling over his words carefully as he tried to decide exactly what to say. But then he decided that he knew exactly what to say at that moment, “it doesn’t matter what my real answer is. I’m often wrong, as you love to remind me. Like I said, I’ll get you whatever you want. You want things back to how life used to be? Then that’s what it’ll be.”

“Ahh, you’re such a romantic,” you laughed sniffly before sitting up and moving your body so you were facing him, “never would have thought you were such a softie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pretended to wave you off but you could see the lovely smile that was on his face, “you keep that to yourself, you hear me?”

“Of course, handsome,” you leaned and kissed him gently, letting your lips linger against his, “whatever you say.”

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice cut through whatever Joel was about to say as she waved her hand at you, “I found some makeup! Can we try it on?”

You exchanged an amused expression with Joel before you slid off the counter, “don’t open anything just yet! Wait for me, kiddo!”

Joel watched you go, his stomach churning with a flurry of emotions. If he thought it was even remotely possible to give you what you wanted, he would have done it in a heartbeat. For you and Ellie. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You startled awake, blinking away the bleariness from your eyes. It took a few moments to realize where you were; you were currently on an old display mattress, covered in old, soft, and clean packaged blankets. It almost felt as good as your bed from once upon a time. Joel’s arm was slung around your waist as he pulled you against his chest. You could hear him snoring softly; Ellie was on your other side, staring at the ceiling and holding onto a stuffed animal that she had found. She acted like she didn’t care about it, but you saw how affectionately she looked at it and hugged it to her chest. She’d never had a stuffed animal before. 

“What are you doing awake?” you whispered softly as she turned to you with a look of surprise on her face. You shushed her gently, smoothing her hair out of her face, “it’s okay…there’s a lot of times I can’t sleep either.”

“There’s way too much going on in this head,” she huffed as you grinned at her, “I don’t know how you guys do it all the time.”

“I don’t know either,” you admitted and the two of you shared soft laughs. Before you could say anything else, you heard a sound in the distance, at the other end of the store. You sat up immediately, gently pushing Joel’s arm off you. Ellie sensed your worry and followed suit as you looked around, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, “we gotta keep it quiet right now.”

“I can do that,” she nodded nervously as she moved out of the bed so you could climb out as well. You grabbed your flashlight, gun, and knife off the floor, slowly padding towards the sound, keeping as quiet as possible. Ellie, sweet, stubborn Ellie, followed you, despite the fact that she hadn’t been invited. She would argue that she hadn’t been told to stay either, therefore she could come. You looked at her with a raised eyebrow but she only grinned, “I’ll watch your back.”

“Stay behind me and quiet,” you pleaded and she nodded. You thought about waking Joel up, but decided against it; it’d be easier to just solve this real quickly by yourself. 

You weaved your way through the aisles and display, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Surprisingly, you didn’t hear the sound again and part of you wondered if you’d imagined it. You swallowed thickly as you looked at the door that led to the stairwell. It didn’t sound like anything was inside, but you wanted to conduct as thorough of a sweep as possible, so pushed the door open with your hip. 

The landing was dark but you didn’t see anything besides stacks of old boxes and some random pallets, “stay by the door, yeah? If anything comes or you hear anything, close it.”

“What if you’re…in there?”

“I can handle it,” you promised, “I learned from the best.”

You slowly descended down the stairs, letting the light guide you as you came across…nothing. Maybe you really had imagined it all, wanting something to go wrong. That was the doomsday brain talking; it was almost laughable. 

It was when you were about to go down the third set of stairs that you heard it again. And this time it was coming from above you; panic set into your bones. You turned around to run back up the stairs when you heard that unmistakable sound. 

“Shit,” you heard Ellie’s soft voice and your brain kicked into overdrive. You took the steps two at time until you made it back to the landing and heard the awful sound of the clicker. It was almost haunting as you saw it getting closer and closer to Ellie. 

“Get back, Ellie!” you shouted, reaching for the gun strapped to your thigh, “get back and close the door - now.”

“But you’ll be in here-”

“I can handle it! Go!” 

The girl managed to slip away, shutting the door behind her, leaving you with the clicker. It turned to you, screeching its horrible song at you, as the gun trembled in your hand. It started to lunge at you, and you panicked, taking a step back and missed the edge of the step, tumbling down the concrete until you landed at the bottom. 

“Fuck,” you hissed as you tried to pull yourself up. There was an immediate, intense pain in your ankle that caused you to hiss in pain. You tried not to freak out further, reminding yourself that the calmer you stayed, the better this would end. When you looked for the gun, you found that it was still at the top of the stairs, “fuck!”

It was all happening so fast, the clicker making his way down the stairs as you pulled your knife out of its sheath. Unfortunately, it was faster than you were and by the time you managed to pull out the knife with your shaking hands, you were almost in its grasp. 

You felt it happen before you could even do anything about it. 

But you managed to grab the knife and shoved it through its eye, causing it to fall limp and crumple to the floor. Your heart was beating so hard you were shocked it didn’t burst through your ribcage.

You dropped the knife and your hand went to your neck and you gasped at the feeling of your own blood. You pulled your hand away and looked at your fingers, frowning at the sticky red liquid that was all over them. You willed yourself not to panic as you shuffled your way back up the stairs as best as you could with your hurt ankle, grabbing the gun you had dropped. 

If only you hadn’t fucking dropped it. 

You collapsed in front of the door, sitting with your back next to it. You opened your mouth a few times, finding it impossible to get out the words without them being totally obscured by your cries, “Ellie Bean? Are you there?”

“Y-yes,” she replied after a moment, “a-are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

She already knew the answer. You cried, your entire body trembling as tears followed down your face, “I need you to get Joel and leave, okay? I know you’re tired, but you have to keep going. The two of you have each other - just go. Don’t look back and go forward. You can do this.”

“You’re c-coming with this. Right? Right?”

“Ellie,” you whispered, “get Joel and go. Go now and just keep going.”

“P-please don’t…”

But Ellie didn’t even have to turn around to fetch Joel. He was already standing there, an unreadable expression on his. 

“What the fuck happened?” Ellie couldn’t form words as she started to cry, wordlessly pointing at the door. Joel moved past the girl as he tried to step inside, but you blocked his way, “baby.”

“Joel,” he crouched down and hung his head, trying to keep it together, “just stay out there. Take Ellie and go.”

He put a shaking hand on the floor, emotion threatening to bring him to his knees, “what happened.”

You laughed softly, not at him, more so the entire universe. Fuck. He loved that sound more than anything; the idea that he’d never hear it again was enough to make his heart constrict. You desperately wanted to let him in, to get to hold him and kiss him one last time. But even though you had a little bit of time left, you weren’t willing to risk it, “we all have to go one way or another, right? A-at least I can go knowing I went for a good reason. Protecting Ellie.”

“Maybe we could…maybe…I can…” you heard the pain in his voice as he tried to keep it together, “I… let me in…please?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you cried, biting the inside of your cheek, “I want the last time you saw me to be when we went to bed and you kissed me and held me. Give me that, yeah?”

“I can’t lose you,” he breathed shakily, “not you.”

“Joel,” he’d never hear you say his name again. The idea alone made him feel ill, “I love you so much, handsome. You’re gonna get Ellie where she needs to be. And she’ll help you too. You have each other and that’s enough.”

“I love you,” he choked, the words making your heart swell with joy. You knew Joel loved you, you’d always known, even if he hadn't put it into words before. Some things didn’t need to be said, “I love you.”

“Will you promise me something?” 

“Anything.”

“Get Ellie to safety, both of you to safety,” you noticed the gap under the door and realized it was just enough to slide your fingers under. You slid your hand through the gap as much as you could and you immediately felt his hand on top of yours, “and one day, when things go back to normal, you get that house with the bay window and reading nook and the dog and the garden and the nosey neighbors. Promise me?”

“I promise,” his voice was shaking as you closed your eyes, trying to picture that house in your mind.

“Will you plant daisies for me?”

“I’ll plant every daisy in this world for you.”

“It’ll be beautiful,” you grinned, even though he couldn’t see it, “and one more thing. You have to promise this to me, to Ellie, and to yourself. Don’t be afraid. Never be afraid.”

“I promise,” the crack in this tone made your heart ache, “I promise.”

“Good,” you gave his fingers a squeeze, “now go. Go and go and go until you get there.”

“I love you. Fuck baby, I love you.”

“I love you, Joel.”

It was a few minutes of quiet stillness, only the sound of your breathing and tears reaching your ears. Eventually he pulled his hand away and you could hear him standing up. Sobs wracked your body as you brought your knees to your chest and let it all out. 

Joel looked at Ellie and she wordlessly hugged him; he hugged her back tightly. 

“We should go,” she said so softly that he almost missed. He nodded, squeezing her just a little bit longer before letting go. 

She grabbed his hand as she started to pull him towards the little bed you’d made. It all felt so pointless now. The two of them worked in silence to gather their things to continue their journey. 

Your words were still rattling around in his head. Don’t be afraid.

A gunshot sounded off in the distance as Ellie and Joel walked down the escalator. He froze for a moment as Ellie squeezed his arm.

Don’t be afraid.

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Chapter Fifteen: I'll just ask Mark - four images, 1.5k words - heads up, this chapter deals more with y/n's mental health than previous ones

You were thankful you didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, because time slipped right by you while at lunch with Haechan. The two of you got sandwiches and coffee from the library café, but when you quickly realized all the tables were taken, you ended up bringing the food back to Haechan’s apartment just a short walk away. This is where time started flying past. The two of you turned on an old cartoon show to watch while you ate, but once you were finished, your own voices quickly overtook the sound of the television.

It was a strange truth to find out - that you and Haechan actually got along swimmingly, taking to each other like a duck to water. Of course, up until the last week or so, the majority of your time knowing each other was spent either ignoring one another or exemplifying passive aggression; so your ability to actually carry a conversation for hours was a very new concept, but one you could hardly take the time to question when you were too busy laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

Haechan was the first to calm down after the last bout of laughter shared in the living room, and he leaned his head against the front of the couch - the two of you opted to sit on the floor as you ate since there was no coffee table to place everything on; not to mention the couch wasn’t that comfortable in the first place.

He rolled his head to the side so he could look at you, your eyes squeezed shut as you bite on your bottom lip to try and stop more laughs from leaving your system. He let a soft grin come across his face as he took in your presence, and the fact that he was happy here with you. “Remind me to thank Mark for convincing you to transfer,” he says gratefully, traces of a laugh still tainting his light voice. Though, all at once, your body stills, and you open your eyes to meet his soft gaze before swiftly bringing your focus to where you had begun messing with your fingers in your lap.

“Oh. It wasn’t really- he didn’t convince me, so to speak. I had to transfer.” You fumble through your words, embarrassment tinging your cheeks a shade of pink.

Haechan furrowed his brows at you. “What do you mean?” He asks curiously, and you can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes you.

You stop fidgeting, but you can’t bring your gaze up from your lap as you respond smoothly. “I was really, badly depressed. Not to mention half the student body at SM used to actually bully me," you recall with a scoff.

“At the end of the day, I just wanted my brother closer than thirty minutes away from me. Helped me feel less alone, or at least helped me not make rash decisions, I mean- I hated myself. Wasn’t sure I was anything but a waste of space, honestly; and the idea of going to my brother to be talked down felt better than going to my friends, cause I always thought they would leave me if all I did was come to them with struggles. My brother can’t leave, he’s stuck with me. Though most of the time, that doesn’t really make it any easier - it’s still putting so much responsibility on Mark, when he’s probably the last person who needs any more added to his plate. Regardless, he does his best - and only partly because he's forced to," you say with a weak laugh before continuing softly.

"In transferring here, my parents made him promise that he wouldn’t allow me to throw myself into oncoming traffic, or maybe it was off a bridge. I don’t know. Something stupid but-”

You cut yourself off when you hear what you think is a sniffle from beside you. You whip your head over to look and get confirmation that he’s actually crying. “Haechan?” You get out worriedly, your brows furrowing as you take in his wide watery eyes and small trembles. You reach out to wipe away at the tears racing down his face, and he just shakes his head against your hold.

“Don’t leave. Don’t you ever dare leave,” he manages to get out somewhat firmly. Your lips form a tight smile at his care and you shake your head, trying to dispel his worries.

“I’m not-” You start, but he cuts you off and you’re sure it’s because he doesn’t quite believe you…not that you could blame him.

He moves from sitting flat on the ground to instead lean over and engulf you in a hug, made awkward by the fact that he was practically just ramming his body into your side. You didn’t care, you wrapped your arms around him the best you could as he gets out choked words. “I need you. Here. I need you here,” he hiccups, and you break.

“Haechan…it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you say, trying your best not to cry now, too as you begin to rub a hand up and down his back.

You feel a light poke at your side and glance down to see his pinkie outstretched. You look back up to face him in confusion, but his eyes are still directed towards the floor, not to mention squeezed shut. “P-promise,” he gets out weakly. With the tears staining his face, the shaking of his body, and his choked words, you knew you never wanted to see Haechan like this ever again. So, without truly realizing how much this pinky promise was going to mean to him, you lace your finger with his and watch as the smallest wave of relief crashes over him.

He falls more decidedly against you, and you hold him there tightly, running your fingers gently across his clothes and through his hair. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, but you know you didn’t let up from the hug until he was completely rid of tears. Though, when you lift your arms up and allow him to sit back upright, he doesn’t, and a small smile crosses your face as you gently place your arms back around his figure.

You hadn’t seen him look this small ever before, and the fact that he was being this emotional and vulnerable with you was making warmth spread through your entire body. You only hoped it could transfer through the hug you had him in, figuring he probably needed it more right now - for some reason, it couldn't click that he was crying over you, that he was currently concerned about making sure you felt comforted and cared for...though that quickly changes with his next words.

“I’m sorry I was a dick to you earlier,” he finally says with resolve. You move to shake your head and dismiss it, but he presses on. “I treated you poorly for no reason, and I’m sorry. The last thing I ever want to do is remind you of someone from your old school. I’ll do better. I promise all I’ll ever try to do is put a smile on your face, but if it’s ever not genuine, I need you to know that you can come to me, confide in me, whatever. Your heavy feelings aren’t going to scare me away. You don’t need to ever pretend around me, and if I’m the only person who has made that clear, then so be it, I’ll be your rock.”

He finally moves as he says this so that he can make eye contact with you, unfortunate because you had finally started crying at his words. “It’s so hard,” you squeak out. “With my family, I mean - I just want to be a good daughter- a good sister. They don’t deserve all that stress of my mental health. I- I broke my family’s heart telling them how I thought of myself…the point I was reaching. I don’t ever want to worry them like that again.” As you finish, your attention is turned towards where Haechan lightly grabbed your hand in his.

“You broke mine, too, but you need to understand that I’ll let you break it over and over again if it means you aren’t going through this alone.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone and it sends even more tears racing down your cheeks. He sighs, bringing a hand up to wipe gently under your eyes. “Y/n,” he says, his voice soft but filled with intent.

You nod your head, knowing what he was looking for - any confirmation that you were actually taking in his words. “Thank you,” you say weakly, causing a corner of Haechan’s mouth to perk up in a soft grin.

His hand that was previously at your cheek moves up to eventually run back down through your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. “Do you wanna watch The Aristocats?” He asks gently.

Your wide eyes meet his. “You’d watch it with me again?” You respond in awe.

Haechan lets out a small laugh, turning his gaze to the floor before shaking his head and looking in your teary eyes again. “You said it’s your comfort movie…I’d watch it a thousand times.”

[previous] -> [masterlist] -> [next]

a/n: yuhhhh

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @choizzn @raevyng @dudekiss3r @yewshi @artsenthusiastk77 @injunnie-lemon @markeroolee @chan-yeoldelling @sunflowerhae @mystverse @urlovelily @luvandletter @jeonghansshitester @dinonuguaegi @untilthesunrises @clean-soap @andassortedkpop @dlin3 @roseangelxfuma @gomdoleemyson @simmsunshine @swanyvess @awktwurtle @t-102 @kukkurookkoo

@hahaechans @ypoom151999 @goldenclosethobi

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 🕸 Story A

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: this is Peter’s side of the story.

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Peter walks you to your dorm. You stop by the door and chatter into the crisp air. He clings to your hand so you can’t find your keys. You hum nervously and face him. 

“I gotta go...” you say. 

“Can I come with you?” He whines. 

You laugh then choke on it, “wait! You can’t. Peter, you left your whole party.” 

