#like the few i think would Not be freely emotional around each other is

[lymtw]

Ex Bf Toji

Yes, you and Toji used to live together, but falling out, splitting up, breaking up, and any other phrase used to signify the separation of two lovers, typically means no contact, for however long. Toji did the moving and you stayed where you were for however long it took to feel okay with not seeing him every day.

He didn't cheat. Toji is many things, but he is not a cheater. He saw no reason to, just like he sees no reason to forget you.

He snuck three things of yours into his luggage, to really keep you with him, because you'll get them back at some point, anyway. He took one of your used shirts, an old photo of you and him, and a pair of your underwear. It'll take three days to get you back—he's sure of it. He won't give all of these things back to you in one go, nor will the three days be consecutive. He's smarter than that. They'll be spaced out as he sees fit. When you least expect it, he'll call or text you to let you know about something that he "accidentally" brought with him.

Truthfully, he felt like an old, abandoned dog, the first few weeks that he spent apart from you. He constantly checked his phone, hoping to receive messages from you. He knew it was delusional for him to expect you to text and call, yet he still waited. He moped around his motel room, unsure of what to do, because you were the one who usually planned everything. You were the one who pulled him along with you everywhere, hand in hand. He never lacked excitement or interest around you and he felt safe, but two months later, as he sits on the bed in the same room with the most unnecessary and foul patterns, there's a gross feeling in his gut. Things are too quiet and he absolutely hates it. The silence gives him headaches sometimes and he devastatingly misses your chaos in those moments. He's stuck thinking about you, alone. He doesn't even feel like leaving his room to buy beer to make him feel less or enhance his emotions—whichever comes first.

You know he got it bad for you, when he preferred to use your underwear over and over to get himself off then let some other girl touch him. A third month passed and he still longed for your touch so damn much. He felt like a horny teenager with the way he treasured the garment he stole from you and touched himself to pictures and videos on his phone. Pictures and videos of you. Dirty ones that you would send him through messages, followed by innocent hearts and winky faces, as well as his own personal collection of ones he took.

He misses your smell, your taste—god, you were everything. How could things get so bad that you ended up apart from each other? He could really use your attention right about now. You don't even need to touch him, your company would suffice.

Your voice comes through the speaker of Toji's phone, his name moaned out shamelessly loud as you cum, your phone's camera capturing the whole thing for him. His heart drops to the depths of his stomach at the sound and he ruins the fabric of your pretty, blue panties, deep moans of your name flowing freely.

Toji is just as shameless as you in that video. He swipes off the old video of you and scrolls back down to the bottom of your conversation. It's a good thing you haven't blocked his number.

Hey, I accidentally brought these with me.

[Images Attached: 1]

I'm in my room if you wanna come get them.

He's the devil for keeping his cum stain out of the picture, because had it been in there... He's not sure you would have accepted to come get your missing pair of underwear.

I'm off in 20. Room 723, right?

You got it, doll.

You hate that you know where he's staying. You hate that you don't tell him to stop calling you doll, but most of all, you hate that temptation got the better of you. This will be the second time you go see him because he has something of yours.

The first time was a month ago, and it was about a shirt. One that you didn't even know you were missing until he texted you about it getting mixed with his stuff. You didn't reply because two months into your break up still felt too soon to be in contact with him, but he called. He called and kept calling until you answered, and every time he called, your heart would start racing at the sight of his name displayed on your screen.

Your first mistake was answering. His voice made you nervous, in a first date kind of way, the way it was so calm and steady while talking. It was like he was calling on his way home to you from a job. You did your best to be mature about it, but your nervousness shone through with every 'uh...' and 'sure, that should be fine' instead of 'yes'.

When you went to go see him, your stomach swarmed with butterflies at the sight of those dark, fern-colored eyes. You were so nervous and Toji picked up on it because of how you made it your job to speed up the process of retrieving your shirt.

He invited you into his room and your second mistake was accepting his invite. You felt strange being alone with him again. Anxious? No. Uncomfortable? Not that, either. More like homesick.

Toji didn't make it any easier with the gaze he had set on you. He observed your face—your eyes, your nose, your lips. He couldn't stop himself from continuing down the path to your body. Your neck, your chest, your waist, your hips—all things he wanted to put his hands on. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he could feel his heart thrashing in his chest. Having you so close was a rush. His adrenaline skyrocketed every time you looked into his eyes. He couldn't focus. He felt jittery. At some point, he couldn't take it anymore. With a final stuttered breath, he reached for you, and pulled you into him for a kiss. An aggressive one, that left you breathless and conveyed just how badly he needed you.

You didn't know what was going on, but the feeling was far from unfamiliar. The feelings brought on by this spontaneous gesture, you've felt them more times than you can remember, each time so special. It's the reason for why you struggled to push him away. You struggled to maintain the boundaries that worked to prevent this very thing from happening. You were long gone the moment he put his hands on you— the moment he spun you towards his bed and laid you down. It was selfish on both ends. You were both lonely and touch deprived. It shouldn't have gone further than kissing and some over the clothes wandering of hands, but there was a clear deficit of self control, and because of it, your bodies familiarized themselves with one another, again.

You're now standing outside his door, there to pick up an old pair of underwear that you could have just asked him to throw out. You couldn't lie, part of you wanted to see him, just to make sure he's doing alright since the last time you were there. It's been a little over a month since then. Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Even if he doesn't, you don't want the situation to be misread. You're not together anymore and there's no chance of a reconciliation any time soon. It's just not meant to be, for now.

Toji opens the door and the butterflies start their fluttering in your guts all over again. You don't want to listen to them or your racing heart or the sudden throb you feel between your legs, but he's shirtless.

You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from drooling and remember that you're there for one thing only, and it's not for another fuck with your ex.

"You sure you still want them?" Toji asks, when the silence gets to be too much. He unfolds the blue material to reveal the creamy substance that litters the gusset.

"Uh... yeah, sure." You feel your face grow warm. "They'll be good again after a wash." You take them out of his hands and fold them back up before putting them in your bag.

He leans against the doorframe, eyeing you up and down. He's not being subtle, if he's even trying to be.

"I was thinking of you," he says, once again breaking the loud silence. "You know, when I got them dirty." He nods towards your bag.

"Oh. That's..." you stop mid sentence, unable to find a way to end it. "It's fine."

"Wanna come in? You hungry? Thirsty? Tired?"

"None of that. I should get going anyway. Still need to get groceries for the week." You do your best to avoid letting your eyes trail down his body and hope that he doesn't insist. It'll be so hard not to give in.

"I'm sure you have enough to last until tomorrow. One more day without a fully stocked fridge couldn't hurt."

You sigh. Why does he always have to make it so difficult to turn him down?

"A glass of water would be nice."

He hums, satisfied by your response. He takes a few steps into his room, allowing you to walk in. The second you shut the door, he's right behind you, his front flush against your back, pinning you to the door. He bombards you with his touch.

"Knew you'd come, mama. Fuck, I missed you." He's kissing your neck, pulling up your shirt to feel your soft skin beneath his rough palms.

"T-Toji, what are you doing? I'm not here for this." He ignores you and keeps kissing your skin. "We can't do this, again. Last time was..." He's stretching the collar of your shirt to expose your shoulder, where he presses more kisses. "I-It was the last time. We can't."

"We can," he counters, sliding his hand down the front of your pants and into your underwear. "I miss you, baby. Don't you miss me?" He purrs into your cheek.

A sharp gasp leaves you with a brush of his fingertips against your clit. Your hands go to the door to keep you stable.

"I'm not fucking anyone else. Are you?" He asks, watching your reactions to the languid motion of his fingers against your clit.

"Mm-mm," you hum, eyes shut as you shake your head against the door.

"Say it," he mutters, into your ear, pressing his lips against the spot beneath it. His free hand rides up your torso, going up towards your chest. It goes beneath your bra to grope at your breasts.

"Fuck, Toji... No, I'm not sleeping around."

"Yeah? That's good. I'm glad."

"You were an asshole," you say, your voice low. "I shouldn't even be l-letting you touch me." You feel like you're crumbling. You're trapped between him and the door, as well as stuck between pleasure and rationality.

"You know i'm sorry, and you're an angel for letting me touch you after so long. Don't run off so fast like you did last time." His lips go back to devouring the skin of your neck, littering it with marks that will make you think of this moment when you look in a mirror.

"F-Fuck, i'm gonna cum. Gonna-"

Your legs go wobbly and you press your hands more firmly against the door to try and hold yourself up. Toji's arm tightens around you, supporting you as he works you through the intensity of your orgasm. Your whimpers and moans are heaven sent. So sweet and entirely dedicated to him.

"Come on," he mumbles, pulling you up straight, onto your unsteady legs. He turns you around so that he can hoist you up by the backs of your thighs, and as if on instinct, you wrap around him. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your legs around his waist. It's so strange to feel his warm, bare skin against you, again. Your face is buried into the crook of his neck, like when he would pick your sleeping body up from the couch and carry you to bed.

He sets you down and pulls your shoes off, throwing them somewhere in the room, carelessly. With impatient breaths, he's back on you again, kissing you, and feeling up the body he grew accustomed to holding, but was now deprived of.

"Fuck." He pauses. "Take it all off, baby." He presses chaste kisses onto your lips as he pushes your shirt up, further directing you to undress yourself.

You feel ridiculous for having followed his directions so unquestioningly, but there you are, naked for his eyes, hands, and mouth.

"What are you doing?" Toji asks, confused at the sight of you on your stomach, your face buried in the pillow.

You turn your head to the side, to not muffle your words. "I don't wanna look at you."

"Why's that?" He traces your spine with his fingers, lidded eyes following the invisible trail. "Don't tell me you're still feeling guilty over last time."

You shake your head, wordlessly. You have nothing simple and quick to respond with.

"I wanna look at your pretty face."

You shake your head, again, and he knows he's going to have to melt away your stubbornness. You're not like this. You know he doesn't fuck you like this, ever. It's the first unfamiliar thing to occur since you started talking and since you agreed to meet up and it doesn't sit well with him.

His hands start at your hips and ride up your waist, merging onto your back, going up towards your shoulder blades. He knows of your weakness for when he says things straight into your ear. He has confirmation of this from just a couple minutes ago, when he had you against the door. It brings out a range of emotions from you, but ultimately, it gets you to mellow down a little.

"Let me love on you properly, mama," he starts. Your heart races at the feeling of his breath against your ear. You're throbbing with every deep-voiced mumble and his weight on you again. "Wanna take care of you, pretty girl. Must be so tired after a long day, huh?"

You sigh, releasing some of the built up tension in your body and nod.

"Yeah... I know, doll. Let me make it better."

Just like old times. You miss those days when your schedules aligned and you got to meet at home once you both finished work. It was always a race to see who got there first, but there was never an actual winner when the first thing you would do was shower together. Toji went in before you every time to rinse off the nastier splotches that littered his skin and you joined in on his mark. All the weariness and tension melted away when the water ran down your bodies. These were moments where you were so in love with him. Time slowed down through pressurized squeezes of his rough hands on your weary, smaller muscles, and your softer hands on his more defined and prominent, yet, still aching ones. There were also those delirious, casual conversations that bounced between being so tired that you could sleep together through the rest of the day, but also being so hungry that you could eat a family pack dinner, together in one sitting.

That is why you don't want to look at him. All those memories will come back, again, at the sight of his handsome face. You miss him, too. Your love for him hasn't been completely disposed of, but there's a reason for why you're in his room and not your shared home. Your schedules were unaligned for too long. You barely ever saw each other. You only saw him for brief periods of time in the morning and at night and your days off didn't coincide with his. Date nights became a rarity. Maybe once every couple weeks, you would go out to a place with a peaceful and quiet atmosphere, so that you could get a few hours to remember that you still love each other. Suddenly, he has spare time and it's so hard to deny him when he wants to spend it with you.

"Baby, please," he says, following his words with a kiss to your temple. You let out a deep breath and take a second before you start wiggling under his weight. He scoots off of you and allows you to do what you need to do. Once you're on your back, he wastes no time crawling onto you, again, to begin his worshipping of you.

That warm feeling you used to get around him is slowly seeping back in with every kiss he plants on your face and your neck. The way his hands smoothly glide over your body strangely makes you think of more aggressive times, when he would be so impatient, handling you so swiftly, just wanting to mold his body into yours. The scratches and crescent indentations his blunt nails would leave on your skin from the intensity of it all—you can't forget them.

He nears your soft, warm, blank chest. It's not like he didn't trust your word, but now he has visual evidence of how you weren't lying about not sleeping around. If things hadn't fallen apart between you and him, your chest would be littered with his fading marks on it. You're long due for a round of semi-permanent kisses.

His lips mouth at your chest, wet kisses being spread all over it. You instinctively let one of your hands come up to the back of his head, your fingers coursing through the dark locks of hair. He tries not to react so desperately to the feeling, but your touch is addicting. He doesn't want you to stop. No one has touched him like this since you and it really shows. Between the endless contact of his lips on your skin, layered with soft sighs and the constant caressing of your body, you can tell he's just grateful for being able to have you like this, again.

"You miss my chest?" You ask, acknowledging the amount of time he's spent on the area. He's been leaving marks left and right, between your breasts, on them and beneath them, too.

"All of you, not just your chest," Toji responds, before latching his lips onto one of your nipples. Your other one is handled by his fingers until he gives it a turn in his mouth, his fingers going to the one he just released. He loves being able to feel how your chest puffs and dips with every breath, and how it stutters with the swirling of his tongue over your buds.

"Toji," you call, breathily. Your hand lowers to the nape of his neck, meeting the tips of his hair that graze it.

He releases your breast with a quiet pop, pressing one more kiss to the glistening peak before tending to your call of his name.

"I know, doll. Feeling sensitive?" You nod, in response and he cracks a grin. "It has been a while... and I don't blame you, but you don't answer the phone enough." His kisses start, again, down your body—starting between your breasts and traveling down your abdomen. His lips paint your stomach, unintentional heart resembling marks formed through short-lived stinging sensations. "Can't do this for you if you don't pick up the phone. Just for a few minutes," he purrs, kissing above your navel. His hands cup around your hips, his thumbs massaging the area while he trails his mouth even lower down your body. "And if you don't wanna hear my voice, just answer my messages, mama. It's so fucking simple to get me next to you."

You shudder when his breath fans over your pelvis. Goosebumps rise over your skin all over again and your heart drops when green, lust filled eyes hold your gaze, pinning you down. You squirm beneath his unwavering attention, losing the eye contact battle when his hand goes to your thigh. You see the faintest sign of a smug grin once his eyes refocus on your body.

"How'd you get this gnarly bruise?" He asks, lightly running his fingers over a purplish yellow splotch on the lower part of your outer thigh.

"I ran into the corner of a table. I was in a rush."

He hums, disapproving of your reason, but nonetheless leans forward to kiss it. It brings him back to when he would walk into a room right on time to catch you groaning in pain and flipping off the coffee table while muttering curses, after ramming your knee into the corner of it, or when you would open your mouth in a silent scream after knocking your elbow into something and hitting your funny bone. He really considered putting guards on all the corners in the house, because of the constant bruises he found on your pretty skin.

"You gotta be more careful, doll," he says, kissing the blemish once more before continuing up towards your inner thighs. "Can't have you wearing this pretty body down with so many bumps." His breath grazes the space between your thighs, again. His attention goes from your glistening cunt, to your unsteady chest, before landing on that needy expression on your face that makes his cock twitch.

"You look so pretty." He drags his fingertips through the wetness of your slit, watching the adorable way your stomach quivers at the contact. "So wet over the way I kiss you up," he says, hypnotized by the way your slick connects his fingers to you with every up and down gliding motion. "You're precious, ma. Look at that... You're drooling so much, already." He drags a knuckle through your slit.

"F-Fuck." You shudder beneath his teasing touch. "Please. Toji-" you cut yourself off with a moan when his mouth attaches itself to your throbbing clit and his middle finger slowly sinks into your slick hole. Your thighs twitch in Toji's hold, the pleasure intense with all the fresh stimulation offered by him.

"Sweet as ever," he murmurs, pulling his finger out of your now twitching hole, to suck your juices off. He watches your face contort as two fingers stretch you out, now. Whimpers and moans are released with every curl of his fingers and with his tongue going back to your clit, you can't help all the squirming you're doing. Toji knows your body as well as he knows his own. Those hips rolling against the mattress and your back arching is a sign of your quickly approaching release. The fact that it's happening so fast is endearing to him. You really haven't been touched in a while and he loves being the only one you've allowed to replenish your level of physical intimacy.

You don't even warn him when you cum. Your notice is a sharp gasp, followed by the sweetest moans he's ever heard. Your overload of wetness coated his fingers and dripped onto his palm. Toji watched through dark, lidded eyes, as your chest heaved and your brows pinched with pleasure. Your bitten up lips parted to release heavy breaths and whines of satisfaction. He stopped before the overstimulation could make its way to you, pulling his cum coated fingers out of you and lifting his mouth from your clit.

While he did enjoy being a little mean and overstimulating you back when you were a couple, he knew this was not a moment for that. He said he was going to love on you and he planned to follow through with that.

"Fuck." You sigh, extending your arms above your head, before stretching your body. You groan as your chest rises and your back arches before releasing the tension, a giggle homing into Toji's ears once you settle again. Within seconds, he's face to face with you again, his body invading the vacant space between your legs. His hands go to your wrists, crossing them above your head.

"What are you giggling about?" His nose is centimeters from bumping into yours.

You giggle even more at his proximity and the sly smirk that plays on his lips. "Mm... just came all over your fingers within like two minutes," you mumble.

"You did, huh?" He says, squeezing your wrists affectionately.

"Mhm," you hum.

"That still doesn't break the record," he adds.

"No... It doesn't." You say, through a laugh.

A tension-riddled silence follows, longing looks exchanged during the stillness of the moment. Toji uses his control to lean forward the rest of the way to kiss you. The kiss is soft and slow, despite the way he keeps your wrists pinned, a visual that shows your surrender to him.

He hums against your lips, breaking the lip lock with a quiet smack. "Can I put it in?" He asks, leaning back to see your response.

"Yeah, okay," you say, blushing, but nodding to double confirm.

He releases you so he can remove his boxers and finally release his aching cock from its confines. He's been hard this entire time, but your needs were put ahead of his because, like the last time, he initiated this.