“I don’t care about the party. I...” he smiles and his cheeks deepen another shade, “it was an excuse. I invited you so you wouldn’t catch on to how much I like you.” 

“Uh, oh,” you utter, “that’s... sweet.” 

“It’s stupid. I should’ve just told you.” He shakes his head. 

“But... well, I don’t know. I can understand why you didn’t,” you shrug. “Still, I... I should really go get some sleep.” 

“And leave me?” He pouts. 

“Peter, I’m... sorry.” You look away shyly. “I have roommates.” 

“I’m sure they bring boys home. And girls. Promise, it’s not anything bad. I just... do you know how long I’ve been dying to snuggle you?” 

“Me?” You exclaim, breathless. 

“God, I’m such a dope,” he shrugs bashfully. “Fine, alright, alright. I’ll leave ya alone. Walk home. In the cold... alone.” 

Your heart squeezes and your face sets alight. He was nice enough to come all this way. You feel bad saying no. 

“Alright, but you have to be quiet,” you warn him. 

“For you, I will be,” he promises. 

You shake your head and wiggle free of his grasp. You reach into your bag and take out your keys. He grabs onto your arm and shivers.  

“Starting to feel the cold now,” he chuckles. 

You unlock the door and pull it open. You hold it so he can catch it and he follows you inside. He clings to you as you take him upstairs and you stop again to get through the front door of your unit. You push inside cautiously and peek through to the hallway before you enter. 

As you take him down the narrow hall, you’re suddenly self-aware of every little thing. His dorm is so much nicer. Not as cramped and there’s no crack in the ceiling. 

You get to your door and bring him inside. It’s only then that you remember you’re wearing his coat. You put your boots on the mat as he finally lets go and he does the same. 

You shrug his jacket off and hang it over the back of your desk chair. You sling your purse with it as you sense his shadow moving around. You grab the blanket from the bed and offer it to him. He comes closer with a grin. 

He takes it and sweeps it around himself. Before you can react, he wraps you up in his blanketed arms and urges you back to the bed. He falls down with you, bouncing over you as he rolls you atop him. You squeal and steady yourself as he sinks into your cushy mattress. 

“Hey,” you gasp. 

“Can’t help myself,” he says. “I’m about to shiver my toes off.” 

“Ha, me too,” you giggle. 

He keeps you in his arms and you stop wriggling. He’s too strong to resist and you’re too weak. Besides, he isn’t trying anything. Just holding you. You try to relax and lower your head to his shoulder. He purrs. 

“Isn’t this nice?” He asks. 

“Sure,” you answer thinly. “Yeah, I think.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his heartbeat. Or is that yours? 

Despite your nerves and the stressful night, it isn’t long before you drift off. It might be that Peter is so warm or that you’re so tired, but you wake up stiff and sore from an awkward doze atop him. You lift your head and groan as he snores softly beneath you. 

The grey morning peers in through the narrow space between your curtains. You shift off of Peter onto the bed beside him. His arm remains draped around you. You hate to wake him up but you have a study group and need to go grab a few essentials from the student grocery. 

“Morning,” he croaks and you flinch in surprise. 

“Oh, hi,” you blink at him as your dry throat tickles. “Ahem, erm, I need to...” you lift yourself but he pulls you back down. 

“Leaving me already?” He teases. 

“I need to take my meds,” you eke out. “Sorry.” 

“Meds?” He lets you go, his hand brushing against your hip. 

“Asthma,” you explain as you carefully pull away, dragging the blanket off of him. 

“Oh, brrrrr,” he chatters, “chilly in here.” 

“Yeah, a little,” you toss the comforter back over him and climb off the bed. 

You take your pills out of the small chest you keep on the wall shelf. You swallow your dose and go to your purse to check that your inhaler is there. As you glance at Peter, he’s watching you. 

“I thought it was just that thing,” he points at your hand. 

“Oh, uh,” you rattle the inhaler, “I wish. Not so bad. Not if I’m not stressed but college can be kinda... stressful.” 

“Right,” he sits up. “Well, now you got me. I can help with that.” He winks and your make a face. He laughs. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant you can vent to me. Tell me everything that stresses you out.” 

“Uh, right, well... I’m a bit anxious. I have a project to work on at the library at eleven, so--” 

“You’re kicking me out,” he frowns. 

“No, no, I’m not, just letting you know. That’s all. I wouldn’t.... wouldn’t kick you out.” 

Your chest tightens and you instinctively shake the inhaler. You suck on it and cough. He moves to the edge of the bed. 

“Am I stressing you out?” 

You clear your throat and shake your head, “no, the air’s dry.” 

“You sure?” He goes to stand then moves the blanket slightly and stays seated. 

“Yeah, sure. Sorry. I just... worried about homework.” 

“About that, when are we getting together for ours? If your free tonight, I can order us dinner to the lab. It will be romantic but productive,” he suggests. 

“Erm, I’ll see how study group goes,” you say. “Do you want some tea?” 

“No coffee?” He grumbles. 

“Sorry, but I can run to the cafe. It’s just a block or two to campus.” 

“Nah, I’m good. What kinda tea you got?” He asks. 

“Let me check,” you smile. 

Before you can turn away, you notice how he moves carefully and stands. He keeps hold of the blanket and subtly reaches beneath. He tugs on his pants and rolls his weight from one foot to the other. You quickly look away. 

Tea! 

[krazyyyyyy]

A True Friend Hyugo x Reader

While skipping class, a certain someone joins you

Words: 819

You rested your back against the trunk of an oak tree, your eyes tiredly reading the text of a novel your English professor had recently assigned to you, given your continuous procrastination throughout the week and your avoidance of reading the book. The paper you were supposed to write about the book was due tomorrow morning, and you hadn’t even started it or finished the book itself. That’s how you ended up out here, skipping class in the open fields behind your school, attempting to finish the book before the school day ended. You’d probably have to pull an all-nighter to write the paper, but that was a problem for later on.

You felt at ease where you sat, the soft bark of the oak tree against your back, the cool shade providing a respite from the sun's heat. While a subtle breeze, carrying the scent of grass and earth flowed freely around you. The chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind were the only sounds you heard as you continued reading.

As you focused on the book, a faint sound caught your attention. It was the sound of soft, barely audible footsteps as they drew closer to you.

Suddenly, a cheerful voice rang out from right next to you.

“Whatcha reading?”

A smile appears on your face at the familiar voice of your friend, Hyugo. “Jane Eyre. I guess it’s about an orphan girl struggling in life. It’s actually not that bad.” You reply without looking away from your book.

He smiled as he curiously looked over your shoulder to examine the book's contents. 

He then laughed “Since when do you skip class to read?”

You let out a sigh. “Since today… I have to finish this book and then write a paper about it, all by tomorrow morning, or else I can kiss my A in English goodbye.” You glance at the boy curiously, “What are you doing out here anyway, Hyugo?”

Hyugo kept his usual smile as he sat on the grass next to you, leaning back onto the tree with his hands resting behind his head. “I didn’t feel like going to my history class. It’s so boring (Y/N)!” He pouts.

You laugh, shaking your head in amusement, “You never feel like going to class. How in the world are you still in the student council?”

He shrugs, smiling, “I guess I'm just that amazing.” You suppose he wasn't totally wrong, but you wouldn’t tell him that; Hyugo always managed to be at the top of the class, regardless of whether he showed up to class or not. Knowing his secretive nature, you’d probably never figure out how he does it.

 You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to your book. The two of you sit in comfortable silence—that is, until Hyugo decides to speak again a couple of moments later.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“You think you’ll ever make it to the Higher Class?”

Instantly, the book before you didn’t seem as interesting anymore. Everyone at your school dreamed of being a part of the Higher Class, but only very few actually succeeded in making it in. Even if you’re born rich, it's not always guaranteed you’ll make it, especially when everyone makes mistakes…

You close the book, setting it down beside you. “I hope so. It would take a huge burden off my family’s shoulders…I don’t think I can afford to fail.” You let your head fall against the tree in exasperation, looking to the sky in an attempt to ignore the aching in your chest. Knowing you were your family's last hope broke you in ways you never thought possible.

A sudden weight and softness on your shoulder snap you out of your daze. You look over to see Hyugo resting his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed. “(Y/N), If you ever need anything…and I mean anything, let me know. I’ll be there…Always.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Hyugo,” You whisper, keeping your emotions in check. “But I have to do this myself.” You had to endure this burden alone, regardless of the support you were offered. You made a promise to your father, and you intended to keep it.

Hyugo sighs. “I know, but it’s good to remember that there are people who…” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “... really care about you.”

You smile, resting your head on his. “You worry too much.”. 

He chuckles. “If I don’t, who will?” He then yawns, nestling his head comfortably on your shoulder. It doesn’t take long before he’s fast asleep and quietly snoring.

Although tempted to finish your book, you can’t help but give in to the temptation of sleep as your eyes grow weary. Nuzzling into the softness of Hyugo’s hair, you fall asleep without a single worry on your mind for the first time in a long time.

[insidekatmind]

A Shoulder to Lean On~Pope Heyward

You were sitting on the beach, the waves gently lapping at the shore, and the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of gold and pink. It was a quiet place, a peaceful corner you loved to share with your friends. But tonight, you were there for a different reason. Pope Heyward sat next to you, his knees pulled to his chest and his eyes lost in the sea.

This wasn’t the usual Pope. Normally, he was the sharp, thoughtful one in the group, always ready with a plan or a witty remark. But tonight, he seemed weighed down by the world, and you couldn’t ignore it.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” you began, breaking the silence. Your voice was calm, almost a whisper, careful not to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the evening. “But I’m here. If you want to talk.”

Pope shook his head slightly, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted. “It feels like everything I do, every decision I make… it ends up being wrong.”

You turned toward him, curious. “Like what?”

He sighed, lowering his gaze to the sand. His fingers toyed with a small piece of driftwood he had picked up. “Like my dad. He expects so much from me, and I want to live up to it, I really do... but it feels like I can never be enough. And then there’s all this mess with the Pogues, the treasure... I feel trapped in something way bigger than me.”

You nodded, giving him the time he needed to continue.

“I don’t want to be a failure, you know? But... sometimes I think I’m losing myself trying to make everyone else happy. And I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

It was rare to see Pope so vulnerable, and it broke your heart. You leaned forward slightly, searching for the right words. “Pope,” you began, “I know it feels like it’s all too much to handle. I know you feel like you’re letting everyone down, but listen to me: you’re not. You are not a failure—not even close.”

He looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with doubt. “And how would you know? You don’t know what it’s like to see my dad’s face when I can’t be what he wants me to be.”

“I don’t need to know,” you replied firmly, though your voice was gentle. “What I do know is that you’re doing your best. You give everything you have for the people you love, Pope. Look at what you do for us Pogues, look at how hard you try to make your dad proud. That’s not failing. That’s being incredibly strong.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, the driftwood in his hand now snapped in half. Then he spoke, his voice softer. “I don’t know. Sometimes... I think I just want to stop. Let it all go and walk away.”

“And what’s stopping you?” you asked, offering a kind smile. “You don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone. You can lean on us, Pope. You don’t always have to be the one to fix everything. We’re here for you, just like you’re always there for us.”

Pope looked at you, and for a moment, something in him seemed to ease. “It’s not easy, you know. Letting others take part of the load.”

“I know,” you said, shifting slightly to rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But I promise we’ll never judge you for asking for help. You’re one of the best friends anyone could ask for, Pope. And I want you to remember that—always.”

He gave a small smile, weak but genuine. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I don’t think I say it often enough, but... I’m really grateful for you.”

“Always,” you replied, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go. “Now, how about we stay here a little longer? The stars are about to come out, and you know how JJ loves to brag about knowing constellations. We could at least try.”

Pope let out a faint laugh, and the sound was a relief to your heart. “JJ wouldn’t recognize a constellation even if he had a book in front of him. But yeah... let’s stay a little longer.”

And so, you stayed there, under a sky filling with stars, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter thanks to a friendship that knew no conditions.

[blackangelism]

Born to Die

hey, so, basically, i was writing this fanfiction called born to die based upon kurt cobain and an original character called nirvana lacey anhedönia and, well, i never finished it and i think i’ve lost the inspiration to. but, i still want it to see the light of day because i think it’s beautiful (sort of). so, here we are.

Gibson Girl.

1480 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ You wanna… ]

Lovelace.

That’s what I’m fucking carving into my arm. With that oh-so-American size of the knife, the cut was deep and my handwriting as unhinged as it could be, probably and possibly worse than the cruel (upon me!) variety of forms it takes; like it was in my journal (I’ve always adored the copulation of the words probably and possibly as it tends so well to my seeming lack of sincerity and existential confusion), but worse, worse. Tingling all over I was in not an aroused, sexual way—but in the way it tingles when the high becomes scary, when the swirly faces start to scratch at you and when your belly feels scarily pregnant (everyone whom I know wants children; I wonder, am I sociopathic or a prophetess? Probably both, they’re primarily synonymous anyway). I knew so damnéd well I was addicted to this shit, the little, translucent, hallucinatory blotters (I prefer ’em trippy on both the outside and in, and pink; but I’m an addict! I’ll take whatever anyways) I get by shaking my ass to the guy whose name I do not wish to have my married brain clouded with. He still cut into my head like the knife that was working with all it’s effort and my inputs carving that v on my plump, ripe forearm. I was addicted as fuck; and I fucking loved it. At the very fucking least, I was pumping out poems like a heroine of the fifties. It’s what it was: the fifties had Sylvia Plath and the eighties had me. Downright iconic. The blood by now—I felt like a lamb, but I knew I was the dragon—was flooding my lap on which that forearm of mine was settled. I apologise if my writing, grammer, thoughts, anything else is fucked up in this or don’t make sense—I’m drugged up into Cloud Nineteen (ten blotters, two packs of Marlboro Reds over this evening).

I know I sound fucking insane and I probably am, and I treat myself to pain Virgin Mary couldn’t have dreamt off—but, I promise I’m not mean. Just a hard, excessive exterior and a tight, eager posterior in this dollhood of mine. Does that even make sense…? I don’t fucking know shit… “Ah, fuck…” I whispered with the most disappointing one I could muster when I fucked up the second l of Lovelace.

Lovelace, Lovelace… Great, I have to recall him.

The fucker who got me into this.

Norwegian trucker in India who was friends with my greaser pa, Norman Anhedönia, called Gibson Lovelace. The chap had forty years worth of oxygen wasted in his shallow breathing (he always breathed shallow, even when he came; I had noticed), a nine-incher monster of a dick, pedophilia, a drunkard wife and an obsession with me. I’d always been what Nabokovian terms would term nymphet, and I do say I’m split on it. I’m a shit daughter and a demon child, or am I? Maybe I’m just depressed and suicidal, or I’m fucking divine and the reincarnation of Eve meant to meet her Adam through a senseless act of violence upon myself (I didn’t know at the time, but I was fucking foreshadowing; go me.). Every girl needs a senseless act of violence properly upon herself but rarely upon the other to discover her one and only cult leader.

Anywho, Gibson led me into his truck away from my father who was too busy cleaning his shades listening to Elvis on the records: January of ’77, I was seven going to turn eight in the November of that year. He fucked me raw, smashed my head so hard into the steering wheel that I bled (I was questioning too much), kissed my cuts and made me promise I wouldn’t pick up a knife again but didn’t do shit about what I actually felt; he told me to stick my tongue out and placed this thin translucent sheet of pink from a little booklet he kept in his glovebox. And I decided that I loved it. I’m at fault, I’m at fault… Fuck Waheguru.

I’m finished. I squeezed my arm as hard as I could, the blood spraying over the marble floor (I had tucked the rug away; I can’t let Mumma see). My incisors with the utmost force to keep my vocal chords at bay dug into my chapped bottom lip and drew blood there too. It trickled down to my chin and came to nirvana at my lap resting amongst the other red molecules; it left a ferric taste on the tip of my tongue, slightly bitter and quite sweet. Bittersweet. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood… Blood, everywhere. Gibson would’ve rubbed it all over my nipples and told me to lick it up like it was his sperm all over my asscheeks or, well, just cheeks. I did have quite big tits for an almost twelve-year-old, I must admit… I’ve always had more estrogen and my estrogen was also more sensitive: susceptible. Susceptible to manipulation, fuckery, religion, what not… Finally, I could fucking feel something except for the stimuli of my g-spot and the irritation in my nostrils that still blossomed when I chainsmoked indoors or that itching feeling in me when I go too much time without my LSD. I have this delusion that I only pump men good or pump out good stuff when I’m pumped on those little squares: He said that LSD would be good for me when I told him that I write; I’ve been pumpin’ poetry for my baby ever since. I hate children, and I sincerely wish that all babies die alongside their parents and the doctors and the nurses and the medical’s parents and me…

My disorders kicked in (Borderline Personality Disorder, majorly untreated) and I fucking panicked. After so much shit, I fucking panicked. Panicked. Jumping up almost to slam my head to the sink I was cutting up like ham under, I had to hold onto the sink to make myself stand actually. I slowly experienced my hand creep up to switch on the faucet (like Gibby did to the faucet in my eyes everytime he crossed my neurocircuitry) and my other arm (I’m right-handed) creep to wash the blood from Lovelace off. Thankfully, I had a few bottles of peroxide, a pack of Reds, a babydoll dress all set up, razor and men’s shaving cream, my skincare, makeup—all of that set up, and the shower prepped as well. Today, I was to die.