Toji sighs, feeling his cock throb and twitch at the thought of being in your incomparably soft and warm walls, in just a few seconds. As he drags his tip along your slit, he can't help but think about how this would be the first time he has sex since you last let him touch you, a month ago. He might cum as quickly as you did, maybe even quicker.

He keeps a hand on your stomach, rubbing as an act of comfort, as his other hand guides his tip into your hole. He pushes in, keeping his focus on you as he slowly feeds his length into you.

"Fuck, doll. Doing so well. Almost there."

You never get used to the initial stretch. It's not unbearable and you know it's worth it, so you deal with the short amount of discomfort.

"Oh fuck, it's in," he says, mentally relieved that he didn't cum early. You both let out sighs.

After a couple minutes of getting comfortable and picking up a gentle pace, things were good. Quiet sounds of pleasure took over the room. This time isn't as aggressive as the time before. Last time, things happened in a flash. One moment you were just talking, the next you were being fucked incoherent, and before you knew it, you were getting dressed and leaving Toji's room with the most guilty feelings.

This wasn't that, at all. He wasn't slamming his hips into yours or pinching your waist between his hands. His thrusts were paced, like he wanted this to last a while, and he touched you with the gentleness of someone who, wholeheartedly, isn't over you. Someone who still holds an immense amount of love for you.

You're not faring any better, than him. You find yourself wanting to bring him closer. You truly want him all over you. The second you extend your arms towards Toji, he's leaning closer towards you so you can touch him. Your hands make contact with his shoulders and he gets immediate goosebumps. He's working to suppress the groan that's paired with the chills that run down his spine, when he looks at you from this proximity. You let your hands glide up to the nape of his neck and you pull him into you for a kiss. Your cunt flutters around him when his lips move against yours in synchrony, his hips continuing their languid pace. His kisses always leave you breathless, so you end up having to be the first to bail, when you can't compete with his lung capacity. He continues kissing your face, groans released into your cheek and jaw, while you gasp and whimper over his gentle precision.

"T-Toji... Toji- Fuck."

He hums into your neck, his lips brushing against it immediately after. "Miss you... so... fucking much," he pants. "Please..." his voice lowers, and his lips move towards your ear. "Please, baby."

His arms cage you in and you feel smothered by him, like you're drowning in him. He's all you know in this moment. His body, his voice, his touch, his smell. All you can do is feel as he thrusts into you, repeatedly reaching that part within you that renders you the most perfectly behaved angel for him. He can feel the way your chest jolts with every hitch of your breath. He can hear your stifled hiccups up close, as he murmurs needy words into your ear.

"You..." he pants, a subtle groan caught by your ears. "You heard me, right, pretty girl?" He presses a kiss to your earlobe, awaiting your response. You nod, a sultry hum being the only sound you manage to let out. You clench around him, briefly, but long enough for his hips to stutter. "Fuck..." he sighs, burying his face into your neck, again. His hips pick up their pace a little, luring a sharp gasp and a moan out of you. "I-I need you back with me. Miss you lots," he says, muffled by the delicate skin he nibbles on.

"I-I know. I know, Toji. You're not the only one."

"So fucking come back to me, already. What are you doing?"

"Gonna cum. I'm gonna cum," you blurt, writhing beneath him.

"Keep squeezing me like that and you're gonna make me cum," he grunts.

"T-Toji, please," you whimper, the sensation of your nearing orgasm growing stronger. "Toji," you cry out once more, before your wetness gushes out, coating his unrelenting cock.

"Shit," he hisses. He barely has time to watch you when he's on the verge of spewing into you with every clench of your velvety walls. A few seconds pass, and with stuttering hips, a tensed abdomen, and gritted out, breathy curses, he fills you up with his cum. Ragged breaths are released into the air, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. He pulls away from you, his eyes glued to you as you work on recomposing yourself.

You're lucent in his eyes. The layer of sweat that coats your neck brings attention to the harsh marks he left on your previously untraced skin. The prettiest blush remains on your face, and those slightly parted lips look so appetizing. The sight is hauntingly beautiful.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you tease, feeling him still silently watching you.

He snickers. "You're gonna let me take a picture of you like this?"

"Nope. I was kidding," you say, smiling as you sit up. Toji catches you eyeing your pile of clothes and speaks up before you start reaching for it.

"Can you not get dressed, yet? Stay a little while, yeah?"

Your heart drops at the question. You tell yourself over and over that you won't be spending the night with him, in an attempt to convince yourself that after the worst that can be done with an ex has already been done, this is nothing to worry about. What's another hour spent lying next to him in his bed?

You thought that's all you would be doing together, but then you ended up showering together. His attempt to help you get cleaned up made you crave another round, which he happily indulged in. After that was when you finally lied in bed together and you really didn't want to leave by the end of it all. It was already nighttime and you had gotten so comfortable, almost forgetting that you weren't home with him. Everything smelled like Toji, even you. He kept you in his arms as you discussed the future of things between you two. A weight was lifted off his shoulders when you implied that there's still a chance.

You did decide to drive home that night and when you got there, you sat in your car, just thinking about what happened, for way too long.

The third and final day came some weeks later. You got better at responding to Toji's messages and his phone calls. Things seemed like they were rekindling between you two.

Hey, can you come see me today?

I'm not in the mood for sex, if that's what you want me there for.

You know that's not the only reason I want you. Come over.

I won't touch you if you don't want me to.

Say something.

Respond.

Oh so you don't want me to get there safe? I'm. DRIVING.

Fuck, doll. Scaring me for nothing. Drive safe.

On the drive to his room, you thought about the conversations you've had with Toji on the phone, these past weeks. Some were short and straight to the point, while others didn't allow you to put your phone down for more than three minutes. His indirectness was usually the cause of longer conversations. He didn't want to seem overbearing, so instead of saying he missed you, he would ask if you had eaten. Instead of saying he missed spending leisurely time with you, he would let you know that that one cheesy movie you like is playing on one of the TV channels.

It was sweet until nighttime came and the messages started straying from innocent longing. Conversations where he was telling you about how much he missed sleeping next to you, turned into him saying that he couldn't sleep because he wasn't holding your chest and smelling your hair. Minutes later when your phone rang, you panicked. You wanted to hear his voice, but you knew better than to try and hold an innocent conversation with him when the messages that preceded the call weren't innocent. You let the phone ring for a few seconds, but the second you heard him, you felt so many things. His voice was so deep and he sounded tired and your heart was beating way too fast. You were feeling things that contradicted everything that made you hesitant to answer his call. With every word he spoke, your mind flooded with sinful thoughts that made the space between your legs viciously throb. Maybe you were glad he was feeling this way from the start, because his voice, his words, and the sounds he made alike, all ended up getting you there.

Muscle memory got you to Toji. You were zoned out the entire time, remembering those texts between you and him, that had you giggling to yourself like when you first started dating. You were in shock when you turned into the parking lot, realizing that your mind was so occupied with Toji, that the drive seemed shorter. You walked right up to the door with the, now familiar, bold 723 on it. A few seconds went by before the door opened. Toji held the door open for you shutting it when you made it into his room.

The first thing you noticed was that he had tidied up quite a bit. It almost seemed like he had just arrived to the room, no clothes on the floor or empty food containers on the counters, but his bed wasn't made and his drawers had unfolded clothes hanging out of them. He's been like this since you lived together. It's just a habit that refuses to die.

"You made a copy of this photo?" You ask, picking up the picture frame that rests on his nightstand. You both looked annoyed in the picture. The photographer kept pestering you to get your picture taken on your date and you had politely declined so many times, but he kept insisting, so you and Toji decided to just get it over with. The photographer said 'smile', and he laughed nervously when you both kept a straight face. He gave up and snapped the picture like that.

"Nah, that's the original. It followed me here, like your clothes."

You snicker, eyes still focused on the way Toji put his arm around you in the picture. "Clothes seem a little more reasonable to haul along by accident, but this was in a box I keep hidden on the top shelf of the closet."

"It's not really hidden if I found it so easily."

"People who don't snoop around wouldn't find it as quickly."

His hands go to his pockets. The urge he feels to hug you from behind to look at the picture with you, is heavy. "It's not snooping if we used to share the closet. When I was packing my stuff, I tried not to leave anything behind, so of course I was gonna check every crevice of the house."

You put the picture down and turned to look at him.

"That was pretty selfish of you. Taking my things, but not leaving a scrap of yours behind."

"Yeah? That was selfish of me?" He grins. "You wanted me to leave something behind?"

"At least a button or... I don't know, one of your sweaters."

"A button or a sweater." He hums like he's in thought. "That's a big jump, doll." He sits down on the edge of his bed with a sigh, a small lump of his blanket flattened by his weight.

"We made a big jump, Toji. One minute we were doing stupid shit like that." Your hand aims towards the picture of you and him. "The next..." you take a deep breath and your brows pinch slightly. You don't want to get emotional. Just thinking about crying in front of him makes you anxious.

His eyes soften, slightly. The mood has shifted and you're tense. It's not how he thought this would go, but he's going to try and make it better anyway. This is it. You have to reconcile by the end of the day.

He pats the spot next to him on the bed, successfully bringing you closer, even if you were off from where he wanted you.

"What we did was hard," you start, again. "You think I didn't miss you as soon as you left home? Or that I was living happily without you, when I didn't answer your messages or calls?" You shake your head. You're trying to hold back your more distracting emotions, but your eyes are starting to feel watery. "No. My head hurt for so long, I didn't want to see anybody, and the worst part was that I couldn't stop thinking of you. It was the epitome of a crushing break up... and I needed you, but I wasn't sure if you would be around. It's what tore us apart in the first place."

Silence fills the room. You feel dumb for spilling your heart out like that. You fold your hands in your lap and hope Toji has something to say in response to your word vomit. Anything, at this point, to slaughter the increasingly, discomforting stillness in the room that is making you want to cry even more.

"I didn't know you missed me, 'til you started meeting me here." He turns his head to look at you. You're still looking down at your lap, fidgeting with your folded hands.

"Yeah, that's not something you say to someone who just became your ex. It would have made things harder on us."

There's another gap of silence while Toji calculates his words. Watching you continue your anxious mannerisms always made him nervous before. It's no different now.

"What if I said I have time for you, now?" He keeps his eyes on you, hoping to see a glint of light in your expression. "Things can go back to the way they were before."

"That sounds good and all, but will things stay that way when we start getting comfortable again? Say... a month from now?" He immediately nods in response. "How about three months from now? My days off are always gonna be the same, and yours-"

"I'll mute Shiu on your days off. No jobs on those days."

You look at him, unfolding your hands. You're not as nervous anymore, now that the talking is back and forth. "You always make exceptions. You've done it before, Toji, and I just don't want to feel second to your work, again. It's the only thing I kept myself out of when it came to you, because I know how... abnormal it is, and look where that got us."

"Listen, i'm serious about making time for you. I've been doing pretty good so far, don't you think?"

He has been. Otherwise you'd be spending your day off cleaning your place and figuring out what to make for your dinner for one. You were off the day before, too, and he called you halfway through the day, on his way back to his room.

"Yeah. I guess you are doing a lot better," you admit.

"Good enough to give it another go?"

You're the one who goes quiet this time, uncertainty coursing through your mind. You really want things to work, but it's scary. Words and these little check ins are all you can go off of, for now. You don't know how it'll be if you officially get back together.

You nod. "I think so. It's been a few months, now. Things do seem better."

He slowly released the breath he held in after asking the question. "Really? You mean that?"

"I do." You give him a soft smile that he feels he hasn't seen in so long. He can feel his heart accelerating, like a kid being returned their favorite toy after being grounded.

"Can you show me you mean it?"

"How?"

"You're sitting so far from me. Come closer," he says, patting his thigh.

"What?" You laugh. He has to be joking. You're literally two feet away from him.

"Come on. Sit with me."

He doesn't seem to be letting go of this, so you scoot even closer to him. With the assistance of his hands on your hips, he uses them as leverage to lift you onto his lap, to bring you as close to him as he can. He looks you straight in the eyes, his green ones so brilliant and warm, you would think he's about to profess his love for you for the first time.

"You got me. What is it, Toji?" You're blushing due to the gesture, a reaction that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

In one swift movement, his face is buried in your chest, his bulky arms lowered to wrap around your waist. Your eyes slightly widen at the spontaneity of the gesture, instantly softening when he starts talking.

"I felt like I was going insane, mama. I didn't wanna go." He pauses, the warm scent of your perfume working to calm him down. The back of your shirt is tightly wound around his hands. You can feel cool air against the slivers of exposed skin—a contrast to the warmth of his breath on your chest—but you hold him close. "Let me come home or stay here, just don't stray from me."

The mood shifted, again. He felt small and vulnerable, but he needed you to understand that he had feelings about leaving, too. Had things gone the way he planned them in his head, he wouldn't be uttering his sentiments into your chest. You would be watching a movie together, while cuddling and kissing, and overall, making up for the deep affection that was missed during this period of separation, but you have a strange way of making him want to be entirely honest with you.

You cover him up while he clears his mind. This is between you and him. Nothing else matters when it's Toji rambling on about how you've ruined solitary life for him. He can't do it anymore and you're entirely to blame, because you put him on to your hugs and kisses, and you tell him all the things he needs to hear and sleeping is entirely possible with you. He's addicted to you, and it's not hurting anyone, so he can't find a reason to give you up.

You sat in that position for a few minutes. Silence returned, but instead of it being awkward and uncomfortable, it was entirely welcomed. Toji was so comfortable. He could have fallen asleep like that, but you shifted in his lap and pulled him out of his idle state. He was entirely at ease when he lifted his gaze to look at you. Your expression was gentle on his eyes, unspoken forgiveness so clear.

"Come home, tomorrow. No, today. I was thinking about how you're not packed and you still have things scattered. I can help you get it all-"

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, then another, and then one more. "Nah, i'll come back for my things, tomorrow. I just wanna go home with you, ma."

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Forgive Me | John Price x Reader

Summary: After a rough day, Price gets home and accidentally raises his voice at you, leading to plenty of apologies, and making up for his mistake.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: price yelling at reader :( angst to fluff to a lil bit of smut, fingering, cuddling, cute snuggly kisses, nothing too bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: this was such a cute request from anon, I love price so much…like he’s such a cutiepie y’all don’t even get it, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You and your husband didn’t have many arguments.

Sure, the occasional little squabble where you’d only last maybe an hour before breaking and both apologizing to each other, acknowledging your wrongs.

The emotional maturity that both of you shared was something John Price appreciated most about your relationship.

But tonight was different.

He couldn’t even remember what had started the argument.

He’d already been wound up, having driven hours from the base to home after a long day of dealing with annoying recruits while his patience ran thin with their antics and horseplay. It had been a bit entertaining the first few times, but by the 40th time, it was plain annoying.

But they didn’t seem to understand that.

So he’d spent his day yelling at them till his voice was hoarse, some refusing to stop and just continuing what they’d been doing if they were ballsy enough.

And he supposed that instead of reverting into the normal John Price, the Price that was softer and gentler with you, he hadn’t seen the difference between you and those recruits in the moment.

One sarcastic remark, and you were both in the living room, Price pacing around leaving a trail on the floor while ranting in a loud, brusque voice all too similar to a yell. He got so caught up in himself, in his angry tirade of frustration with his day and the current situation, that he hadn’t noticed how he was asking until you muttered a meek little,

“John, you’re scaring me.”

It had floored him completely. Nearly all thoughts shut down at that one little sentence as he stopped pacing, standing stiller than a statue, eyes now observing your red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears, or the quiet sniffles you were making, trying to hide them as well. He could tell.

Guilt punched him in the gut harder than any enemy had ever done.

He’d never grown up in a bad family, per se. It was just traditional. His father ranted while his mother kept her mouth shut, listening patiently and serving his every need. He could still remember how angry his father had been at his older sister when she’d snuck out with a boy. How his father had screamed at her in the kitchen while she’d sobbed, his mother doing nothing but sitting silently at the table, like a ghost.

He’d been terrified at the time. Promised himself and his future spouse that he would never treat a woman, his woman, that way.

And here he was. Doing the same thing.

“Love,”

He cooed apologetically, eyes crinkling in the corners from worry, brows furrowing as he held both his hands out towards you, watching as your bottom lip wobbled a bit when you took a little step back.

You were afraid.

Of him.

He’d be an idiot to think you wouldn’t have a bit of fear after what he’d done, screaming at you, a small woman, being the large man he was. Of course, you’d be afraid.

“I’m sorry, bird, please.”

He tried again, tone taking on a hint more desperation as he offered you at least a hand. Tears fell freely in streams down your face now, clumping in your lashes and catching in the corners of your lips.

Only when the first sob tore through your body, did you finally relent and fold into his warm, strong arms. His familiar musk, a mix of whiskey, barbecue, and a campfire, enveloped your senses as you buried your head in his shoulder. His hand stroked up and down your back soothingly, large palm gently massaging the tension out unknowingly, while his other hand ran through your hair.

“I know, I was being a right ass, wasn’ I?”

He murmured, the hand in your hair moving to your knees as he gently bent them while picking you up bridal style, your weight barely even noticeable to him as his feet padded against the floor, the door to your bedroom creaking open and promptly shutting behind him before he sat on the edge of the bed with you. The sobs shaking your already-trembling body slowly subsided, leaving you feeling emptier than before.

Now sniffling, tears hardly dried, you replied.

“Yeah, you were.”

His calloused thumb wiped whatever wetness remained on your face away. Your lips were still in a pout, one he tried to erase by gently pressing his chapped lips against yours, pulling away, his eyes gazing deep into yours.

“Really, I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to get carried away.”

He murmured, and you sniffled again before replying.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

He let out a dissatisfied hum, pulling the blankets out from underneath both of your bodies to gently cover you. He was already practically a human furnace, not needing much to warm him.

“It’s not fine, shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

His hands curled around your waist once again, holding you just a bit closer, as if wanting to keep you close. To keep you safe.

You raised a brow, relaxing into the cuddles nicely as you melted into his body, hardly noticing the way his thumbs were rubbing little circles into your hips.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do to make it up to me, then?”

You teased, voice a bit drowsy already. He let out a small hum of thought, one warm hand slipping down your thigh, slowly making its way in between and rubbing those little circles onto your inner thigh, now.

“I’ve got an idea.”

He mumbled, his hand temporarily returning to him as he licked the pad of his thumb, leaving a bit of spit on it before returning to your inner thigh, the same hand pushing both your shorts and underwear to the side as his thumb slowly grazed through your folds, that bit of spit acting as a lubricant.