The same year as Gibson’s arrival to me, I spiralled and ended up flinging my curvy body down the roof of some pretentious hotel in Seattle. I didn’t die, unfortunately. Then, well, I was transferred to a crazy people place for four years until I got out in March of ’81 (this year!) equally, if not more, fucked up. I had glowed so much surrounded by my little hellspawns, my creatures... My paradise is dying in the arms of nobody. But, I couldn’t care when the blotters kicked in and helped my cerebrum in distorting so fucking shittily my face into some eldritch horror that passed the likes of werewolves mid-transformation and golems. I giggled manically at the twistings of my eyes into the hair and my ears into halo, my mouth stretched through the giggle was transmuted to the petrified image of a dog and a lady and what fucking not. Oh, I need my pen… Pen, pen, pen, pen,... pen!

The lad

I tried to write into the journal page I had kept open on the small settee of my bathroom that I had also made sure to drip some of my essence onto (not like that, pervs; the blood, I’m saying) but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate with my cerebellum or my cerebrum. The giggles just wouldn’t stop and they just got more and more distorted like guitars fitted into amps and amps and shredding. I fell back on the ground, it cushioned by my ass, and held my head in my arms, shaking my head as if to curate outside of my all the fogginess and to shake out of my trip. I wanted to write, write! Not whatever the fuck this was. My eyes were squeezed so hard, I was crying. And, I couldn’t fucking stop laughing like a shitshow.

“Oh, God, stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop…!” Hadn’t even realised I was sobbing but in that moment that epiphany hit me like a freight train (whatever the fuck a freight train is; I just picked up on the writing tool from whatever I read using this). My arm was still bleeding, smearing blood over my cheeks; my lip was still cut from my teeth, bleeding the smaller bits too; I was shaking like a fucking banyan leaf in the rainstorms of Wash.

• • •

Strangers.

5010 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love ]

Even the isolation, deprave, and mesophilia of our fucked-up, Lacey, crazies hospital was better than this drenched, little town. What was better than any of those two fucking disasters, though, was my stance on the railway tracks. Sittin’ there like teke-teke, waitin’ for my gorgeous guts to be smashed over, destroyed, violated, clawed out by the grinders of the train. I’d never seen starry nights—the ladies at Lacey would never have enough testicles to let me watch a shooting star and hope that it crash into me, the fuckin’ meteorite. My years at Cawnpore already were quite less in number, and it eternally was too polluted for us to see something more than the dhruv star and a few other killers; I’d never seen starry nights. According to this astronomical magazine I picked up while the nurses took us out to the local stores of Lacey for us teenage girls to detoxify our battlefields for minds, today was a meteor shower and I was thoroughly intrigued by blazing space rocks in the skies, so I bluffed and fucked my way out of the hospital. My egg and sperm donors did not believe for a major nanosecond that I was cured. At two years of pained age, I was standing in the middle of the gray-like-me roads, conscious of the act; at four, I burnt my pierced earlobe on purpose, using the steam-fuelled iron to; at six, any blade I pranced upon would find it’s metallic way to scent the room in the aroma of my equally metally blood, I only wished for one to kiss those marks and draw about them, to be what the lyre was to Apollo; at eight, this curvy brain of mine finally snapped into her hemispheres and told me to fling my curvy body down the highest story of our hotel. At eight, my suppliers abandoned their Catholic mistake of a dolly into a mental hospital in my Americana birthplace, Lacey.

There, I morphed myself like the blesséd Phoenix, curse, profanity I am into The Mother. Mother Lace, Mother Nirvana, Messiah of thee, and the literary combo of Three. One of the only times I shall ever cherish are my years with those six girls… My girls: my loves, only ones who would ever succeed in enveloping me with so much heat that the outward exterior, the exoskeleton of middle fingers and catty hisses, melts into a puddle of rot beneath me and the inner delicacy of my wretched fragility and mortality is on display for all those mental fuckers to eat.

Needless to say…, I missed my bundle of little women, my packets of compressed, oppressed joy. So, I lay there longing with my arms stretched onward craving hiraeth in the Heavens—now that I look back, it never was hiraeth. I knew exactly what my home was: the browned mental hospital where I spent four formative years of my Jim Morrison's life in. I longed for the hug of my collected daughters, their soft digits brushing my hair as they softly inquired escape from the hellhole I promised to save them from. My girls... I loved them, like the mother they never received. I had promised, I had promised… I was a betrayer. What mother to those girls…

On instinct I experienced my hands reach to the crown of my head, relief coursing through my blood the moment a thorn stung me. Their entity had crafted for me a crown of thorns to relish me as their Lady and Saviour. I did feel blood seep from the pinch, but I stuck my finger between my lips and thrashed my tongue around, gazing at the dying glows of the starry night.

I pretended to be Jesus.

I am Judas, or am I?

I don’t even know what I’m writing. You’re hallucinating while interpreting strange symbols written left-to-right in lead and antimony compounds upon thin, delicate tablet-like structures made of tree sap, so I guess we two are never too far apart in our crazy.

Well, to them (my girls: Laine Jean Ray, Bonita Ana Dios, Aurora May-Belle Long, Theresa Midge Check, Verbena de Baïa Voisin, Margaret Sarah Check), I still remain Yeshua. Yet, I feel a wolf in lamb’s skin as myself; a panther in the throes of the night sky that I stare emptily, tearily, upon. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake (translation: you people are fucking dumb).

In my convulsing tubule of thoughts birthed by my cerebral quality, I failed in my life to notice movement, possibly a metre from me. I was laid over the railway track like a corpse, eyes empty yet body warm for no reason at all. It truly seems bizarre how the movement noticed me neither—maybe dissolved so much in the grief were they that they were as heady as me, as crazy as I! Trapped inside the fever dream of their own thoughts, vowed to never spit it out, bit tongues and summertimes spent in clawing bedsheets and clamping hands over the own lips so as to refrain from the awareness that might spread. That might say…: I am iron. I am usable, extremely so. Exploit me, as if you have not already. Though, I might have not warneth thou… I rot as vigorously as I am used, keep me out in the world and I will break down and become ash of myself. In the velvet night, a puff of air as a sigh crawled out of me, liquid dripping down the corneas of I, ruining not the night (this was to be, I planned to die today for fuck’s sake) but my precious mascara and eyeliner. Oh, how I worked on that lining to accentuate my inherited, unwanted, auto-appreciated felinity. I’d be the prettiest girl in the morgue.

Someday you will ache like I ache.

Anyhow, the shower from the atmosphere had concluded a few minutes prior. And, well, finally, the train I was waiting for to scramble and crumble my guts into nothing but wasted potential, like I already was, had arrived… Only, it arrived wrong. It ran over the steel beside me, beside us (counting in the movement I am). A severe monsoon bummer filled my chest, the void in my heart had been concealed tightly and packed with Lyssa, Eris, what not. I craved to screech at the tyrant Father for his sin, for his fucking disruptive mercy on me—I did not want mercy! I needed death to fuck me like his personal, unpaid, loyal servant-girl; I needed it violent! So, as soon as all registered in my voluminous cerebrum, I recoiled in my pose, resorting to the protection of a foetal position as I screamed out my sobs and muffled them by staining my shaved thighs with my lipstick and drool smelling of minty chew-gum that I chewed last minute, tears of brown-black from my mascara and liner, hitting my head against my knees and punching the bloody rails that I was once moonbathing over until I experienced my knuckles burn and bruise, actual slivers of blood peek through the skin. I continued then too, but was too passionate in my quiet wailing to keep up the aggression.

And, thence, I swiped my tears with my bleeding knuckles, unrealising in my little girl’s misery of the fact, and smeared blood over my eyes and mascara over my blood. By some distance, I could hear some twigs crunching, maybe it was the movement I hadn’t noticed beforehand. When I did notice in that current moment, fear struck my gut like Cupid’s arrow when I had seen Priscilla Presley for the first time in forever. Naturally, a response occurred within the fatty mass of electric muscle in my head and I recoiled within myself, burying my face in my knees that I had pulled to my tits, only my eyes blinking up like a defensing cat—if I had been a cat, my pupils would have shrunken to that reptilian, creepy glare. I saw that the thing was lighting a cigarette, my cravings relit alongside (the appearance of the thing was half-revealed in the dim spark).

Stupidly as I ever could be, I murmured from my coil, “Do you have a light?” However softly I did speak, the boy did hear because it was the death of the night in wherever we were, the railroad was as quiet as could be with the crickets around chirping and inaudible bats may or may not be sauntering about. Dim moonlight that I somedays worshipped (as a witch, I did) proved herself, and I saw him. The first predicament was that he’s cute: blond, ice eyes, hopeless swagger, shaky legs. He paused himself in his trek, and slowly but mildly clumsily, turned to see my form. Perhaps cold moonlight proved her importance to hallucinatory pages of dead sap’s inkéd words of feel-good love. Wow, fuck, I went overboard on there. So, he scrutinised me for a moment, squinting to gaze at me carefully.

I’ll never forget what came out of my future husband’s mouth the first time he spoke a single thing to me…: You look very pretty when you’re crying; tears suit you. I don’t think that I can emphasise the moan that was nearly to escape me at that very moment, it was a shockwave of whatever down my spine to my ladyness. My knees dropped to become flat, just legs, and I did acknowledge the gashes in my doll heart bleeding so vigorously, it matched my swallowed drool.

“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.”

His honeyed voice, sort of scratchy as I observed he was pubescent and hormonal in his blue jeans, white striped shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn!—and black-y jacket he kept open, pushed me to experience the yayo-type, giggly joy of his chuckle, he shook his head in amuséd denial of his drunkenness. He was poetic, he had a slur, he had his thin lips wrapped around a cigarette—shit, I needed them wrapped around mine… And, I loved it. Why the fuck was I enamoured? “You’re a hypocrite,” He paused for a moment, maintaining that smile. Two distinct holes, punctures in muscle, were noticed by thee truly, myself, at that very moment; I felt my ribcaged heart palpitate. “You’re bawling your eyes out here like Virgin Mary.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful.” The moan that was slowly and gradually, steadily and irresistibly, mountaineering up my throat finally escaped in the form of this: *Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful*. Which, I did mean—how could I not mean *this*? I’m not Lisa Rowe, you buzz (although I wish to be—have you not read the sheer charisma produced from the description Kaysen emits of her? She was definitely the prettiest girl in the morgue!).

Hands of his extended to mine, both, and I took them, shakingly wobbling from my psych-out. I felt drunk. As terror-inducin’ it seems, drugs had exhilarated me, no cock of a man who had money this nymphet had onlooked had been left out, I was such a La Lolita for my crazy desires—but I had never had a swig before. Smelling the booze off my falling, twisted guy as he pulled me up from my literal and mental death—I only knew that my heart was hitting at my sinews, she felt a depraved wanderlust. Some wanderlust it was to, like a man in a Prime Minister pose, mark that free, angel Earth mine with maybe a flag (a tattoo) or a hole (a lovebite), something, somewhat. I held onto his shoulders for both metaphorical and literal support, he held onto the curve of the lower back I possessed, though the fabric of his jackie didn’t benefit friction and he kept slipping his arm off accidentally because, one, he adorned too much weight on; two, the fabircs intermingled like our forms, the cheap satin and whatever the fuck his jacket was made of. “Why am I a hypocrite, though?” I finally asked this little blond dude what had been pestering me (I am not to blame for this worthy-of-disdain obsessiveness, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I am Cool Girl: I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive) for how millennium long. His ocean eyes matched mine for a moment, and he seemed to think through for a momento before he permitted the giggle of a hyena break out of him: Because you’re pretty when you cry, and I’m not.

“Yes, you are.” No hesitation was laced through me, none of that unaware uncertainty that I usually experienced leaking through my tune when I comforted one of my girls—my girls...—and instead was there an ignorant stubbornness. I was always stubborn, but what the fuck? I, having registered in my still plush cerebrum that my crown of thorns (gifted to me by Laine specifically, although all the girls worked on it) had fallen like my Lucifer when I had risen, thence I bent to grab my status, injuring my already injured hand thus further as the thorns pierced and pricked into my skin. And, I didn’t even cry…

He recoiled almost physically at my olden compliment (remember the first dialogue of the previous paragraphed rambling?) and I was due a breakdown of my psyche in that very singular fraction of a minute when my man suddenly perked up, “I only have this cig,”, changing the subject. Yahweh, my knuckles burnt. I ohed a tiny bit, and chuckled, extending one of my quivering, weak limbs and bending to wrap my lipstickéd lips on the ass of that cigarette, same one he took a drag from not fifteen seconds ago. His Atlantic eyes widened for a twiddling momentous, and, possibly and probably in drunken stupor and marijuana heights of his death wish, he giggled—I physically felt my pupils dilate, what the fuck? Maybe it was the nicotine, maybe it was the aftershocks of my tiny-teeny mental breakdown on the rail, maybe it was hisself… Damn, I think I understood Grant so well in that miniscule moment: Heaven is a place on Earth with you.

The world was built for two.

Delusional, I was convinced that it was us two the moment he grabbed the cigarette from me for his chance, and he examined the matte, messy mark of my lip stamped on it.

With the dumbest smile he could muster in my damnéd opinion, this little, blond, territorial, underdeveloped man adjusted his lips on the exact place I had left my shine, suckling it like it was some part of me. He knew what he was doing, I could pluck it from the glitter in his pretty orbs that told me shit he’d never be able to spit out in our tragic, magic relationship of some thirteen years. We kissed in death like we kissed in that moment, he blew smoke into my mouth and I giggled, almost extracting the alcohol of his from the roof of his mouth as my tongue felt her way around. We parted for perhaps, well, a second (I don’t remember the details, I’m writing this after our wedding sex, 1988. We’re in our flight back to Olympia from Honolulu, and he’s sleeping on my tits), and rejoint as I adjusted the angle to kiss-fuck this virginal Cherub better. “Darling, is this your first?”, he nodded, responsive—to be frank, that was adorable...! I’m pretty sure I squeaked out of sheer kiddy excitement, squeezing the sides of his face (cheeks). My grip migrated to around his neck, form bent for he was teenier than I. I didn’t even know his name and we were kissing in the blue dark…

Parting, I only gazed into his oceanic gaze and breathlessly giggled, “Oh, wow, fuck,... That was…, yeah.” A grand total of seven partners (three females, four males) I had engaged in before this merman, and I had never felt myself stolen of breathe ever in my existence after a mere kiss. Possibly was it the intoxication, the nicotine fucking over my senses so that my taste buds tickled with the enriching experience of his glazed cavern, but was it not thrilling, oh Mary! I had enchanted outward the sweetest giggle, and he in his still stupor snuggled his head inside the curve of my shoulder and chest; he was only that much tall. I was not lanky in any aspect, neither I am still—on the flipside, truth is that my mother repeatedly insisted upon me to not drown in my head and force her to onlook, rather to go outside, soak some tan (I am racially brown, thence I don’t require a tan) and run some. I decline profusely, tangling in blankets again and writing what, if discovered, would have positively filed me into the South Sound Behavioral Hospital yet again for a term not of four years now but of God-knows-how-long.

Eventually, I figured: some other day, this nymph may or may not have only prolonged my life now, and I told myself it. By the railway roads were grasses uncared for (like most daughters were; the human was their mother and the stain’d, tall grasses were the lost), we decided unconsciously to sit by those and talk the dimlight of the night off the clouds, to dawn we conversed. As unbelievable as it may sound considering the turbulence not even Athena might have dreamt of that had plagued the twisty courses of my lifetime, I had not sipped upon the liver eater yet: alcohol! With my newfound darling, that was precisely what I did.