A low purr of delight from you, one that only grew more vocal as his thumb began lazy circles around your clit, not teasing or holding back, just slowly working you up until your legs were trembling, hips jerking slightly and little gasps escaping your lips.

“There you go, almost there,”

He cooed as you let a little whimper slip from between your lips, that tight coil in your stomach building and building before your orgasm washed over you like a cool breeze in the summer heat.

“Good girl…”

He murmured softly as his hand slipped out of your pants, adjusting them back into place before going back to holding your body against his, helping you back to reality from whatever clouds your sleepy mind was floating in.

“Mm…John?”

You mumbled against his shoulder, and one hand went back to stroking your hair.

“Yes, pretty?”

He questioned, ignoring the breathy little incoherent noises you kept letting out amidst words.

“I forgive you, really this time.”

An airy chuckle from your drowsy husband as he held you a little bit closer, tucking the blanket in over you as he smiled against your skin, giving your forehead a little peck before he closed his eyes, mumbling one last thing, mainly to himself, before sleep claimed him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, love.”

[luvzshy]

Omggg could u do reader and Billie have been trying for a baby and then reader reveals she’s pregnant in a super cute way

oki so i tried my best, i like this sm, enjoy bb! 💕✨

After All This Time

It’s a routine you’ve gone through more times than you’d like to count. All the careful tracking, the hopeful planning, the tears, and the disappointment. Each time before, that small window has delivered the same heart-sinking news. And each time, Billie has been there to pick up the pieces with her steady reassurance, her gentle optimism. “We’ll get there,” she always says. “It’ll happen.”

But after months of trying, that optimism has felt harder to cling to.

Now, you sit here alone, Billie still out running errands, the seconds feeling like hours as you wait for the result you’ve come to dread. You tell yourself it’s just another test, like all the others. You’re bracing for the worst, preparing to feel the familiar weight of disappointment pressing down on your chest.

Finally, the time comes. You stand, heart pounding in your ears as you inch closer to the sink, your breath catching in your throat. The little stick sits there, face down, as if it too is waiting with bated breath.

You flip it over.

Two lines.

Your hand flies to your mouth, covering a gasp as your eyes widen in disbelief. For a moment, you’re frozen. Staring. The world seems to shift around you as your mind struggles to catch up with what you’re seeing.

Two lines.

A sob breaks free from your chest before you can stop it. Your knees buckle as you sink to the floor, the little stick still clutched tightly in your hand. You’re crying, but this time it’s not from disappointment. It’s joy. It’s relief. It’s the overwhelming realization that after all the heartache, all the times you had to hold Billie in your arms and promise her that everything would be okay, it’s finally happened.

“I’m pregnant,” you whisper to the empty room, as if saying it aloud will make it more real. The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone else, but they’re yours. After all this time, they’re finally yours.

You let the tears flow freely, your heart swelling with a kind of happiness you haven’t felt in so long. It’s been a journey—a painful one. There were moments when you doubted this day would come, when you questioned your body, your worth, your ability to give both yourself and Billie the family you’ve both dreamed of. But now, all of that fades away. The struggle, the sleepless nights, the disappointment—it was worth it for this moment.

You sit on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, your mind racing with thoughts of the future. You think of Billie—her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks about having a family with you, the countless times she’s held you close after another negative test. The image of her face when she finds out you’re pregnant fills your mind, and it makes your chest tighten with emotion. You can’t wait to see the joy, the tears, the disbelief.

You have to tell her. But it has to be special. She deserves that after everything.

You wipe your eyes and carefully place the pregnancy test on the counter before standing, legs a little shaky beneath you. You make your way to the bedroom, mind swirling with ideas. The small baby shoes you bought months ago, back when you were still hopeful, are tucked away in a drawer. You pull them out now, holding them in your hands with a sense of awe.

This is real.

You jot down a small note, trying to keep your hands steady: For the three of us. It’s simple, but you know it’ll say everything. You tuck the shoes and the note into a small gift box, heart pounding with excitement.

A few hours later, Billie walks through the door, her usual warmth filling the room as she spots you in the kitchen. “Hey, babe,” she says, dropping her bags by the door. “You’re glowing today. What’s up?”

You smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I have something for you,” you say, nodding toward the small box on the counter.

She looks at you curiously, walking over to it. “What’s this? A gift?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, holding your breath.

Billie opens the box, her fingers brushing aside the tissue paper until she reveals the tiny shoes and the note. You watch as confusion crosses her face, then slowly transforms into realization. She looks up at you, her mouth opening slightly, eyes wide and glassy.

“Wait… are you…?” her voice breaks, already trembling with emotion.

You nod, tears welling up again. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, her hand trembling as it covers her mouth. Then, in a blink, she’s rushing toward you, her arms wrapping around you in the tightest embrace you’ve ever felt. She’s sobbing now, her tears mingling with your own as she presses her face into your neck.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispers through her tears. “I can’t believe it. After everything…”

You pull back slightly, cupping her face, your thumbs wiping away her tears. “I know. We did it.”

Her eyes flicker down to your stomach, and she reaches out tentatively, placing her hand gently over the small life growing inside you. “You’re really pregnant,” she whispers, awe lacing her voice. “You’re carrying our baby.”

You nod, your heart overflowing with love for her, for the journey that led you here, and for the life that’s now growing within you. “We’re going to be moms, Billie.”

She smiles through her tears, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “I love you so much,” she whispers, pulling you close again. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

And in that moment, standing there in her arms, you realize that this—this love, this journey, this moment—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

[miaountainmama]

sharp

characters: boothill, gn!reader contains: little angst that's resolved by the end. boothill is terrified of love

wc: 1148

a/n: i love boothill so much that i needed to write something with thought and emotion and not just smut. i have 3 other boothill fics in the works because i keep getting ideas. girl help

You have always loved softly. You know this, have embraced it, giving your soft touches and quiet words freely. Boothill has forgotten how to love. It has been so long since he loved that his love has turned sharp, pierces through his heart and wounds him so deeply he can’t stand it. He cannot recall how to love like you do anymore— he can only scream the depths of his affection from the rooftops, harsh and loud, and hold you so tightly he swears you’ll break. He has become so sharp he’s afraid, afraid he’ll puncture your soft skin, afraid the razor edge of his smile will leave you bleeding.

Fear doesn’t suit Boothill, but you see it in every glance he gives you. It drives you insane, the way his expression sobers when he’s around you. That near-constant smile of his drops clean from his face, turning into the gentle slope of a frown that just doesn’t look right on him. Existing in the same room as him has become suffocating, the sheer longing in his being crashing from his body in waves so strong they’re capable of sending you to your knees. Still, he withdraws-- his touches have become few and far between, and when you tell him you love him, that look of anguish he gives you nearly breaks you.

“I’m not fragile, you know. You’re not going to snap me in half,” you tell him, stepping closer to him, and it doesn’t escape you the way that he leans back slightly, that all familiar expression bubbling up in his eyes.

“I… I can’t, darlin’,” he says in return, voice laced with yearning that he refuses to address, and your own eyes turn desperate, though you know you can’t force anything. You want to reach out and grab him so badly, to press yourself against him and thread your hands through his hair and tell him it’s okay, that you know he would never hurt you on purpose, that anything he does you can take-- but you know it’ll make it worse. You know it’ll drive the knife in his heart a thousand times deeper.

Instead, you reach out your hand.

He looks at it questioningly, lips slightly parted in a question, and you just gesture until he gets the memo-- you would almost think his mechanics were malfunctioning, the way his hand stutters on the way to yours, and when his fingers brush against yours ever so lightly you smile at him, a smile so soft and patient he feels like a wounded animal before you. Gently, you lead him to the couch, sitting down and motioning for him to sit beside you. He does, taking a seat right in the middle of the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, and it lights his hair up golden.

“Do you love me, Boothill?” you start simply, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this man was head over heels for you. He nods, not a sliver of hesitation running through his veins.

“More than life itself,” he says, and you hum in acknowledgement. You run your thumb over his knuckles, and that everlasting ache in his eyes intensifies.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you ask, and he goes silent. His head dips, and you can feel him struggle, at war with his own thoughts.

“I ain’t too good with words, darlin’,”, he admits, and you don’t miss that little undercurrent of shame in his tone. You tilt your head slightly, leaning back slightly to make yourself just a bit more comfortable in the cushions.

“Think about it. I can wait as long as you need,” you say, and his gaze flickers up to meet yours for a moment before it goes back to your hands resting softly on each other. He takes a minute or so, refusing to make eye contact for its entirety and then some.

“You don’t deserve a man like me,” he starts, and you huff, rolling your eyes. Of course he would land on a reason so basic and absurd. No, you needed him to unpack that a little more, dive a bit deeper.

“Why?” you probe further, and he takes another pause.

“I ain’t fit for much but shootin’ these days, darlin’. Haven’t loved anything in so long I think I’ve forgotten how.” He’s still looking at anything but your face, and it’s almost boyish, the way he’s near hiding. You reply as easily as breathing.

“You can always relearn,” you say, and his eyes finally snap to yours.

“What if I mess up? What if I hurt you?” he says, urgent, and your voice is ever calm in contrast. You send him another small smile.