We were dwelling inside uncanny synchronisation with our acts: we looked around at the same time, fixated on the same piece of cement, reached to gasp one another’s hands the same moment. I didn’t flinch, neither did the blond darling. Which..., was quite, well, it was especially choking as I... Usually froze at contact of the physique from someone whom I loved. Around this time, with my drink-induced lover, it felt good.

We curled up by grass, against a gray boulder-like structure, perhaps a part of a rotten or demolished building of some sort, debris. There, I suckled upon the lengthy cancerstick and inquired like an owl: “Why were you here, anyway?” In a casual tone I did, as if it was something so normal that I was nonchalant. “Oh, y’know, to kill myself.” The answer delivered by this sweetness would dwelling in me a day or so afterward (take that very literally) was just as nonchalant, confirming the suspicion conjured by my despaired subconscious that he was just as heady as me, as crazy as me, someone who would rot along me like iron all the while fearing the rot, hiding from something murmuring within thyself and teetering about; aura as a nymphic call and melancholia as the default ring of the mood. GOD is a teenaged girl of grunge and glitter, and I am a doll (soulless, empty, pretty with no matter on the inside yet pretty from the back—it matched!).

“No, no, like, why?” I repeated with an accentuated tone and my regular gestures of hand and eye, “The reason you wanted to kill yourself. I don’t judge, promise.” I shrugged, chuckling a bit as I passed the miniature cancer to him for a drag. “Clearly.” He chuckled too, widening his eyes momentarily to allude to my appearance; as I remember it, that elicited out from me a little giggle. I mean, it was the factual; darling, not lying. A girl; a girl dressed in a pearly babydoll dress with lacy tights (opaque white-like, frilled, a bow on top of each, knee-high) and no footwear with mascara smeared down her face from a clear breakdown of her battlefield for mind, manic brown eyes with a grape-coloured lipstick on pouty heart-shaped lips, blood and dirt also staining her optic area due to her bleeding knuckles from which she punched the steel of the rails because the train did not run over her? Paired alongside the fresh wounds on display littered across that fatty arm of hers? Oh, she was a crazy chick—and I could tell that this little guy loved it. He loved my mania, he loved my blood, he loved my crazy, he loved everything that I loved about myself. Maybe it was his alcohol that urged him this way, but I loved him for he loved what he saw.

But is she pretty on the inside?

“Well,” I spaced back in with the thrill of his voice curling the air around us; I wish we were plunged into steel. Sound travels best in something like steel… What would his voice be in steel? The thought messaged down my spine a shiver. “’s mostly everything about my life. Wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but all I do these days is mope and get high, or drink. I’ve been this since last month. Last year, I saw this… This dead boy who hung himself in the woods. That really affected me, I think; I’ve got suicide genes.” He paused a bit, sighing as he was passed the smokestick again. I puckered up a bit and drew closer to his pretty face, rounding my lips out and pushing out a ring of cigarette smoke. On impulse, he stuck nose through the centre of the dissipating smoke ring which drew from me another giggle—he was just like me! I did that too! I’d never thought someone else would…? What the fuck is going on?

Taking a drag, he then resuméd: “My parents are divorced… I’m really embarrassed of that.” He added a bit hesitantly, I could gauge that he still felt the shame of it all; which perplexed me. A divorce is shameful? How so? It’s a fucking life decision… But, that’s okay because this little one was clearly less mature and emotionally developed than I, although that amount still was remarkable considering his physique and my presumé of his age (which I thought to be elder to me, but still not too much so). “Why?”

“I want my real family back. My dad promised me he wouldn’t remarry, and he fucking did; to a bitch nonetheless. I hate her and her children are so… Phoney…!” Humming at his hurt words, I was analysing him: eyes gliding over the pasty, smooth contours of his vanilla face; staring into the trench of his pupils surrounded by his ocean eyes as he passed back the almost dead cigarette to me. The guard he wore over his exterior again was forming as he read that I was reading him without contempt (he thought I was feeling that, but I was simply analysing him emotionlessly—as if he was a labrat and I was dissecting him to figure out the following: what the fuck is this little shit?). But, I got him before he leaned away or apologised: Don’t worry, go on. Say it. I hate my cousins too. He relaxed yet again, I could see his shoulders come down and he leaned into me again,. Our heads were almost leaning against each other’s, breathes intermixing with each intake and out. “Go on.” I repeated, tapping his knee to accentuate my point.

He snapped out of whatever daze (he was reading me too, perhaps; mentally dissecting my Barbie body too, perhaps) and his hand came to clasp mine. I bit back a giggle and a smile at the contact, he did notice the corner of my lips tilt upward so he took that as a positive for further lacing of his fingers with mine. I, now a bit assured in myself, squeezed his hand and nudged him again: go on.

“Right,” He chuckled, “So, well, I just feel… Alien. You know, when I was little, I used to look at the stars,” He pointed briefly to the stars that were shining above the both of us, “And imagine my real family because I just felt like I wasn’t from here, like I was from another planet. I think I like that feeling, I was homesick for a place that didn’t even exist. And, to be honest, you’re the only other alien I’ve met.” That made me giggle after I muttered hiraeth at the sentence spoken second to the last. I found in my nicotined mindscape that this… Theory, was almost verbatim of a theory I myself had gardened in my meadow for mind. “Y’know…! I felt like that too, still do actually. I just used different terms for it. I called whatever the fuck our species are Earth Angels, angels on Earth. I read somewhere once that a person with scars of cuts on their arms was called an angel by a kid, and I think I really internalised… That.”

He chuckled, “Your mind is divine, Pretty. Yeah, I think my family is also a reason in why… I want to kill myself, y’know?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love them so much so I do what they want and they hate me for every speck of originality; I don’t know if it’s my mental disorders or it’s my hormones, but every small inconvenience makes me wanna kill myself. I’m also a hater! I hate everything and I do nothing to change it which, admittedly, makes me an arsehole—but, fuck it.” We both had laughter crawling up our throats and I could tell it wasn’t actual laughter. Oh, no. It was mania, laughing not because it threatened to spill; laughing because you had nothing else to do. Like crazy people (I do think that I am insane, in some way, shape or form. But, I also think that I’m supersane. Who fucking knows? I think a lot, don’t I?).

The cigarette had gone out by now, I think I had stubbed it out by pressing to the moist ground after he had truly started opening the shells of himself, not wishing to be distracted by drugs when I had the most addictive and healthy sedative offering his lifestory to a little shit like me. “Well, what’s it for you? I haven’t ever seen… You around…” He slurred out as we jumped down from our maniacal, little, episodic bursts of sacrilege or insanity… Well, are they not synonyms?

“Ah, so, I just moved here about a… Maybe a few days ago? I think a week or so. I moved from Lacey, though I’m actually Indian. Well… It’s a fucked-up fairytale, really. My whole ancestry and family is the following: sexist, racist, extremist to Sikhism, religious, doomed, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, very, very Indian. It’s only my grandmother who acknowledges the sexism floating between our family; she dreamt high and was ambition incarnate but her marriage to this horrible fucking man led her to be so oppressed she couldn't speak a word of English without being thoroughly taunted for it.” His face clearly contorted into a gnarly grimace, and I felt my nose start to itch and burn again remembering all this up… Never had I ever trauma-puked this well or been so comfortable vomiting it out to someone I did not know.

“’s just… Fuckin’ Hell. I can’t translate it into words, I can only feel.” Shaking my head in a paternal sort of disappointment (no matter how much I despise the fact, I am my father’s daughter; his copy of carbon) at my inability, I felt myself pulled in again… How? How was he doing this shit? Being so fucking kind? It made me anxious, admittedly. Why was he so kind? What did the fucker want?

I’m being too cynical. I wanted to cry; instead I accepted his tentative comfort and shoved my face into the nook of his neck, breathing down it like a vampire in the night. I had the purely feminine, feline urge to wrap myself around him like Sarin and never let go to slowly dissolve into him even if maggots eat us out. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why…? For a few minutes I think, we stayed in that exact position, in a sort of silence that neutered my turmoil. His arms were gel onto my wounds, and I, terrified, readily crept in like the Dutch beetle on the elm.

“Don’t.” I eventually muttered out into the tender, pale, untouched flesh of temptation on his neck; I don’t know why I did it, don’t decipher or discover the root at all. What is a girl to do when offered love on a silver spoon when she only possesses a forked tongue of venom caused from licking slivers of love off a parental knife? I was a black, not racially but spiritually. I was corrupt, disgust, free-use trash for swollen cocks with zero semblance of any soul and only a pretty body. It’s my pretty power which is my ugly. I am disgusting… I sometimes feel the scorching need to cleanse myself, to face redemption, to hurry to salvation; and other days I revel in the hellfire of lust that would surround me once I am liberated of this uséd body.

[artsninspo]

"QUALITY TIME'

“QUALITY TIME”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another original concept, hope you enjoy it.

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

PAIRING: Jamie (Topboy) X Reader

SUMMARY: Jamie’s out of the game and wife wants to spend the day on the road with him. A fluffy sweet and sultry imagine.

WARNINGS: Adult themes and mentions of sex & implied acts.

“Hey, wait” you scream, hopping into a tracksuit. Jamie looks over his shoulder with a quizzical expression.

“What babe?” He asks as you hop to get the bottoms over your ass.

“I’m coming with you” you smile pushing your feet into a pair of slides. Jamie smirks amused with your antics.

“Who said you could?” He asks to take your hair out of the collar.

“I did, I gave myself permission.” You respond.

“Babe, the jumper is on backwards” he says, helping you adjust the top. “There” he dusts off your shoulders amused.

“I got to do a few pickups, then I have to look about Stefan’s uniform, then I got to do a food shop and have the car cleaned. It’s gonna be a long day” he lists.

“Perfect, I finally get some time with you” you smile tiptoeing to kiss him. 

Jamie wastes no time picking you up. It’s a short walk to the car in his arms and you get comfortable in the seat before he does. You know you have it bad when you don’t mind sitting beside him for most of the day while he takes calls, watching him drive and running his errands opposed to your fun ones.

“Want Starbucks?” He asks.

“Yes!” You beam, happy to start the day off right. Jamie leans over to give you a kiss. He’s happy you’re here with him. Happy you’d rather be on the road by his side than in the house alone today.

“I love you” he whispers onto your lips. You know it. You feel it everyday, he showed you last-night. With his busy schedule and all the daily demands he still makes time to be present and please his wife.

“I love you too” you tell him before he deepens the kiss, kissing you hard. He breaks the kiss to start the car and holds the back of your seat as he reverses out of the driveway. It’s one of those things that’s sexy for a reason beyond you. Jamie knows you think so too and smirks shaking his head once he puts the car in drive heading down the road.

“You're not gonna sit there looking at me like that all day or I won’t get any work done” he says keeping his eyes on the road. You can’t help it.

“Fine” you pout getting your sunglasses from your purse. You put the oversized black shades on as a cover and he smiles.

“Cheeky,” he warns.

You reach forward once equipped with your morning coffee and put a playlist on. Jamies so used to silence and his thoughts. This morning he’s treated to a karaoke session with you - he cant help but sing and rap along to his favorites. You laugh happy for the quality time and to be married to a man like Jamie.

He loves you more than is good for him. More than someone in his position should love anything. You’re his heart in human form. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. No length he wouldn’t go for you. He appreciates nothing more than coming home to a peaceful comfortable home. A home that smells good with a meal waiting for him. He loves the way you dote on him. How he doesn’t need to do anything but sit there and make his demands known. He loves how well you listen and adjust to what he’s asked of you. How there’s never any doubt in your mind that he wants what’s best for you. He loves who you are to him and his brothers and how you’ve made space for the three of them within your family. Most of all he loves that it’s real between you two. That you stuck beside him while he transitioned out of the life and believed in him when the money was drying up and things didn’t look promising. It killed him seeing you work so hard for that year. His dream was retiring you and when he did everything fell into place.

“Now it’s the way you’re looking at me” you warn, feeling the heat of his glances. Jamie smiles. “I’m trying to behave,” you warn. “Lead by example babe” you joke.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Did you find a dress for Kits engagement party?” He asks.

“No, I need your help actually. I don’t know who’s gonna be there and how I should look” you explain.

“Doesn’t really matter, I’ve got a room for us at the hotel, I’ll mix a bit then say my piece and then I’ll be in you” he promises. It’s a wonder the attraction and physical connection has only grown over the years.

“Jamie!” You groan neither of you better than a pair of adolescents. He laughs and you love it. His happiness is your priority.

“If I didn’t want you all the time that’d be a problem” he says honestly. “Wear something long, not too tight, no legs or tits out. That way I shouldn’t have to take any lives.” He says not like the way some men ogle you.

“But I was hoping to see this one guy and look really good for him” you shrug. Jamie looks peeved instantly.

“Who?” He asks.

“Tall, brown skin, low fade, handsome as hell. I think Kit’s best friend” you flirt, pretending to be oblivious as he smiles.

“He’ll be there, he's married though. His wife is something serious!” Jamie plays along.

“She good to him, you think?” You ask.

“That brudda ain’t going nowhere” Jamie continues as you pretend to be puzzled.

“Well that’s good for them, I guess,” you roll your eyes. Jamie laughs making his way to his first stop. He kisses you quickly before heading in. He returns with a few ledgers. You ride alongside of him for the rest of the day and get royal treatment when he’s among friends that treat you like there’s been a sighting of the queen. When you get in you’re sleepy and stretch as you head to turn on the jacuzzi. Jamie finishes up business while you unwind. It’s twenty minutes before he materialises. Seeing you at rest making use of the home you two share makes him feel like all the sacrifice and strife has been worth it.

“How hot is that water?” He asks about being a typical man.

“Hot” you smile and he turns and reaches for you, getting you out and heading into the shower.

“Thank you for spending the day with me,” he says, adjusting your necklace, his hand touches your breast, making your nipples pebble but he pays it no mind knowing exactly what he’s doing and the power he has as he washes you up.

“Thanks for having me” you respond as he kisses your neck. A day's worth of sexual tension and foreplay is one of many reasons Jamie is one of one. The eye contact he makes running the soapy cloth over your body, his self control is unmatched as he keeps things above board. He’s driving you crazy and he knows it. You reach for his face and he smiles, removing your hand.

“Be good,” he warns. It’s a necessary warning. He watches you intently as you start on his chest dividing your attention between the task at hand and looking up at him. When you’re finished his top half you squat down for the lower bit. Jamie shakes in a ‘no’ gesture, his head as your mouth at level with his manhood. You wash the rest of him up and he takes the cloth finishing up before standing under the water. You join him and share a kiss. You can tell from the look in his eyes you’re in for a great time tonight. He dries you off putting on your silk robe. He watches you sashay out of the bathroom into the bedroom looking up at the sky mentally thanking god for his life and you in it. Now he has a clear schedule he can finally indulge for as long as he wants. He plans for it to last all night and into the morning. Heading into the bedroom the lights are dim with you in the centre of the bed on your knees.

I love this woman.

He smiles to himself.

You love him too.

[simslegacy5083]

Not So Berry (Straud Descendants) Gen 9

Today's (9/2/2024) Episode: A Difference of Opinion

The guests had just begun trickling into Luigi and Noemi’s beachside wedding when the chefs finished preparing the fishy feast and refreshments. 

Fresh from the bar, the groom-to-be smiled indulgently as his papa pulled him aside. He could spin into his formal wear after one last round of advice.

To his surprise, his father wasn’t congratulating him on his blushing bride but instead concerned with their little boy. “Skye is old enough now to learn about his special status.” Jack said “If you need help teaching him about The Watcher and legacy heirs just let me know. I’m happy to do my part”.

Luigi, unprepared, looked away. He had almost never disagreed with his papa, but he knew what he had to say on this topic wouldn’t go over well.

“Thanks for the offer” he finally began “but I’ve decided not to tell Skye about any of that. I think its better if he lives his life without those worries.”

Jack immediately blurted out “But son, you can’t keep who he really is from him! If this is about not wanting to give up the spotlight…”

“It’s not about the spotlight!” Luigi fired back “Yes, I can be a self absorbed plumhole, but that’s exactly why I won’t be telling my son about how “special” he is! I want him to have a chance at a normal life, without the idea that he’s somehow better than every other sim in the nation!”

Luigi had meant every word, but seeing the look on Jack’s face he immediately regretted his outburst. “I’m sorry papa” he said, hanging his head.

Jack reached out a hand in reassurance “Its OK, but if you have time, I think we need to talk. I promise not to try and pressure you into anything.”

Luigi nodded. He’d meant to broach this subject much more gently, but clearly, he had a lot of resentment built up around it that he hadn’t ever explored. He texted Noemi that he’d join her in a few minutes and waved his father’s shade over to the nearby banquet table.

He hoped he could help his father understand without driving a wedge between them.

Once they were seated Jack started things off “I never knew you struggled with the knowledge of your legacy heir status. You always seemed so proud of it. You never tired of hearing my stories about the Lacey’s.”

Luigi sighed. “I was a child who had very little contact with anyone outside our immediate family circle. You told me other sims here wouldn’t understand, but it wasn’t until I went to high school that I truly began to appreciate what that meant.”

“I had such a hard time fitting in, and it certainly didn’t help having this idea in my head that I was somehow better than everyone else. Even when I thought I was doing such a good job “hiding”; Beau saw right through me in University. I was so embarrassed, and that made me resent him more than I already did for being a better scuffle player then me. If I’m the heir, shouldn’t I be the best at anything I put my mind to!?”

“The first time I told Noemi the truth” he continued “it almost destroyed our relationship. I learned then that its one thing for you to feel Dada and I are the most special sims in the nation, but its something else entirely for me to think that about myself. That’s a problem, no matter if its true or not.”

“I don’t want Skye to have to deal with that, especially since as far as I can tell it won’t change anything. By your count I’m the ninth heir of this family but the first one to have been raised with the knowledge of it. It didn’t seem to make those other heirs any less special just because they didn’t know.”

By the end of Luigi’s passionate monologue Jack had deflated to a shadow of his already translucent self. He sat in silence for a while, clearly processing what his son had said and deciding what to say in return.

At last, Jack cleared his spectral throat “I hear you, and I won’t tell you how you raise your boy, but will you listen to why I chose to raise you the way I did? I promise, I’m not trying to change your mind. I just really want to know that you understand my decisions, now that you’re a father yourself.”

Luigi nodded for Jack to continue. In his experience his papa had always tried to do the right thing, and he was willing to listen and try to understand what had made him believe teaching Luigi this fact about his life, that had often only made it harder, had been the right thing to do.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[kiango]

Pet loss

I bought a house for him. I am in the middle of renovating a house. For my dead dog. The dog door is leaning against the patio door right now. Ready for installation. I bought a nice size house on a big lot. For him. I made sure it had a big fenced in yard. For him. I made sure it had a patio with a big sunny spot for him to roast himself on, and trees to roll in the shade. There was a pit of dirt that he immediately started to dig in. I knew he would love it.

There’s no furniture there. He watched me fix windows and skim the walls, perched attentively on a crochet blanket I made. I disassembled a play set in the back yard and he was underfoot the whole time, transfixed with the drill and circle saw, like he needed to pay attention because I was about to tag him in to finish the job.

He got to visit the house

(his house)

two times.

And then he died.

I emptied out his water bowls for the last time at the apartment.

I have only been back to the apartment to grab clothes and my work computer. I. I. I can’t go back there. I can’t go back there alone. I’ve been staying with my boyfriend. I can’t look at- I’m surrounded by his things there. His smell. His fur. His bed. Beef bones and antlers and Kongs strewn around the apartment.

My parents came down to stay in town with me to help.

They and my boyfriend were with me when the vet staff let me say goodbye to his body.

He was still a little warm. His face was so cold. I still pet his nose and ears how he liked.

He was my love. My love. My love. He was my son. He’s gone. And there’s an impossibly large yawning maw around me just swallowing me up. How can things keep happening? He’s gone.

He pulled me out of the worst part of my life. He protected me with every breath. He was stunning and beautiful and smart and perfect.

I needed a forever with him, but I got 5 years. I wanted 5 more.

My mom told me that last night she dreamed of him speaking to her. He told her to tell me to please, please talk to him. I will. I will. I promise.

I’m so. So sorry. I am so sorry I couldn’t be there with you at the end. I’d have given anything, ANYTHING to have been able to hold you as you left. I promised myself as soon as I got you I would be there. I’m unbearably sorry I couldn’t be.

But you weren’t in pain anymore. You went peacefully in your sleep. If I didn’t take you into the neurologist, you would still be gone now, but it wouldn’t have been painless. So I am so relieved I was able to give you that, at least, at the end. You deserved peace, love.

You were too tough for your own good baby. I miss you. It’s crushing, horrible waves of pain I can’t. Stand it. I need to know what took you from me. What clawed you away from me? What was it? It won’t change anything. But I have to know what happened. I’m so angry. I can’t handle this. No one can tell me what happened. The vet. The neurologist. The cardiologist. The dermatologist. No one understands what you went through. I’ll find out. I need to know.

I held you in my arms at 8 weeks old, squirming and perfect and so, so pointy. Paws too big. Eyes so big. So wonderful and new and curious. I’d give the world for you. And you’d fight the world for me. My partner. It was you and me, baby.

Rest easy. I love you forever.

[theblogofdavyjones]

The sketch artist

Pairing: Davy Jones x reader

Warnings: None

Requested: @thesamuraiofsingapore

Request:

Heyy hi if it's possible I would like to make a request! With like Davy Jones when he was still human who discovers in his crew a girl who pretended to be a man only to become a sailor and one day Davy discovers that Reader spent his time making portraits of him with little hearts and things like that. Idk if I explained myself well 😭 If you don't accept it's fine byee <3

***

You can’t recall on how long it’s been since you’ve voluntarily traded yourself in on Jack Sparrow’s behalf to settle his debt with Davy Jones.

You would literally do anything for anyone, it didn’t matter if it was for someone you know, or for someone who was a complete stranger to you. But you knew Jack Sparrow, not just by name but by basically growing up together as childhood friends. The both of you were close, not in a romantic way, but through a friendship way.

Even now, you still kept that friendship close within your heart. When you offered to take Jack’s place, Jack protested against it, but you wouldn’t let him convince you otherwise. Jack couldn’t help but feel angry about it, angry about losing you as a payment in debt, angry he wouldn’t have someone there to be keeping company. With a whispering plea and a pleading look, Jack reluctantly agreed to let you go.

But it was more of what you asked of him.

“Please. Please let me do this for you. You’ve given me so much already, I’m certain of this.” you promise.

———

As you keep thinking of that moment, it still feels as if all that happened yesterday.

The memory of the first night stepping onboard the Dutchman, was still just as fresh in your mind. As you think of it, after accepting the terms of one hundred years of service, it dawns on you it’s been five years since the trade. Your personality is unique, you are an expert on letting yourself show no fear at all when it’s struck within you. You didn’t know what Davy Jones would do to you, but you know at some degree of what he is capable of and is known for doing, and guessing how it all may turn out scared you more than for it to actually be happening.

When you got there, you were surprised that Davy Jones seemed to be sparing you the treatment his crew was forced to go though without a fight. Rather, the captain would give some tasks, mainly the smaller and lighter ones to which you never once refused. Overtime, Davy Jones started growing a soft spot for you as you were surprising yourself that you were beginning to like him and not mind being around him so much. Bootstrap noticed of course, and when he approached you about it one day, he approached you while sitting in some shade, obviously in a different world drawing in your sketchbook.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks, over shoulder.

You nearly jumped at his voice.

“Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine, these are just some of my sketches I’ve done.” you reply.

You look to Bootstrap as he’s giving himself a closer look at your drawings, and is immediately admired by your talent.

“These are really good, they should be framed of the wall of the ship.”

Bootstrap goes on with the compliments until he stops at a picture of Jack Sparrow.

“You still think about-“

“That one was from a long time ago.” you say, cutting him off.

When Bootstrap turns to the next page, you’re face drains of color, embarrassed by the sketch he had just found.

It starts from a sketch of Barbossa, and Bootstrap himself, to now something more surprising. It was surprising enough that it would have one raise their eyebrows as a sign of their interests.

It was a half drawing of Davy Jones. The idea to sketch Davy Jones had come when you heard him mentioning of Jack Sparrow to Maccus. As you knew it was going to be another challenge to conquer, you were confident enough to sketch him by memory. You had his image in your mind, but later on, you knew you’d be needing more than an image, and that’s how you came about sitting in the little bit of shade you could find.

“Is th-“

You quickly swipe the sketch book away from his hold.

“That’s, that’s nothing. Really.”

Bootstrap didn’t want to press on, or make you say anything you don’t want to.

So he nods in understanding before inviting you a walk around the ship, to which you accept. But not before returning that sketch book to your quarters. Once you did, you weren’t thinking and had only thrown it on the bed before turning away.

———

While on your walk with Bootstrap, Davy Jones had a task assignment for you, and sent Maccus to go fetch you from your quarters.

Once Maccus had reached your quarters, and there was no response to his knocking on the door, he lets himself in, thinking you might be asleep. However, to his surprise, you weren’t at all there, the only thing that was left in his sighting was of the sketch book that was left behind. Because he had some sort of respect for you, guilt tripped him a little as he takes it into his own hands and opens it.

He couldn’t help but make a face of disgust seeing the first drawing was of Jack Sparrow, than to Barbossa. When he got to the sketch of himself, he froze and admired before turning the next page. The half drawing of Davy Jones was a shock to him, but as he got a closer look, he noticed there had been tiny hearts around the art. The next thing he did was take the sketch book with him to hand it over to Davy Jones himself. The captain needed to see this, or so that’s what he thought. It would soon turn into a disaster after you would find out what Maccus had done.

Or at least, that’s what you had thought.

Only time will tell.

***

@theblogofdavyjones

Requests: open

Tags: @kyoui @royisrandom @marsswann @imalittleoutthere @princessofthornsandroses @justafairytailofinnocence @friendlynova @personlovinganime @mypookiebeardavyjones

A/N:

I changed it up a bit to make it a little easier for me to write, I hope you still like it!

[vaguelyrotten]

Through the Shadows, To the Edge of Night - Chapter 5

Weighed down by nightmares and bad memories, Alec Lightwood feels like he's just a ghost of the man he once was. When a new neighbor moves in next door and the man and his adorable charge become an integral part of his life, Alec starts to see a light out of the darkness…that is until a single horrific night forces him to relive the horrors of his past.

Later that evening after they had gorged themselves on pancakes and milkshakes and Madzie had fallen into an exhaustion and sugar fueled coma, Alec and Magnus were finally alone. He’d promised to share his story with his neighbor and now that the time had finally come, he found himself more nervous than he expected. He was certain that Magnus wouldn’t judge him for the things that he was about to say but even knowing that he still couldn’t shake the nerves that were pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

Magnus must have noticed a hint of distress on his face because he reached out and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Alexander, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re having second thoughts. Just because I told you about my past, it doesn’t mean you have to tell me about yours.”

“No,” Alec protested, holding Magnus’ hand just a little bit tighter. “I meant what I said earlier - I’m ready to tell you. Just…understand that outside of my therapist and the required report I had to give when I returned, I haven’t really talked about it so finding the words may be a little bit of a struggle. There are also some things I want to tell you that I won’t be able to because of the nature of the work I do.”

He received a warm smile in return. “I work in the forensics lab of the FBI, darling. I understand that some secrets have to remain secret. There are parts of my job that are classified too…even though I’m starting to get a feeling that you have a much higher security clearance than I do,” Magnus replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about I start your story by taking some well-educated guesses based on what few clues you’ve given me?”

“You can try,” Alec said with a roll of his eyes. Magnus’ tone made him release the rest of the tension he was holding on to. “Well then? Impress me, Mr. Bane.”

“I think that you’re James Bond…and you know, I find myself very okay with that thought. You’d look absolutely dashing in a well-tailored designer suit. Maybe one of these days I can convince you to wear one for me and we can play out some of my fantasies. Say, do you enjoy learning new languages, Alexander? I have a new tongue that I could teach you if you’re wanting to learn.” 

The heated look Magnus gave him had Alec’s face turning what he was sure was an impressive shade of read. “If you keep making those sorts of comments, I’m not going to be able to make it through this.”

Magnus chuckled but it was clear that he was enjoying himself. “That’s not a no,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Maybe next time then, pretty boy. For now, I promise to be on my best behavior while you tell me your tale. Go ahead and get started. ‘Once upon a time…’”

Alec couldn’t help but snort. “It’s not that kind of story. There’s definitely no happily ever after waiting at the end of the story.”

His neighbor’s face softened. “I apologize for joking about it. It was not my intention to belittle your experience. I’ll keep my mouth closed. Go ahead - no further interruptions from me unless you give me permission.”

“You weren’t…really far off when you asked if I was James Bond. I’m not, obviously. He’s fiction and his job is much more glamorous than mine can ever hope to be. It’s not about cocktails and fast cars and all sorts of imaginary gadgets. I guess you could call me a special agent but what I do is more about preventing international disasters and protecting people from those who want to do them harm. It’s sort of the family business. Mom and Dad both did it. Their parents. My siblings followed in my footsteps too. Being an agent was always going to be my destiny and because both of my parents were from what some would consider royalty in our line of work, the bar was set quite a bit higher for me once I graduated from the Academy.”

Magnus had opened the bottle of wine when Alec had started speaking and had poured them both a glass. When he paused in his story, the drink was pushed into his hand. “A little liquid courage never hurt anyone,” Magnus explained with a soft smile.

Alec returned the smile in thanks, taking a sip before he continued on with his story. “Since they expected the world from me even being so new in the field because I was a Lightwood, they gave me missions that should have gone to the more tenured agents. I could handle whatever they threw my way, sure. I’d been training for this job my entire life and coming back with success after success after success certainly made my parents proud. What it didn’t do was make me any friends amongst the agents who had been in the game longer than I had. They didn’t find it fair that I was getting the jobs that would have put their names on the map and, to be honest, I had to agree with them but I couldn’t refuse a mission and every time I brought it up with my mother, she brushed me off and told me to just focus on my jobs. I didn’t need friends. They’d only distract me from what I was there to do in the long run.”

“The day my parents called me into the office to give me that final mission, it was a week and a half before Jace and Isabelle were set to graduate from the Academy.” Alec continued, closing his eyes as the memories started to play in his head. “What they had for me wasn’t anything time sensitive. They had some leads on a project that they’d been working off and on over the course of the last year or so. They just wanted me to investigate to see if there was any truth to the rumors that we were hearing. I wasn’t to engage and if it was found that we needed to take action, they’d send a team to handle it and they’d pull me out.”

Simple, he tried to both convince and remind himself. It had all been so simple.

“It had sounded like a quick trip to Eastern Europe, honestly. I reviewed the intel my parents had given me on the plane over there. Nothing jumped out at me as something that I should be concerned about. I figured I’d get over there, poke around, see if the rumors were true, and get back stateside in time to see Jace and Izzy’s graduation and take them out for a celebratory picnic like I promised them after I graduated. All in all, I had a solid plan and this was supposed to be a milk run. I wasn’t worried.”

“The things that appear to be simple are often the very opposite,” Magnus said quietly. 

Alec snorted softly. “You can say that again. I got there and was poking around for barely a day and a half before I found what my mother sent me to find. It was the proof we needed to take down an Organization we’d been after for ages now and it was practically laid out for me on a silver platter. I wish it was a testament to my skills as an agent but… it didn’t sit right with me. Maybe if I had taken the bait, called my parents for an extract and run like hell, things would have been different but my gut was telling me there was something more here and I needed to stick around. So I did.”

From here, the story got harder so Alec had to steel himself to continue. He took a moment to take a few deep breaths, reminding himself that it was over, he was in Magnus’ living room, and his neighbor wouldn’t judge him for what was about to come next. Finally, he got the courage to keep telling his story. “I sent my parents word that I needed to hang around for a few more days because I hadn’t found anything yet. That would be the last time I had contact with anyone back home. I ignored the intel that I’d found when I arrived and pretended like I hadn’t found anything. I was undercover so I leaned into that - I asked around, watched the people around me, and made a presence in the sort of places I thought I could get my information. I knew I was coming close to the deadline I set myself to make it back in time for my siblings’ graduation but I kept telling myself… one more day, a few more hours and I’d have what I needed.”

He took another sip of wine and resisted the urge to push himself to his feet so he could pace the room. “An invitation made its way into my hands one night, marked with a version of the emblem of the organization we were there to gather intel on. We’d seen this only once before and what we knew of it was that it was a branch of the group that we were trying to track down. While the parent organization dealt mostly with political scheming, drug running, and weapon smuggling, this newer side of the company was all about things that were… morally worse. Organ harvesting and trades on the black market, assassinations, and human trafficking.”