“Oh, you will,” you say with finality, and his face scrunches up-- he moves to pull away his hand, but you’ve suddenly tightened your grip, and he gives up and leaves it there without too much resistance. You’re too calm about this, too willing.

“Then why would I-”

“Boothill,” you interrupt, and he shuts up the moment the words leave your mouth. “Did you make mistakes when you became a parent?”

Understanding the point you’re getting at, he frowns. “Of course I did, but-”

“Do you regret it then? Being her dad?”

That stops him in his tracks.

“Of course not. I… she was my little girl, darlin’, my pride and joy,” he says, and you can hear the hurt in his voice, the wistfulness as he’s taken many years into the past. Part of you regrets bringing her up, but you know he needs a personal analogy to get out of the headspace he’s in and she’s the only example you can think of.

“Then do you regret loving me?” you ask quietly.

“There is not a single damn reality where I regret loving you, darlin’,” he answers you, face dead serious, and it soothes your heart. That’s all the answer you need from him and he knows it-- you just look at him, face softening as you wait for him to connect the dots and piece together what you’re implying.

That it’s worth it. That a life in which you have loved and experienced pain is worth more than a thousand lifetimes without loving. That mistakes are inevitable and a part of anything. That you know all this and have accepted it wholly-- have accepted him wholly, him in all his imperfections. 

He looks back at you. He looks back at you and swears he sees the whole world-- you in the sunlight, infinitely forgiving and merciful, and he nearly renounces his faith then and there. Forget the Hunt-- forget Lan, forget any Aeon and the paths they have built. Compared to the divinity before him, they are nothing, and he knows his heart must answer in kind.

He reaches out tentatively to touch your face, and you swear you melt.

[deadhands69]

cursing each other over and over again [1/3]

MDNI

Toge Inumaki x cursed speech reader (not quite the same as his)

Super fluffy but eventually it gets smutty.

Warnings/content/etc: Toge Inumaki x reader, fem-bodied/gn pronouns, unestablished relationship, swearing.

AU: Jujutsu University, all characters over 18.

This is part 1 ; part 2 - part 3

Text key: 🖤 You 🤍 Toge

Since you can remember, your cursed energy was always hard to control. Sure, you could speak logically but the moment a hint of emotion leaves your lips, you feel the curses spilling out. Laugh, and everyone laughs with you. Mumble one angry comment and you take out half a city block. That’s how you ended up here, being placed in this class with a small handful of other jujutsu sorcerers in training.

First day of school; maybe you’ll make friends? It’s a very small class. Sinking into the only empty seat in the room, they all begin introducing themselves. Maki. Panda. Yuta. Everyone but the light haired boy seated next to you who waves and mumbles “kelp.” 

“Hi, I’m [y/n].” you say to everyone, before looking curiously at the interesting boy to your left.

His amethyst eyes lock onto the curse marks wrapping around your lips (**photo at the bottom.) You’re used to it. Everyone does that. Then, he slides his phone to you.

🤍 [you can use normal words???]

Looking back up, he partially unzips the front of his jacket to reveal marks of his own. They’re cute, you think, noticing how they line up with his dimples when he smiles. He’s cute.

You open your mouth to speak but feel the cursed energy ready to give you away. He’s too cute.

🖤 [well, not now] 🖤 [my cursed technique uses my emotions. so I CAN speak just not anything emotionally charged] 🤍 [why not now?]

Your fingers fumble to reply. What are you supposed to say, “hi random nice stranger I just met - I can’t talk to you because you’re hot?” No, that won’t work. And you don’t want him to think he offended you so you have to say something. Que the spiral.

Dias ex machina: Gojo, the eclectic teacher who brought you to this school, makes an abrupt entrance.

Phew. 

After class, the blonde boy slides his phone to you with a blank ‘add contact’ screen open. You try not to think too much into it - he’s in your class and it’s the easiest way for you both to talk. While you input your contact info, he rejoins the rest of the class joking about something. They’re laughing hard when you slide his phone back in front of him. As you’re walking out the door, he texts while catching up to you.

🤍 [hey!] 🤍 [it’s toge] 🤍 [so why can’t you use words now?]

Shit. Shit. Shit.

🖤 [just nervous, first day of class and stuff]

It might be in your head, but he looks slightly disappointed that he’s not the reason you’re nervous. He nods.

🤍 [oh, got ya. well, if you wanna hang out later let me know] 

You reply without thinking.

🖤 [yeah, i’d love that] 🤍 [come by my room at 8?] 🖤 [see you then!]

Fuck. What did you just get yourself into? Being around attractive people has never gone well for you. Of course you've had crushes, who hasn't. It’s fine, as friends for a little while but the moment you utter a single word without thinking, you feel your cursed energy fly out on accident and they never want to be around you again. You can’t blame them. Maybe spending time with him will be different? It’s not like he can speak freely either. He has to understand, right? Plus, he’s just being nice because you’re new so there’s really no pressure. On the other hand, with such a small class it would be really awkward to fuck up and alienate yourself from one of your classmates. Especially when they all seem so close. Maybe this time it'll be different, you hope.

Before you know it, six hours have passed and you’re nervously standing outside the door of Inumaki’s dorm room. You’re still not sure how you can talk to him but hopefully in a more chill setting, your nerves will calm down and it’ll be easier.

Knocking a few times, you hear “(((come in)))” and you find yourself opening the door and stepping inside. You laugh, it’s weird being on the other end of that. (plus, hearing his voice makes you giddy - so much for easy and chill feelings.)

Toge sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a Mario Kart loading screen. He’s not wearing the jacket from earlier so you have a clear view of his neck. And arms. He didn’t initially strike you as the type to workout a lot but he’s definitely athletic. As he shifts his weight turning to you, every muscle in his arm tenses. He’s like the skinny version of a Greek god with a perfect face to match, there's absolutely no way you can actually talk to him now. 

You opt to smile, wave, and sit next to him. 

He hands you a controller before texting: 

🤍 [still not talking to me?]

He smiles. Happy to see he’s not offended, you can keep it playful.

You send him the “why are you so obsessed with me” Mean Girls meme. Fortunately, he laughs and you’ve successfully dodged the question again.

Hours go by and neither of you have felt the need to use words, just glances and faces when the other throws a banana or passes you. It’s comforting. 

You notice the way he leans into you, every time he turns in the game. Skin brushing warmly against your own. After a while, you get used to the controls and he gets bolder - throwing an arm in front of your face, bumping you over, etc so he can pass you.

On the last lap, you use a booster and overtake him. He responds by throwing all of his weight into you, leaving you both a tangled laughing mess on the floor. Cursed energy seeps out in your laugh, but that’s fine. It’s harmless and isn't making him do more than laugh harder. Besides, he used his technique on you earlier too so you don’t think he minds something this mild. 

He does mind that you’re coming into the final stretch and still ahead of him though. Having dropped his controller in the commotion (that he created) earlier, he resorts to the first impulsive thought that comes to mind. “Hmmmm!” you manage to hold back, swallowing your words when his bite connects with your arm. Close one. Is he flirting or just that competitive? Probably competitive. Yet, he’s still laughing and throws his hands over your face in one last attempt.

Not bothering to sit back up, you keep your hands on the controller, pulling through the finish line to beat him for the first time all evening. His hands slide off your eyes and you both sit up, much closer than you were before. Watching the cute characters bounce on the screen, you’re amused: this has to be the most dangerous activity happening on all of campus. If either of you slip-up, there goes the neighborhood. You text him this.

🤍 [DEATH BY MARIO KART] 🤍 [nah you’re too cute to be mad at so i wont say anything. even if you cheated]

“(((Hey!)))” your sudden words are playful, but knock him back nonetheless. He smiles at you, still not caring. You extend a hand to pull him back up, mouthing ‘sorry.’

Then it hits you. 

He thinks you’re cute??

You re-read his message, to be sure you aren’t imagining anything. 

Yeah, he really said that.

So he was flirting? Or something like flirting?

🖤 [wait. is that why you asked me to hang out?]

To be fair, it’s part of why you wanted to hang out with him - but it would be nice to get clarification on his end. Wouldn't want to act like it was a date if he was just being nice and meant cute in some other way. Watching his hands type, you really hope the answer is yes.

“Salmon” he says out loud before the text shows up.

🤍 [you were staring at me blushing for half of class too so i thought we were on the same page?] 🤍 [plus, I had to ask] 🤍 [my friends were all taking bets on if you’d actually show up to my room]

They what? That last text hits like a ton of bricks and he sees it on your face.

So, he’s just hanging out with you to prove to his friends he could get you in his room? This is probably the joke everyone was laughing about before you left class today. First day and you’re already the joke. That’s disappointing, he seemed cute and nice. Now class will be awkward. You press up to leave. Seeing your face, he realizes how you took it.

“Caviar! Benito flakes!” he yells waving his hands before pressing your shoulder, urging you to sit back down. Confused, you stare at him before the onslaught of texts come in.