“The invitation was for an auction. It led me to a website where the ‘merchandise’ was being discussed with key words. No pictures of course but I knew what I was looking at. They said if you wanted a closer look at what you were purchasing, that they could arrange a private viewing…so of course that’s what I did. I needed to know what I was getting myself into. I was given a time and an address and I knew going in alone was a bad idea but I was halfway across the world and by myself. What else could I do but proceed with extra caution? I’ve regretted that decision every day since.”

“You couldn’t have known, Angel,” Magnus whispered as he put his hand on Alec’s knee and began to rub it gently. “You thought you were doing something good. Whatever happened next, you couldn’t have known.’

A thread in Alec’s mind snap and he felt the rest of his composure crumble. “I did know!” He nearly shouted before he remembered where he was and the sleeping child in the other room. “I did know. All the training, all the stories my parents and grandparents used to tell me. I knew it was a trap and yet I went anyway. I set myself up for failure and I spent over a year paying the price for it.”

He let his head fall to his hands and he took a few deep breaths, trying to push back the tears that he could feel forming in his eyes. This is where his story started to fall apart. “I…don’t remember much after that. I know they tortured me - both physically and mentally. I’ve got scars that I know I’ll never heal from on both my body and in my mind. The only thing I could do was let my mind take me out of that room…I was certain that I wasn’t going to survive. Surely they’d get bored of me and finally put me out of my misery and when that day finally came, I knew that I wouldn’t be afraid… I’d be relieved. I lost track of the days when they had me but I knew that each time the door opened I was in for a world of hurt. I just wanted everything to end - the pain, the darkness, the voices. I wanted to die.”

He was almost to the end of what he could tell Magnus. He tightly curled his fingers in his own hair and forced himself to continue. “One day I guess I just snapped. Some last flicker of fight I had left in me decided to make a break for it. They opened the door to my cell and the next thing I remember I was standing in an alley in the middle of a storm watching as the pouring rain washed the blood off of my hands. I was able to get to a phone and by some miracle remember how to call for an emergency extraction. They didn’t believe I was alive. My mother put herself on the plane that picked me up because she wanted to make sure it wasn’t a hoax with her own two eyes. They brought me home and celebrated my survival. My injuries healed and I was eventually released from the infirmary. My body may no longer be broken but my mind is another story. The Alec Lightwood who went on that mission is dead. The one who returned is nothing more than a ghost.”

Magnus made a pained sound and Alec squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the look on his neighbor’s face - he couldn’t bear the thought of the man he’d come to care about thinking any differently of him after hearing Alec’s story. A hand brushed his cheek gently, encouraging him to look up and stop trying to hide. “Alexander,” Magnus said softly, not a single hint of disgust or pity in his tone. “Can I hug you?”

Alec nodded and he was instantly pulled into Magnus’ arms and he found himself relaxing in the other man’s embrace. “Oh Angel, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like. But Alec… you aren’t broken and you aren’t a ghost. Only someone so incredibly strong and brave could make it through being literally tortured for a year and still keep on living. I hate that you had to go through that but I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m not strong or brave,” Alec tried to protest, his words somewhat obscured by the way his head was pressed into Magnus’ shoulder. “You obviously know that I’m prone to nightmares because of it. My parents have deemed me not fit to return to the field. I…working for the Institute has been all I’ve ever known. Without that, I don’t know what to do with myself. That single decision I made not only made me suffer but it ruined my entire life. I don’t…” His voice trailed off as his words began to fail him. 

“I know it can be tough,” Magnus replied, pulling away so he could look Alec in the eyes as he spoke. “I know how lost you can feel when you think that you’ve lost everything. Trust me…our situations are different but I’ve been there. You wake up every morning and think that the only thing you have to look forward to is going back to bed at the end of the day and maybe a semi-decent cup of coffee if you’re lucky. It may seem like you’re getting nowhere but Alec… I promise you that you are getting somewhere. I know we haven’t known each other long but even I can see a change in you. Between the baking and the game nights and the thirtieth replay of the movie Frozen, you’ve started to get your spark back. No, you never will be the Alec Lightwood from before because every experience we have leaves a mark on our lives but that’s okay. You just need to learn who the man that you’ve become is.”

Every word Magnus spoke Alec knew to be true. It was the same thing his therapist had been trying to get through his head since their very first session and the very same sentiment that Jace and Isabelle had tried to voice in a variety of ways. The man who had gone on that mission had died in that cell overseas but Alec hadn’t emerged as a ghost like he thought. He’d come out of his ordeal as a survivor. He’d been thinking of himself as weak because he couldn’t just brush off what had happened and just dive headfirst back into his life like nothing ever happened. His experience had changed him, he couldn’t deny it, but it was now how he dealt with everything that would shape the man he’d grow to be. 

It was almost as if the clouds parted and finally let in the sun. The world seemed so much clearer than it had been in a very long time. He wasn’t miraculously better and he knew that he wouldn’t be for a very long time but he now at least saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He would get through this. He would learn who the new Alec Lightwood was and yes, maybe that meant that he would never return to the work that he did at the Institute. That thought used to terrify him but he was beginning to see that maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

His body moved on its own and before Alec could stop himself, he’d cupped the back of Magnus’ head and pulled him into a kiss. The other man seemed surprised but quickly relaxed and returned Alec’s kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered breathlessly when their lips finally parted. “I know it doesn’t seem like a lot but thank you for everything… for listening, for being there, for not letting me drown under the weight of my memories. If you hadn’t moved in next door, I’d probably still be just barely making it through each day. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think the Heavens sent me an angel.”

“You survived, Alec. That’s what you did and don’t you ever forget that,” Magnus replied, the corners of his mouth ticking up in the beginnings of a smile.

[valentine-cafe]

. ⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 9948e haitāo ⊹ ۪ ࣪

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🥞 ꒱ grim reaper x reader ⊹ ۪ ࣪

𖹭. “get on my shoulders” prompt

it’d been such a crowded day in the society of shades — it had not at all been like this when you and your best friend arrived earlier in the morning.

departed from the zhào estate to find a place to get breakfast and settle down by before the day begun.

perhaps there was an event somewhere in one of the sectors today. when you thought of it, as the summer was slowly coming to an end, it wouldn’t be hard to remember there could be a festival for some beings coming up.

haitao and you had decided, after a bit of shopping. to go with the crowd and see where it led you. however. you weren’t as tall as the average being around here in the society. sure there were smaller ones than you. but, they usually had companions that could keep them close and safe from being trudged over.

you were simply average height of most mortals. even if you weren’t a human.

and you looked up at your taller friend, his glasses reflecting the lanterns that you passed by as you walked, ones you could barely see from the large gargantuan in front of you.

when the hell do you see those here in the society?

booths filled with food and other miscellanious items being sold stood open, vendors waving to passersbyers and calling for people happily.

your eyes moved to look up into the sky when you heard fireworks. noises of awe from the crowd you walked amongst. you felt your friend’s grip tighten around you. to assure you didn’t get lost in the crowd.

and suddenly you felt a rush in your stomach when you were lifted up by him. sometimes you forget how strong haitao is, due to how slender his build is. but he can carry you. without much problem too.

you were just worried about his scoliosis acting up because of it. . .

“ah hai-ge—” you protest. however you are shut down quickly by the man, his head tilting up as he settles you on his shoulders. maroon eyes looking up at you happily. lips pulled into a smile.

“haaiiii, just get up here you can barely see anything down there. look, I promise i won’t strain myself. i just want you to see the festivities too.” he reassures.

and what else can you do but comply, you wouldn’t want him to start complaining either. he just wants you to have fun too.

so you wrap your arms around his head and look around the place.

he was right— everything was beautiful. you haven’t seen anything like this before in the society. what festival is this?

you’d have to ask rasui. the old man knows just about everything and anything happening in this safe haven for otherworldly beings.

[sorcerersseestars]

his eyes, your ears [ii]

gojo satoru x reader

part i part ii part iii

summary: After rolling down a mountainside, you wake up aching and alone. Your mind is on the person that you want to see, but you’re scared – unbeknownst to you, he isn’t faring so well, either.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader                                                        

fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, jjk spoilers (w/ possible inaccuracies & possibly ooc gojo)

word count: 4.4k

a/n: okay so it starts out a little slow, but I promise it gets less dense/more dialogue focused <3 also shoko totally calls you cutie, it’s canon now <3

“As cool as my techniques are,” He says, blue eyes greeting you from under his shades. “You really shouldn’t stick around for the action next time, sweets.”

There’s a boyish smirk on his face as he slides an arm around your shoulders and tugs you to his side. As you brush shoulders with a passerby, you realize you would have walked into them head-on if Gojo hadn’t tugged you out of the way.

“What do you mean? I’m grade 1,” You bite back defensively, a hand swatting the arm that hangs over your shoulders.

“When was the last time you did any fighting?” He says it so casually that you can’t even be mad – he isn’t even mocking you. “None of your techniques are offensive.”

You eye him curiously as you wonder where he’s going with this. “What, do you think they arbitrarily assigned me grade 1? Are you calling me weak? I don’t know if–”

Your heart jumps into your throat when he flicks your forehead, but an indignant grunt leaves you instead.

“No, I don’t,” Gojo says, tipping his fully opaque sunglasses even lower, forcing you to make eye contact. “That’s my point. Can’t you see what they’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, voice sounding thin and weak. “I don’t understand.”

“The higher grade they assign you, the further you should stay away. They know you can’t handle these curses alone, but they’ll keep assigning them to you,” He says, not answering your question directly. “Your grade is an excuse for them to send you in to almost any mission. Pretty disgusting, isn’t it?”

You can only blink as you consider his words. 

“It’s annoying to take care of the weak,” He says. “So don’t go near the curses. Collateral damage wouldn’t look good on my record, y’know. They hate me as it is.”

You open your mouth to spit out a sharp retort, but he interjects before you can get a single word out.

“Oh! About that cute hearing ability of yours – wouldn’t let that one slip to the higher-ups. They’d like it too much.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “What? How do you...? You can’t tell anyone, Satoru.”

“Don’t sweat it,” He says almost blithely, unbothered as always. “My eyes are all-seeing, but I promise these lips are sealed.”

“I’d seal them myself if you said anything,” You growl. You’re trying to appear mad, but you can’t deny the wave of relief that floods you. You’ve held this secret in for so long, never telling a soul upon your parents’ request; a bit of guilt curls in your stomach at the fact that you are glad he knows.

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Is that right?”

“With my fists,” You clarify with a glare. “Just turn off your Infinity for a second and you’ll be done for.”

“That won’t do, sweets,” He grins. “’Might have to call Geto if you want any chance of that.”

Geto.

Geto.

You wake up with a gasp, and instantly wince from the intense morning light. You are surprised that the rays of citrine light that spill across your still form didn’t rouse you earlier. The brightness causes your eyelids to flutter – your eyes are desperate to disperse the stark light that’s currently blinding you. You groan as the light coaxes your throbbing headache into full force.

The dream dissipates quickly as you wake up. Not that it was truly a dream – rather, the shadow of an old memory from when you were both still students. A wave of adrenaline buzzes through you. Gojo has warned you so many times over the years, yet you have continued to naïvely believe in your abilities. You’re not invincible, and your injuries prove that.

You are scared to move too much, scared to discover how hurt you truly are, so you first just trace the ground underneath you with a light skimming motion. Your fingertips brush against smooth, cool rocks – it feels nice, even relaxing. This comfort musters up your courage enough to turn your aching head to the side. Your eyes scan the landscape looming over you: the outcropping is steep, and many jagged rocks speckle the mountainside. Ah, so that would be why the fall crumbled the pain tolerance you used to believe was high.

Feeling disturbed by the harshness of the land above you, you turn your head to the other side. You summon a small burst of cursed energy, casting your hearing beyond the point which your eyesight can reach, and only then does the gentle gurgle of a stream trickle into your ears.

As you release your technique, an object glinting in the sunlight catches your eye. You squint and raise a hand to shadow your eyes, and then you are able to identify the reflective object as your phone. Your phone is dead, that much is obvious even without further investigation. You can only wonder how long it held out before its battery drained fully.

Your phone is dead, and although it’s upsetting, you’re not surprised by this fact. How you aren’t, however, is a pleasant surprise. Although your cursed energy is at a low point, it is definitely present – how the curses haven’t managed to track you, or even just stumble upon your location, is beyond you. Again, you surmise that it’s a pleasant surprise, at least until your aches and pains come rushing back to you once you try to sit up.

You brace yourself against the pain, and force yourself to whisper out, “It’s okay.” 

You have to convince yourself that you can push the pain down, you can bear it, you can stifle it until you can afford to collapse. You take a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

You inhale deeply again, breathing in the fresh breeze that gently rustles your unkempt hair. Goosebumps quickly ripple down your limbs, and you now sorely regret casting your jacket away as you had. You hadn’t realized just how biting the morning air was; the night’s chill must have numbed you. 

Frowning, you rub your hands together, attempting to kindle warmth between your fingertips. When the effort is futile, you shift them to under your arms, relishing in the natural heat in the cramped space. As soon as you can feel your fingers again, you move your hands the rest of your body as you encourage your blood to circulate in order to warm you up.

You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re hurt, you’re cold. You want to go home, but you can’t.

“How the hell am I going to get out of here?” You mumble to yourself, the realization that you’re in the middle of nowhere with no way to communicate with the rest of the world slowly sinking in.

You shakily rise to your feet. It’s difficult, and causes the scab that stretches over the burn on your calf to crack. You grit your teeth at the pain, but do your best to shake it off. “I-I’m okay.”

Your head is so full to the brim with pain, questions, and concerns that it’s about to burst, so you carefully pick out one thought at a time to consider:

“Does anyone know I’m here?” You wonder aloud, then proceed to answer your own question. “Yes, the higher-ups must. They sent me back here after I told them the curses were in this area, after all.”

“Can I get in contact with anyone?” You frown. “No, my phone is dead. If I could borrow one, though, then...”

A sardonic snort escapes you – what a stupid thought. Realistically, there’s nobody around for miles and miles. But it’s this silly notion that causes an idea surface in your mind. You’re near a National Park, you remember that from the mission debrief –there must be someone around making noise.

You sigh, muttering to yourself tiredly, “Time to stretch my energy even thinner, huh? Is that what I’m really going to do? I barely have any left as it is.”

You shake your head, a mirthless laugh passing your lips. “Psh, he’d call me reckless for this, but he’d be exactly the same if he didn’t have an endless supply of cursed energy.”

You cast out your cursed energy, analyzing the sounds bouncing back to you to try to find any sign of humanity. It takes much more effort than it usually does, and by the time you’re able to focus your technique enough to hear from a few miles away, a few stray beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. You push yourself further, expanding your search, but only the sounds of nature ring back.

Frustrated and disheartened, you retract your energy and settle back on the riverbed, trying to hold back the tears that prick your eyes. What if there’s nobody around? Is anyone even looking for you? Is he–

No. You can’t afford to think like that right now.

You lay down on the smooth rocks, imitating the pose you had risen from at dawn. Your eyes train on the soft azure sky, and you are reminded of his brilliant, glittering eyes. His eyes that you always find yourself lost in – you wish you could be lost in them instead of in this remote place.

Guilt pricks at your chest. This is all your fault. You’re in this situation because of the choices you made. You’d been careless earlier, and made irrational decisions. If you had just left the scene carefully like you always did, you’d be fine right now. Instead, you had let yourself drown in shock, landing you in harm’s way. When you had frantically called Gojo, all you had managed to tell him was that you were pursued by two special-grades and that someone had supposedly come back from the dead. You hadn’t managed to relay where you were or how dire the situation was.

“You were right!” You cry, your words meeting silence. “You were right! If I wasn’t so stupid, if I had just told you, then...th-then everything would have been okay. I wouldn’t be stuck here. You wouldn’t have to bother with me.” 

You feel unbearably pathetic, but you can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It has been hours, and hours, and hours, yet your feet won’t stop.

You were eventually able to convince yourself to stop wallowing in your own pity and keep moving, to follow in the direction you vaguely believed led to a National Park the forest bordered. It went against all and any training you had on being lost that you could remember: you had always been taught to stay in place and wait for help to come to you, not the other way around.

But, to be honest, your cognitive function is questionable. Thinking is hard, and your thoughts are jumbled and sometimes blur together. Maybe you’re not thinking straight, but you’re hardly aware of that. You just need to keep moving, to find something that can help you. You are definitely being stupid, but you feel pulled to the direction you are following, and you just can’t stop. 

Maybe there is some justification for your restlessness. You highly doubt anyone has been sent to search for you. It hasn’t even been a full 24 hours, and the higher-ups don’t value your wellbeing enough to care for your comfortability in an unknown place – maybe not even your life. It is difficult to gauge their indifference to your life or death status – are you useful enough for them to care even a little?