🤍 [no no no nononono not like that] 🤍 [i said you’re cute because you are cute] 🤍 [i asked you to hang out, because my friends said i’d be stupid not to] 🤍 [well Panda and Yuta did, Maki said you’re too hot for me] 🤍 [and i think Panda just wanted to watch me take an L] 🤍 [but Yuta thought i had a chance] 🤍 [so they all bet on it] 🤍 [and pushed me to ask you today] 🤍 [otherwise i probably would have debated it for a while] 🤍 [i still would have asked] 🤍 [just probably not today] 🤍 [but i really wanted to hang out with you] 🤍 [and Yuta thought i had a chance] 🤍 [besides, even if they were wrong and you didn’t think i was cute, it would be cool being friends] 🤍 [like with another cursed speech user] 🤍 [this shit sucks sometimes] 🤍 [i kinda figured you understood] 🤍 [it’s nice being around you]

He tears his eyes up from his phone to look into yours. He looks sad and desperate to be understood. You know that feeling well. 

There’s a bang on the door and you hear a woman’s voice “I never thought I would say this to you, but can you keep it down in there?? You’ve been banging around all night laughing now you’re yelling?”

“(((go to bed Maki)))” Toge yells at the door.

🤍 [fuck] 🤍 [she’s gonna kill me for that tomorrow] 🖤 [i think she’s just mad she lost the bet]

He smiles slightly, still looking concerned.

🤍 [are you okay?] 🤍 [i promise i actually like you] 🤍 [not just for the lolz] 🖤 [i think so] 🖤 [i had a lot of fun with you] 🖤 [it just sucks being the butt of the joke on the first day] 🤍 [oh] 🤍 [you’re not] 🤍 [me getting someone to like me was the joke] 🤍 [which is fair i guess] 🤍 [but it made me even more nervous] 🖤 [you were nervous?] 🤍 [you're pretty] 🤍 [and you can use more words than me] 🤍 [i thought so, at least] 🤍 [what am i supposed to say to you?] 🖤 [i get that] 🖤 [i was so nervous too] 🖤 [i have no game]  🖤 [i can’t even talk to you] 🖤 [your friend was right tho] 🖤 [i do think you’re cute]

**not my photo, but here's what i think your curse marks look like:

part 2

m.list

[temtamtom]

Please ignore the fact I accidentally posted this and then deleted it okay anyways

These two have had a myriad of personal conflicts over the years. They had a difficult relationship as children and then spent the rest of their adolescence and early adulthood separately. They interacted, of course, and they saw each other as brothers, but that was it. We are related by blood, but I don’t see you as FAMILY family. If that makes sense. But if I had to pick their biggest fight, it would be:

Tl;Dr: Emotions were running high and unchecked after Italian unification, leading to a blow-out fight when Romano announced that he was moving to America for a little while.

I need to provide some context and explain my headcanons, so this might be a long one kjdfgk I hope it makes sense! Also, a warning because my Feli isn't all that canon-compliant ;; but I think he's a bit more accurate to the northern attitudes of the time

There's a common headcanon within the fandom that Romano was entirely against unification and resisted it from the start. I think this is a bit of an inaccurate and an over-simplified perspective. By the early and mid 1800s, there were many instances of uprisings against absolutism in Southern Italy, which strove for more liberal ideals. The revolutionaries wanted a constitutional monarchy, or even a republic. Through their uprisings and the creation of a secret, revolutionary network across the peninsula, revolutionary ideals began to spread throughout and inspire others.

This is of course a gross oversimplification of the history, but I’m bringing this all up to illustrate the idea that Romano was starting to grow tired of the “status quo”, and was desperate for a change. Unification wasn’t necessarily what he had in mind at first, especially when we consider that he and Feliciano were pretty distant at this point in time. However he soon got swept up in the fervor and optimism of the patriots, and he began to believe in their vision. He believed in a future where he could finally be truly independent- free to call the shots and live his life freely without the worry of being tossed around and claimed by other European powers. He believed in a future where, maybe, he could have a family again. To fix what was broken between him and Feliciano. Romano may come across as quite crude, but he’s a very passionate man. Someone who loves and craves so deeply, to the point where his heart/imagination can far outrun him.

So imagine the betrayal felt when he realized that unification wasn’t working in his favour. He was practically discarded, and seen as “lesser than” his northern brother. His brother, who treated him as an oddity, and had an air of moral superiority over Romano. They kept each other at arm's length, as though they were roommates forced to endure the other, rather than two brothers sharing a home. Disillusioned and hurt, Romano felt like a fool for believing in a dream that didn’t come true. 

Feliciano struggled with many emotional grievances, which Romano wasn’t privy to. He lost his long-time husband/partner just a few decades prior, and instead of taking the time to confront the grief, he picked himself back up and turned his attention towards independence and unification. He threw himself head first into uprisings, wars, political negotiations, and rallies- all to achieve this patriotic goal of forming “Italy”, and perhaps to distract himself from the loss (though he won’t admit it). He also thought, maybe foolishly, that his life would get better after unifying with his brother. That he would have a family again, that he wouldn’t feel so alone, that he would love and be loved and they could hold hands and skip happily into a field of sunshine and rainbows and everything would be okay– 

What should have brought them together, they both realized, seemed to drive a deeper wedge between them. The reality was that they were incompatible. They couldn’t stand each other. To Feliciano, Romano was nothing but an uncivilized brute who only complained and never wanted to work, and lived to insult him every day. To Romano, Feliciano was a pompous, stuck-up elite asshole who refused to acknowledge the very real pain and disillusionment of his new, southern citizens. Both brothers felt as though everything- all the blood, sweat, and tears- was just a massive waste.

As you can imagine, it was a VERY tense and unhappy household for many reasons. They began to argue. A LOT. Fights that were far uglier than the scraps they had as children. It got to a point where they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as each other.

It all came to a head, however, when Romano announced that he was leaving. He had his motives, reasonable ones too, but Feliciano didn’t see that. All he saw was his no-good, lazy brother abandoning him and their country after all the effort they put into creating it, leaving him with all the stress and work while he galavants off to America. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The announcement devolved into an explosive fight. Things were said that, to this day, haven’t been fully forgiven. With all the anger and tension, they probably threw in a few good punches as well. Romano eventually left, and Feliciano thought to himself “Good riddance”. However as time wore on, they couldn’t help but think about the other, wonder how they were doing, and reflect on how they parted ways. 

Things were still a bit tense when Romano returned, and they didn’t acknowledge the fight for a while. However, they began putting a bit more effort into rekindling their relationship. It took some time, and it wasn’t an easy journey, but they’re in a much healthier place now than before. They’re glued at the hip, they share everything, they know every little quirk and detail about the other, and they’ve begun to love each other as family (though teasing and head-butting is a common occurrence). 

If you asked them back then if they would go through unification, they would be incredibly iffy. But if you asked them now, they would likely say yes. They wouldn't trade their brother for anything in the world.

[torialefay]

dear tori, do you have a minute to talk about our lord and savior christopher bang, and more specifically these videos from the met gala?

https://twitter.com/backsdoors/status/1787611418755285267?t=XkWEPIdkxCvncRqTISp_3A&s=19

https://twitter.com/backsdoors/status/1787621386053189754?s=19

thank you for your time.

—🧸

hi 🧸 anon!!!! i hadn't seen that second link you sent me and oh my god 😭😭😭😭

here's the thing: i am delusional. and all of these clips make me think about what it would be like to be chan's girlfriend at the met.

you're in the crowd at the met waiting nervously for all of the kids to arrive. and when they do, you feel like the proudest parent in the world. they way they look and behave is giving you the biggest sense of fulfilment. they all look scared shitless, but a proud mom moment nonetheless.

and then, you look over and finally lock in on your boyfriend. how fucking beautiful he is. his cape falling off of his body to reveal a suit that had been tailored just for him. his big, broad shoulders highlighted along the line of the jacket.

and the way that he'd secure his jacket inward to make sure it looked perfect. he knew he had to be perfect tonight with so many eyes on him.

and you'd watch in awe as they did what they do best. charming everyone. your group of boys, now looking like grown men. you couldn't contain yourself. before you knew it, tears were starting to well up in your eyes as you smiled and covered your mouth. this was all just too perfect.

when you'd focused in on your boyfriend again, that's when you really lost it. you couldn't believe he'd made it here. your fucking man. at the met gala. the shine in his eyes looked like it was made for him. and everything about him was made for you.

as you started releasing a few tears, you couldn't help to yourself but mouth the words "my baby" while looking in awe. grasping your hands to your chest, you took deep breaths, admiring him for all he was. "so perfect," you'd mouth again.

you watched again as the boys went up the stairs for their interviews. although you couldn't hear them, you were sure that they were doing great. chan was holding the mic the entire time, and your heart raced, looking at the emotions going across his face to clue you in to what they were talking about. others may not be able to notice, but you knew that he was nervous. he showed it in his own, hidden way. your perfect boyfriend.

your eyes would continue to follow as they finished their interviews. you could see the relief on chan's face once he realized that the hard part was over with. he was so excited and so giddy to know that he could now freely enjoy himself for the rest of the night. he'd gotten through it, and he'd done a good job. while waiting to go into the museum, he looked out to see if he could find you. he craned his neck in all directions and squinted harshly until he could make out your face. you smiled as hard as you could, waving and giving him small excited fist bumps into the air. he perked right up, following your moves.

when they were about to enter the huge building, a panicked look came over chan's face as he was told that they needed to do something with the members' phones. they only had a couple of staff near them, but they offered to take care of it. while the members handed chan all of the phones, he was struggling to hold him in his two hands. instinctually, chan turned his body around to find you in the crowd, motioning for you to come up and take the phones for him. he knew you'd keep them safe in your purse.

a bit embarrassed, you knew that this is what it meant to be the mom and dad of stray kids. always having to take care of the kids. trying to draw the absolute least amount of attention, you shimmied up the stairs and to the boys waiting patiently.

you threw your hands out, almost in a panic, to retrieve the phones so that the boys could get back on schedule. you placed each one quickly in your purse before zipping it up and resting it snug to your hip.