In any case, you’ve made good progress on your own – to what or where exactly, you’re not quite sure – as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. You haven’t left the stream’s side, even as it slowly thinned to nothing more than a gurgling brook, and then faded altogether. You’ve been sipping from it every so often, savoring the cool water as the sun beat down on your back. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have swallowed a drop, as many diseases lurk below in the depths of the unpurified water, but your addled mind pushed those thoughts to the backburner. 

You still feel weak: you’re dehydrated despite your unsafe sips, and your stomach cramps from its emptiness. You’ve eyed many berries by the river bed, but even in this state, you have been able to stem your temptations.

You’re in the middle of eyeing another bush, your mouth salivating despite yourself, when you sink to the ground. You are exhausted and in dire need of food, but you can’t eat the juicy berries lying in front of you.

“No,” You say firmly. “I have to keep going. Someone…something might be there…maybe…please.”

Your head is in your hands by the end of your sentence. Hope is slipping through your fingers; doubt and fear slink in as faulty replacements. 

You have to do something. You can’t let fear fog your mind.

You force yourself up, your arms shaking from the effort, as a desperate sort of determination fills your aching body. You summon what little remaining cursed energy you have left and stretch your hearing as far as you can, filtering the noises with as much care as you can. When you can’t hold out much longer, you give one final push, and then you almost cry tears of joy. A voice.

It’s not just any voice – it’s a voice that’s usually oozing with playfulness and nonchalance, but is now tight and frantic. Distraught, even.

“-where are they? Are they...-ever find them?...-have to-”

You’ve never heard his voice this way – you almost doubt that it could be him. He never loses his cool in front of you.

Your feet are taking you to the source before you can even think. You are hobbling along as fast as your body allows – it shouldn’t be possible, with how drained you are physically and mentally – but a part of you persists.

Even as your cursed technique slips away, his voice only becomes clearer and stronger.

“-cursed energy is so faint, could it be theirs? It’s never...residuals so faded, how do they do this?”

“Satoru!” You yell, even though he’s still well out of range to hear you. The next time you say his name, you whisper it. “Satoru.”

Your vision is blurry, the edges smudged like an oil painting; it’s all finally catching up to you. But you can’t stop now, not when he’s here, when he’s just out of reach. You’re slowing despite your wishes to keep going, so you do what you know he’ll see: you release a burst of cursed energy, and pray it was large enough to be detectable by his special eyes.

You hear him again, this time much closer, within the range of your natural hearing. “Sweets? You there?”

Between labored breaths, a cry rips from your throat, “I’m here, I’m here!”

There’s loud rustling from the patch of forest in front of you – the crashing of someone fighting through the dense undergrowth. Your mind flashes back to when Jogo was pursuing you, and you can almost feel the red-hot heat behind you, but the sight in front of you tears you from your recent memory.

He emerges from the undergrowth – white hair tousled, iconic purple jacket crinkled, blindfold resting above his eyebrows. His mouth is parted to accommodate his quick breathing, and his hands rip off his blindfold entirely.

The eyes that drink you in are wild – wide and flicking to every inch of your body. Starry eyes that shift at every new photon of light are even more beautiful than you recall – glittering wildly with each graze across your skin.

He approaches you, long strides quickly bridging the distance between him and you. He’s trembling, you realize. He’s shaking. You’ve never seen him look so unsteady, so rattled. You’re almost disconcerted by his state, but the relief that pours through your body just from his presence overtakes every other emotion.

He looks uncharacteristically out of his element as he reaches out to you with shaky hands, looking unsure about how to proceed. “God, sweets, you...Y-you alright?”

You stare at him for a few moments, processing his existence, your brain not fully comprehending that he’s actually here, only an arm’s length away. You open your mouth to bite back a witty reply like you always do, but no words leave you. Instead, something unexpected happens.

You just collapse. Your knees give in without warning; you’re falling to the ground and you’re unable to stop it.

He reacts immediately, catching you before you can hit the ground, wrapping his strong arms around your deteriorating form.

Rough, painful sobs rip from deep within your chest. He holds you tightly, so tightly it’s bordering on uncomfortable, bracing you against his firm chest. You bury your face in his shirt as you cry, feeling so small and weak in the arms of the strongest.

“You fucking scared me. God, (Y/N), fuck–” He admits breathily, his own sharp exhale cutting him off. “I thought...I-I thought that...”

Your name falls from his lips as he clutches you to him more firmly; it spills out again, and again, trance-like. It catches you off guard – your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and then squeezes painfully.

“I’m sorry,” You whimper, lifting your head to look at him. “I’m an idiot. You were right, I should have told you what was going on, but I didn’t listen and I almost–”

You’re cut off by your own heaving sob. He gently pushes your head into him, cradling your head back to his chest. “Shhh, listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s not your fault.”

“But it is!” You whine, wiping your tears away desperately. “It is my fault!”

“Shhh, no, no it’s not,” He reassures, thumbs chasing more tears that leak out. “They forced your hand, didn’t they? It’s not your fault.”

You pause, then nod slowly. Your eyes never leave his, even as his drift to the distance. They turn stormy, dark, scary. One of your hands raises to his cheek, brushing gently, wanting nothing but to clear his expression. His eyes are always so full of life, so playful and cheerful, reminding you of a cloudless sky; they are so far from their usual that it draws shivers down your spine.

At your contact, they snap back to your face, tracing the wound on your forehead. A scowl contorts his soft lips.

“Those bastards,” He says darkly, jaw clenching. “I should…I should kill them all.”

A surprised, disbelieving cackle wracks your body. “You can’t do that!”

Gojo doesn’t even crack a smile; his expression remains dark and clouded. “For you, I would.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You’re almost scared by the look on his face. Does he really mean that? Do I want him to mean that?

“You’re injured,” He says softly, tracing the bruises and cuts littering your arms. “I should have found you sooner. I’m sorry.”

“That volcano curse really did a number on me,” You sigh, truth finally slipping from your lips. “I’m just glad he didn’t come any closer.”

Automatically, sparks of adrenaline shoot through you as you realize what’s left your mouth – information you’ve been withholding for weeks – before you remember that you meant to tell him this.

He freezes, pupils blown wide. “Don’t tell me– no. (Y/N), that’s– oh God sweets, please tell me those two aren’t the ones you’ve been tracking.”

You smile guiltily. “I won’t say anything then.”

Gojo’s mouth is set in a firm line. He looks far more serious than you’ve ever seen him – stony-faced, with features hardened. It gives way just a smidge when his takes note of the more serious injuries scoring your body.

“These are from Jogo, aren’t they?” He mumbles, fingers hovering over your scaly burns. “How do they feel?”

You’re about to respond, but his hand makes contact with your leg. When his fingertips brush the burn on your thigh, you gasp out in pain. It’s as though your flesh is singed a second time; your vision starts to swim, and the ringing from earlier worms its way back into your ears.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry, sweets,” He says softly. “I didn’t mean to touch you. Hey, you still with me?”

His voice sounds far away even though you can feel his body supporting you from underneath. 

“It hurts,” You whine weakly. “It hurts a lot.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” He reassures, fingers brushing back the strands of hair that obscure your face. “Can you do something for me? Just one thing?”

You nod your assent, not trusting yourself to form words.

“Just don’t let go,” He asks of you. “That’s it. Then everything will be okay soon.”

“Wait…” You say worriedly, knowing what’s about to happen.

“I know you don’t like this, but it’ll be over fast. I promise,” He says gently, voice dripping with genuine remorse. “I’ll be by your side when we get there.”

You nod tiredly. “Okay. Okay. Let’s…let’s go.”

His squeezes one of your hands, then secures his grip on you. You scrunch your eyes close, knowing what’s coming next.

Even with your cursed energy toned down, it’s so loud. The wind that rushes through your ears is almost deafening, and the extraneous noise that you can’t distinguish makes your head want to explode. It’s so much, it’s too much, you’re going to–

And then it’s done. Your eyes are still shut, but the hallmark artificial light of fluorescents peeks through your eyelids. You shy away from it, hovering a hand over your eyes to block it out. You can’t hear anything other than the painful ringing in your ears – your ears are still overstimulated.

But there’s one sensation to anchor you: the tight grip on your left hand that doesn’t waver. His hand envelopes yours completely as he stays by your side as promised.

You focus on his presence and the warmth of his hand as the ringing torturously persists, fading away so slowly you can barely tell it’s going away at all.

You can hear two voices intermingle as Gojo talks to someone – the other voice is high-pitched and sounds feminine; you gather it’s your friend and colleague, Ieiri Shoko. Their voices almost sound underwater to you – you can’t distinguish between words or sentences.

After the ringing lessens its toll on you, you begin to make out their conversation.

"-at happened to them? Where's their cursed energy?" 

“I don’t know exactly, but I think they’re making it smaller to offset their sensitivity from teleporting. I hate making them do it, but...they needed to see you.”

You brave yourself against the light, removing the arm covering your eyes and finally opening the again. You can now see your two friends, confirming the mystery woman’s identity: Shoko stands a few feet away, shuffling some tools around on a tray.

Noticing your improved state, Gojo turns back to you. You notice his blindfold has returned to its normal position over his eyes, and find yourself feeling a bit disappointed.

He rubs the back of your hand with soothing circles. “Hey there sweets, I know it’s probably still painful, but don’t suppress your cursed energy anymore, okay? You’re getting Shoko here all stirred up.”

“But I’m not,” You blurt out. “I’m not doing anything.”

Gojo then swivels around, exchanging worried glances with your best friend and doctor. A whine escapes you before you can register that you’re scared, and both of their heads snap back to you.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you here,” He soothes, a large hand caressing your head. “You’re okay.”

Shoko pulls a pair of gloves over her hands as she approaches your bedside. “Satoru, why don’t you take a seat over there, yeah? Give (Y/N) and I some space so I can properly examine them.”

He is hesitant – unmoving for several moments, and the only way you know he heard her is by the tight squeezing of your hand. He doesn’t say anything as he slowly releases your hand, only nodding at her before he retreats to the chair in the corner.

She smiles gently at you as she begins to probe at different areas. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You breathe. “Fancy seeing you here. Don’t smoke after this.”

She chuckles. “You’re really making me itch for one, cutie.”

You groan – partly because she prods one of your burns, partly from the exasperating nickname. “Would you two knock it off with those names?”

“Oh no, you’re making them scold us,” Gojo sing-songs. “Careful, Shoko. Next they’ll make one back – did you know they call me ‘Discount Jack Frost’?”

“Yeah, yeah,” She snorts. “Nice one, cutie. That name is well-deserved. It suits him.”

You hum in agreement, a smile pulling your lips up, but you feel too tired to give an actual response.

“You guys are so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Ganging up isn’t fair.”

“Says the strongest,” You whisper under your breath, but you make sure it’s audible.

“Wow, sweets, you’re still so spicy even when you’re tired. Wasting your energy to insult me, I see how it is,” Gojo chuckles. “Maybe ‘spicy’ suits you better than ‘sweets’, hm?”

You stick out your tongue. “Only for you.”

“Okay, that’s enough, you two,” Shoko fake-scolds, as if she’s your mother, but it captures both yours and Gojo’s attention. 

Shoko’s tone turns more serious and doctorly. “You need to rest, (Y/N). Your cursed energy isn’t recovering like it should. Honestly, it’s a bit worrisome. Some of the injuries you’ve sustained are more serious than you think, too – so, I’m going to put you under for a bit, okay?”

You don’t give her any time to finish her thought. “For surgery? Is it that bad?”

The fear on your face alerts Gojo, and he assumes a standing position as he waits for Shoko’s answer.

“Sadly, no, your organs are safe from my harvesting for another day,” She smiles, teasing. “Just gotta stick some tubes down your throat, and I don’t think you’d let me do that if you were awake.”

“Oh,” You sink back into the bed, relieved. “Okay. Wait, tubes–?”

A needle has expertly found your vein before you can say another word. You blink a few times, and then you’re out cold.

next part

[ptergwen]

this is Totally Not Me projecting alfjskfn but what about a love day blurb where u’ve never had a good valentines day (even the whole month makes u feel Bleh) and peter’s like. ur first boyfriend and u tell him how u just feel so down when it comes to this holiday so he does his best to cheer u up <3 (sorry if this is too much aldjskfndksk)

warnings: a teeny tiny bit of angst

a/n: noooo because we’re in this together valentine’s has never been my thing either :/ i hope this helps though <3

-

you’re over at peter’s, doodling in a notebook while he catches up on some homework. you hang upside down off his bed and swing your legs back and forth as you sketch. music plays softly from your phone, and you and peter take turns choosing. you love your quiet nights like this.

there’s no where else you’d rather be.

“hey, babe?” peter hums, spinning around in his desk chair. “super random, but what’s your chocolate preference? milk or dark?” he twirls his pencil between his fingers with a small smile. “uh, both,” you nonchalantly reply. you’re shading in a cloud you drew. “why do you ask?” you wonder. “no reason,” peter taps the eraser against his desk.

he’s fidgety, which is one of the tell tale signs something is up with him.

“on a totally unrelated note, daises are your favorite flower…” peter squints an eye. “right?” you’re starting to put the pieces together. you frown, glancing up at him from your notebook. “this game of twenty questions wouldn’t have anything to do with valentine’s day, would it?” you check.

“pfft, what? no way,” peter lies. “just curious. you know me.” you let out a breath of relief, continuing your sketch. “thank god, because i can’t stand that godforsaken day of love,” you admit.

peter’s face falls.

“you can’t?” he echoes, setting down his pencil. “why not?” you laugh bitterly to yourself. “‘cuz it reminds me of anything but that.”

your words are followed by a beat of silence. you chew the inside of your cheek, peter patiently waiting for you to elaborate.

“i, um, don’t have the best memories attached to it,” you begin. “i’ve never really…” you trail off, your throat becoming tight.

peter stands from his chair and comes over to the bed. he lays down beside you, turning on his side so he can look at you. sighing, you place your notebook face down on your chest. you peer up at him.

“valentine’s day makes me feel lonely,” you go on. “even though i have you this year, i’m used to spending it by myself. it’s just… hard for me.”

you scoot closer to peter, now rolling onto your side. peter gazes at you attentively.

“i’m new to this whole relationship thing, and i don’t wanna mess it up. i like us the way we are,” you manage a smile, although it doesn’t meet your eyes. “is that okay? if we skip it?”

“of course, sweetheart. we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” peter reassures you. “i understand how you feel. i like us, too.”

he presses his forehead to yours, kissing the tip of your nose. your eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his own eyes.

“besides, we could shove our faces full of chocolate any day. not just on valentine’s,” peter grins. “actually, that’s the one part of it i don’t mind partaking in,” you laugh out.

peter plants another loving kiss on your nose, you winding your arms around his neck.

“i’m glad you told me, y/n,” he speaks lowly. “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? we’ll get through it,” he promises. you rub your nose against his, tickling both of you. “i know we will.”

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: kazutora x reader

♡   —   summary: after a long day at work, you want nothing but to spend a calm night with your boyfriend. however, you have no idea this is the night were all his demons finally get the best of him.

♡   —   tags/warnings: female reader, angst, breakups, hurt feelings everywhere, mention on mental illnesses and nightmares, based on ben platt’s song ‘carefully’, mention of tora’s job in one of the future timelines.

♡   —   a/n: i enjoyed writing kazutora so. damn. much. also, i’m quite proud of this one and the small details i added~ thank you @ofoceansandtombstones​​ for being my lovely beta <3

♡   —  masterlist

And all this time you've had a gentle way of holding me

So could you please release me that way too?

— “carefully” by Ben Platt

“It’s open, come in!”

The first thing Kazutora sees when he opens the door of your apartment is you, kneeling on the kitchen floor and picking up pieces of a broken baking dish. Red sauce has splattered everywhere and his mind betrays him for a second, imagining an accident far worse than what has truly happened. He blinks twice and starts to notice the small details that finally slow down the fast beating of his heart. There are pieces of chicken breasts next to the open oven door and what he thinks are sliced carrots next to your right knee.

You hiss when you pick up a piece of the shattered glass, the sharp end pinching your finger. Kazutora comes back to his senses, widening his eyes as he realizes he’s just been standing there.

“Hey, let me. You’ll cut yourself,” he warns, walking up to you. Grabbing both your hands, he eases you into your feet and then guides you to the living room. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises as he goes back to the kitchen and starts cleaning up the mess.

You let yourself fall on the sofa with a loud thud and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I just had the most awful day,” you whine, taking off your apron and leaving it on the arm of the sofa.  “Work was hell, I got scolded by something that I didn’t do— like always, only this time my boss was all like: ‘You gotta be more careful, we wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable employee’. Like he was going to fire me over someone else’s mistake?!”

Your voice is getting louder by the minute and you take advantage of the fact Kazutora is in another room to keep the volume. You have been waiting the entire day to see him and vent about what a trainwreck you day had been. Just as always, he listens intently, the only noise coming from the kitchen being a soft scraping sound as he picks up everything and throws it to the trash. 

“Then, I went to the store and of course they had run out of basil. Tell me, how does a store that big run out of basil?” you ask. There’s no answer from the kitchen so you continue. “I mean, yeah, I could have gone to another store but my feet were killing me. I’m just not meant to work in heels the entire day,” you sigh tiredly, swinging your feet.

You reposition yourself, now sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Putting your right hand on your left shoulder, you stretch your neck, feeling your sore muscles releasing a bit of tension with a small ‘pop’.

“I ended up preparing something entirely different than I had planned for dinner. I tried to let it go but just as I was going to put it in the oven, it slipped my hands and—”

“I think we should break up.”

Words die in your lips the moment you listen to your boyfriend speak. The silence becomes loud and abrasive as you struggle to understand what was happening. Why was Kazutora breaking up with you with such a small voice? What had triggered him to come to that conclusion? Why had he decided to bring it up now? You turn your head to the kitchen door and watch him slowly make his way towards you, doubtful steps as he takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, avoiding your eyes at all costs.

“What?” you ask, your voice hoarse. His lips form a tight line and you see him swallowing nervously.

“I’m not doing okay— haven’t been for a while. I— it’s been two years since I left prison and I still haven’t— I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing,” he explains, looking down at his hands.

You nod slowly, trying to comprehend where he’s coming from. Turning your body towards him, you take a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s okay not to know,” you assure him in a soft voice. “Just… take it slow. One day at a time and then I’m sure you’ll—”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Kazutora confesses and you notice his voice wavering a little. “I— I keep having nightmares about— about that day and— and also about the motorcycle shop. Those two mix up and…” he takes one of his hands to the side of his head, his fingers grazing his temple. “And I’m hitting Baji in the head. And there’s so much blood— so, so much blood and—”

Leaning forward, you take his hands. They’re shaking and extremely cold and you rub your thumb over his knuckles, trying your best to soothe him.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now, Tora, you’re—”

Kazutora pulls his hands away hastily, leaving a tingling sensation on your palms.

“I can’t!” he says as he shakes his head. You spend a moment looking at your empty hands, never before having felt your boyfriend’s rejection. “I feel like I’m drowning and— You know what? I think relationships just aren’t for me,” he shrugs, his hands moving in exaggerated gestures. “That’s why I never cared for dating, never got myself involved in that kind of shit, not until—”

He finally looks at you and, fuck, you wish he didn’t. You’re not sure if you have the strength to deal with such hurtful discourse. You lick your lips and take yet another deep breath, deciding to ignore his hurtful remark.

“I’m… so sorry you’re feeling this way,” you say, slowing down your words, trying your best not to show how hurt you were. This isn’t him, you tell yourself. So no need for that tightness in your throat. “But you have to understand it’s not because of me. It’s because of everything that you’ve gone through and how hard it’s to deal with them. I don’t blame you, it is hard. But this… us,” you gesture to the both of you. “This is a good thing. Despite all the pain and hurt we’ve both been through, we—”

“Please, stop,” he says, raising his hand and pressing his eyelids together. “I can’t be with you anymore. That’s it, that’s all—”

“So you don’t love me anymore?” you counter. You scoff in disbelief, shaking your head. Kazutora’s eyes shoot open and you notice his pupils shaking in fear, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I love you,” he breathes out, and for a moment you see the boy you fell in love with in his amber eyes that are quickly filling with tears. “I do love you but it’s killing me. I feel like I’m dying,” he chokes out. He looks away from you once more and starts tugging at his fingers. “I’m rotting inside and I don’t know what to do to make it better. I just want it to stop. I want it to stop and— I don’t want you around when I’m like this. I want to figure out what the hell is happening and—”

“But if you love me and I love you then why—”

“I’m not happy with you!”

Kazutora widens his eyes, scared by his loud outburst. He parts his lips, silently muttering nonsense as he tries to come up with words that can make it better. You lower your head and he wants to punch himself over it. He doesn’t want to make you cry, not after everything you’ve done for him. Is he really going to be the person that hurt the one that made a home for him in her embrace? Is he going to hurt the only person that was brave enough to pick up the pieces of his shattered soul?

“I’m…” he babbles, in a soft voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “No, you really did mean it, Tora.”

He can sense the hurt and sadness in your voice, even if now you’re the one that won’t look at him. He watches helplessly as you stand up and walk towards the living room window in complete silence. The apron you took off is still on the couch and the vast memories of all the times he embraced you while you were wearing it quickly fill his mind.

He wishes there was a way he could keep you. But no matter how much he wants to, he knows there really is no other way. He’s thought about this countless times. He has gone to work without getting proper sleep, stared at his blank tv screen for hours on end, trying to come up with a plan where he could keep you. Was staying with the person he loved the most too much to ask?

No matter in how many shades of light or with how much care he handled the memory of you, the only way he could spare you the greatest amount of pain was to leave you— even if he knew he’d end up shattering your heart as well.

Kazutora notices the way your fingers tightly close around the edge of the window, your knuckles turning white. He had come to terms that he’d lose you today, yet he never expected for it to be this way. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. If hating him would mend your wounds faster, then he’d take it. Anything that would make the heartache he was causing you a little bit lighter. He knew you were the last person on Earth that deserved to go to bed carrying that much pain in her soul.

Looking out the window, you focus on a small girl walking her dog on the street. It’s a brown labrador and by the size of it, it’s barely a puppy. Rather than walk, it jumps on its four legs, his little head looking back at the girl every chance he has as he happily wags his tail. The pet shop Kazutora and Chifuyu work at immediately comes to mind. Would it be like this from now on? Small things eliciting memories of your days together without your consent and leaving a sour taste in your mouth?

You will need to find a new commute, you think, as you had been stopping by the pet shop on your way home for the past year. Is there another bus that you could take? As you try to remember the lines and their respective routes, you’re engulfed by the memory of the first time Kazutora dozed off with his head resting on your shoulder as you rode the bus together. You close your eyes and you can clearly see his peaceful expression and slightly parted lips as he slept, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours. His breathing is slow and his hands are cold and you wish you could go back, even for a minute and place a kiss on top of his head, since you wouldn’t be able to do so from now on.

Where exactly had you failed? You had just been complaining about your day when he dropped the bomb. Did you complain too much? Did you talk too much? Or was it you the one that was too much? You tried your best and supported him as much as you could but as it turns out, it hadn’t been enough. Good intentions were nothing but useless as you were now saying goodbye to the man you had loved the most.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Kazutora’s cold knuckles against your cheek, wiping your tears. You gasp, startled by his touch and take a couple steps back until your back hits the wall. It takes a few seconds for him to bring his hand now, unsure on what to do next.

He looks so scared and small— it fills your heart with frustration. Your whole body is screaming to take a step forward and comfort him, cradle him in your arms like so many times before, assure him he’s safe with you and that he doesn’t have to worry anymore. That, if you can still go home to each other at the end of a bad day, you can take anything life throws at you.

But that’s the thing. You’re not each other’s home anymore. You don’t get to bury your face in his neck and hum happily when his perfume reaches your nose. You don’t get to have him take a nap on your lap as you watch a series or feel his lips ghost against yours seconds before colliding in a kiss.

You hate it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down at his feet. “Please, don’t cry.”

“You know what, Kazutora?” you say, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. You taste venom in your words, yet that doesn’t stop you. “If you’re not happy with me, then what are you doing here?”

He flinches at your words. Biting his inner cheek, he nods, still incapable of holding your gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “I’ll go. I really am sorry.”

Kazutora turns on his heel, walking towards the door. Maybe it’s the way you know he’s not coming back this time that makes your desperation afloat. You don’t want him to go and you also know you can’t make him stay. And even if somehow you could find a way to keep him by your side, it would be worthless.

He’s just not happy with you.

“Are you happy somewhere else, though?” you ask, your words leaving your mouth before your head has time to process them. He stumbles on his feet and stops. “Because if you just can’t manage to be happy, then it’s not on me.”

Kazutora doesn’t have to turn for you to know he’s second guessing himself. The next seconds feel like years as he just stands there, mid-way to the front door, thoughts so messy and loud you can almost hear them.

“That doesn’t matter,” he finally says with his back to you. He closes his fists and you see his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. “This way you don’t have to deal with... with the mess I am and—”

“Oh, please, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating an ex-convict.”

The weight of your words fall onto you the moment they leave your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse. It takes no time for you to walk towards Kazutora, standing between him and the door.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tora, I didn’t— you know I didn’t mean it that way. Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you whimper, tears flowing free down your cheeks. Your wave your shaky hands, desperate to make your point across. “I just wanted to say I knew things would be difficult but I loved you— I love you and I—”

Kazutora shakes his head, a gentle yet sad smile on his face as he takes your hands in his. He holds them in front of his chest, squeezing them gently as they don’t stop trembling.

“Stop, it’s okay,” he assures you. “That’s what I am.”

“It’s not,” you protest. “I mean— yeah, but you’re more than that. You’re so much more than that. You’re caring, you’re noble— you’re so tender with the animals at your shop. You’re so sweet with me, always checking if I’ve eaten and offering to help me out if I have chores I need to do. You always come pick me up if I’m working late. You— you’re so fucking special to me.”

Kazutora’s lips form a tight line. “I wish I could see that,” he whispers.

“Then just— let me try. Let me try until you can look at yourself the way I do,” you almost beg. You let go of the hold he has on your hands to gently cradle his face. “I’ll do anything, but... don’t patronize me. I’m not a little girl. Whatever life throws at me, I’ve always been able to handle it. No— we’ll handle it. Together. Like it’s always been, you and me, I just— please, I don’t want you to go,” you cry. “We were going to be happy together, you were going to live with me and I’d give you half my drawers and half my closet and half… half everything. Please, don’t go. Don’t go, Tora.”

The sadness in his amber eyes only confirms what you’ve been fearing this whole time. You sob, your thumbs softly stroking his cheeks as you feel the world crumbling around you. This time, he doesn’t stop you, letting you cry as you hold his face, coming to terms with the fact he’s really leaving after all.

Your hands move to his hair, gently threading your fingers across his long, dark locks. Tracing the outline of his face, you push one of the dyed streaks away, only for it to fall back right where it was before. You can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips. He’s so pretty, you think, as the pads of your fingers gently caress his face. Your thumb grazes the space between his bottom lip and his chin and you dream of a world when he’s not saying goodbye, but rather falling asleep under your touch on your shared bed. You never knew loving someone as much as you loved him was possible-- yet the way your heart was crumbling in pieces was evidence of how much your soul was aching by being separated from the person it belonged to.

Sniffling, you rub your cheek against your shoulder to wipe your tears. You swallow before raising another question.

“Is this a… temporary thing? Or for good?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as you place down your hands on his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He wants nothing more than to put his arms around your body like so many times before, but he’s aware that it will only make things more difficult. “But I don’t want to keep you waiting in vain. You should move on.”

Kazutora realizes how much he hates the idea as it leaves his lips. The idea of you starting over with someone else rots in his tongue. He doesn’t want you to hold anyone’s face the way you were just holding his. He wants to keep you all to himself, to go to endless visits to the grocery shop, to watch you fall asleep during movie night and then pretend you didn’t, to massage your hands as you tell him about his day.

But you don’t deserve the guck that’s forming inside his mind. He knows it’s only a matter of time before it comes out pouring and reaches you. And he’ll be damned if he lets himself ruin the one good thing he’s had in his life for many years. He promised to himself he wouldn’t let his ill state of mind touch his loved ones. Never again.

He watches you nod and feels his heart shattering, even if everything is going just the way he intended. You rub his shoulders and look into his eyes, a sad smile on the pretty lips he would never get to kiss again.

“Okay,” you sigh. “We’ll end this but… when you leave, never doubt how loved you were. No— how loved you are. I don’t know what is coming for either of us but… I do know a part of my heart will always belong to you, no matter who I hold hands with. I will always love you, Tora.”

Your words are enough to finally break him. Kazutora clutches your body tightly against him as he loudly sobs against your shoulder. You hold him, tears flowing free once again as you try and soothe the man you love, leaving small kisses on the side of his head and whispering soft reassurances that it’s okay. It’s not, you tell yourself. It’s never going to be okay. But it has to be.

Carefully, you move him back to the sofa, helping him sit down while he refuses to let go of his hold on your body. You lean on the back pillows, both your arms cradling him while he whimpers like a small child. Kazutora clutches the fabric of your sweater with desperation, wishing there was a way he could stay with you.

Why does he have to give up the person that had put a smile back on his face? He can’t quite remember a time when his stomach had hurt out of laughter before he ever met you. Or when he’d experienced such peace as the night he stayed at your apartment and got to see your sleeping face first thing in the morning. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you and, for all he knows, he may never love like this again. 

But he could never risk tainting you. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Kazutora softly pulls away from your embrace. His eyes are blotchy and red and you’re sure yours look the same or even worse. His nose is red, like it always does when he cries. It’s endearing, you think. Everything about him, from his hair, to his eyes, his hands— you’ve come to love every part of Kazutora. And that’s exactly why it’s so hard to let him go.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says in a whisper, resting the side of his head on the back pillows of the sofa.

“Like what?” you ask, gently pushing his hair away from his face and behind his ear.

“Like I matter to you. Like I’m making a huge mistake.”

You take a deep breath. Imitating him, you rest your head on the back pillows as well, so you’re both facing each other.

“I don’t— I don’t fully understand what you’re going through,” you admit, your eyes locked on his. “But if you need to… get away, then you should. You’ve been nothing but loving to me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, whether it’s with me or not. You deserve to fully experience all the beautiful things life has to offer.”

Silent tears fall from both your cheeks and his.

“I should be thankful I got to love you for this whole year. Because even if it ends this way… God, I loved you so much,” you sniffle, letting out a small laugh. “And I felt so loved. Isn’t that magical in itself? That we got to love each other at the same time?” you wonder with a sad smile.

Kazutora parts his lips, yet the doorbell interrupts him before he can even speak. You look at the front door, your eyebrows furrowing for a moment before you realize who’s probably there.

“Food’s here,” you say, wiping the tears from your face.

“Food?” Kazutora asks, confused.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Didn’t I tell you? The baking dish broke so I called that restaurant, the one with the burgers we like.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t really listening back then,” he admits with a pang of guilt. He sits up on the couch and turns his head at you. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You sit up as well. “I ordered for the two of us. C’mon, stay for dinner. Let’s… remember us this way, okay? Without so many tears and sadness,” you offer, tilting your head towards him. “I even ordered your favourite one.”

Kazutora rubs his face with his sleeve, erasing the trail of the tears he just shed. Looking at you, he nods, drawing a small smile on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll get it.”

He only walks a few steps towards the door before he feels you tugging at the back of his shirt. Turning around, he notices you’re standing right behind him. Your eyes look up to him, biting your bottom lip and not even a ghost of the smile you previously offered him.

“Before that, uh— I want you to know I… I mean it,” you firmly say, taking in all his facial features, loving how they soften every time he looks at you. “I’ll always love you. No matter how many years go by or if I ever stop being in love with you— I’ll still love you.”

“I’ll always love you too,” he replies, taking your hand and squeezing it softly. “I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”

You finally let out a soft chuckle and squeeze his hand back. The doorbell rings again and you walk around Kazutora to get to it. This time, he’s the one that stops you, not letting go of the hold of your hand. Looking back at him, you notice the soft pout in his lips and how they softly tremble, looming more tears.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you know you’re saying it to yourself as well. “Who knows, we might get together again someday. Have our own Casablanca moment. We’ll always have the pet shop,” you joke, trying to fight back to tears that threaten to fill your eyes as well.

It’s Kazutora’s turn to chuckle, only this time he does it along with you. You let go of his hand only to hold his face tenderly, a soft smile as you look at the man you love. Standing on your tiptoes, you press your lips against the beauty mark under his right eye. You feel his hands setting on the small of your back and watch his smile widen when you fall back on your heels.

Locking your fingers with him once more, you open the door.