"thank you baby," chan huffed out, a sigh of relief on his face.

you'd fully expected to grab the phones and dash, but instead, chris pulled you in for a quick peck on the lips to say thank you. you blushed incessantly as you pulled away, locking your eyes on his. for one fleeting moment, it was just you and him.

you had to break the eye contact to quickly get back downstairs. you told the boys they did great and to have a fun time. that you'd be waiting with their phones as soon as they were done.

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

the next day would be filled with photos of you at the gala. a quick snap of your kiss with chan of course. and a shot of you "to the rescue" and taking up the phones. but there was a video you didn't expect as well. in the crowd, you could be seen with your big watery eyes, mouthing the phrase "my baby... so perfect" while you stared with so much love at chris.

comment after comment was speaking your praises. captions like "if my future partner isn't like this, i don't want them" and "literal goals. they are so in love." ... and they weren't wrong.

you'd be dubbed as the "mom and dad" of kpop. everyone would be able to see AND feel the love you'd have with your little stray kids family. and to be honest, even the members themselves saw you that way too.

[shitsndgiggs]

how about a misunderstood ex-husband, kenan, who you divorced thinking that he cheated on you but he didn't. angst with a fluff ending, please 🎀

A/N: I changed it to ex-boyfriend

REKINDLED LOVE - KENAN YILDIZ

Such a painful breakup all caused by a misunderstanding

ex-boyfriend! Kenan Yildiz x reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

It had been half a year since the breakup, but every day felt like it had just happened. The pain was still raw, the wound still fresh.

I had ended things with Kenan in a fit of anger, convinced he had cheated on me.

The sight of him with another girl, laughing and holding hands, was burned into my memory. I hadn't waited for an explanation. I had just left, my heart shattered, my trust destroyed.

Tonight was no different. I found myself at our favorite park, the place where we had shared so many memories.

The moonlight cast long shadows on the ground, and the chill in the air mirrored the coldness in my heart.

I sat on the bench where we used to sit, our initials carved into the wood, and stared at the sky, trying to hold back tears.

Suddenly, a voice broke through my thoughts. "Y/N?"

I turned, and there he was. Kenan. Standing a few feet away, his expression a mix of hope and desperation. "Kenan," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"I've been looking for you," he said, stepping closer. "We need to talk."

I stood up, my heart pounding. "There's nothing to talk about. You cheated, Kenan. You broke my heart."

He shook his head, pain evident in his eyes. "No, Y/N. I didn't. Please, just let me explain."

I crossed my arms, trying to hold on to my anger. "Explain what? That you were with someone else? I saw you, Kenan. With my own eyes."

He took a deep breath, his voice trembling. "The girl you saw me with... she's my cousin. She had just moved to town, and I was helping her settle in. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen."

My heart ached at his words, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "Your cousin?" I whispered, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"Yes," he said, stepping closer. "I would never cheat on you, Y/N. I loved you. I still do."

I looked down, tears streaming down my face. "Why didn't you fight harder? Why did you let me go?"

Kenan reached out, his hand gently lifting my chin. "Because you were so hurt and angry. I thought you needed space. But I've regretted it every single day since then."

As we stood there, the night air around us heavy with unresolved emotions, we began to talk. Kenan explained everything, his voice filled with pain and regret.

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, and slowly, my doubts began to dissolve.

"I missed you so much," I confessed, my voice breaking. "I felt so betrayed, and I just... I didn't know what to do."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "I missed you too, Y/N. Every single day. I thought about you constantly, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy."

Tears fell freely now, and I didn't bother to wipe them away. "I'm sorry, Kenan. I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

Kenan's eyes softened, and he pulled me into his arms. "It's okay, Y/N. We both made mistakes. But we can fix this. We can start over."

I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent. "I want to, Kenan. I want to be with you again."

He held me tighter, his voice a whisper in the night. "I want that too. More than anything."

We stood there for what felt like hours, holding each other, the silence between us filled with understanding and forgiveness. Eventually, we sat down on the bench, our hands intertwined, and talked about everything.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and for the first time in months, I felt at peace.

As the night wore on, we walked through the park, the moonlight guiding our steps.

Kenan pulled me close, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. "You know," he said, a teasing glint in his eye, "you're going to have to make it up to me for all the time we lost."

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in a long time. "Oh, I will. I promise."

He stopped walking, turning to face me. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Kenan," I said, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

[le-trash-prince]

THIS SCENE

THIS SCENE WAS EVERYTHING TO ME

First of all, shout-out to Nick for quietly but assuredly knocking on the door to the stall while Boston and his hookup are making out and then proceeding to give a heartfelt apology and confession, as if the hookup isn’t even there. 95% of people wouldn’t be caught dead even walking into the bathroom, and the other 5% would cause a loud, raging scene. Nick is in his own league.

Also I do feel bad for the hookup for getting interrupted and then having to stand at the back of the bathroom stall during all this. Shoutout to you bro.

Anyways can I just gush and be emotional over this scene? After everything that Nick has done to try and keep Boston by his side, he comes in with this speech to say goodbye, and he gives Boston so many things that he needed to hear.

First of all, this apology was absolutely necessary, as was the “You don’t have to forgive me.” Boston hasn’t gotten a single acknowledgment that what happened to him was messed up. The only apology Nick gave before was when he was begging Boston to stay, and that’s not a real apology, that’s just saying what you think someone wants to hear. While Nick could have gone into more detail about why what he did was wrong, this is still a heartfelt and genuine apology. He’s not apologizing just to make Boston happy with him. He’s not begging for forgiveness. He’s just saying that he’s sorry.

Then there’s this. This is one of the things I love about BostonNick because they do seem so truly happy around each other, even outside the bedroom. And Nick has never said it until now. Boston has gotten closer to saying this than Nick. And Boston probably hasn’t heard this from anyone before.

We know that Boston is used to people only wanting him for sex. We know he was surprised when Nick asked him to help move because he couldn’t comprehend someone wanting a favor from him that wasn’t sexual in nature.

Earlier this episode, Atom compliments Boston’s photography skills, but that conversation was about sex and Atom trying to get into Boston’s pants. Nick has already made it clear that he isn’t asking for anything, and I don’t think Boston is used to people complimenting him without an angle.

But this is the part that Boston needed to hear the most. Because honestly, who doesn’t need to hear this?

“You’re not a bad guy.” Boston especially is constantly villainized by the people around him, when there’s only a few specific things that he has really done wrong. And this statement wouldn’t hit the same coming from anyone else. Because Nick knows everything that Boston has done wrong, and Nick has done some of those same things himself. Nick means it when he says Boston isn’t bad. And this in itself is an apology for things Nick has said before. That Boston is a bad guy, that he deserved what he got for sleeping around.

“Your friends love you for who you are” It’s the way Boston has to steel himself for a moment when Nick says this. Hats off to you, Boston coz I’d be weeping. You are so dedicated to not feeling emotions but Nick has gotten to you.

“Because I love you for who you are.” Honestly do y’all think Boston has ever expected that he would hear these words? Boston is so scared of being known. He tries to wear his confidence on his sleeve, but he is scared of exposure and he is scared of letting people close.

And yet here is Nick, who knows Boston. Who knows that Boston lusts freely and openly, who knows that Boston can be mean with the truth, and that he has the fatal human flaw of desiring companionship. And he loves him. Who doesn’t want that!!

Boston is processing more feelings in this moment than he has in his entire life. The Boston of 8 episodes ago would not care about Nick saying goodbye. The shirt is bang on the nose once again because the old Boston, the pre-Nick Boston would be smiling like nothing mattered. But instead, his walls have crumbled.

I cannot say enough that I love the way this scene closed. That this is what pushes Boston to chase after Nick. The development!!! 😔🤌✨

And then we end with a parallel shot from before the bathroom!! The cinematic poetry is killing me. Nick seeing Boston with someone else and deciding to move on—and then Boston seeing Nick with someone else and realizing that he wants to hold on.

I need ppl to yell about this with because I’m not okay, I love this red flag ship, and I want to glue this scene to my eyeballs.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 59)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

Her words lingered in your mind as you left the office, dazed, confused, and heartbroken. The short walk back to your car seemed like an eternity, as if the streets of Dublin had somehow elongated into a never-ending labyrinth of despair.

The moment you climbed into the driver's seat, the tears flowed freely, unleashing the torrent of emotions that had been mounting since your confrontation with Cillian. 

This was a mess, for you and for Mara. You were determined to make things works for the sake of your daughter but felt at fault for now screwing it up by somehow leading Cillian to think that you were ready to forgive him.

You felt guilt for sleeping with him that night after a heated argument and now you had to deal with the consequences of his and your own emotional turmoil. 

You cranked up the car and decided to head back to your mother's house for now, putting on a brave face to pick up Mara.

When you arrived at her house however, your mother immediately 

noticed that something was wrong. She was a perceptive woman and knew you well enough to recognize when something was amiss. You tried to put on a smile and explain that everything was alright, but she wasn't convinced.

After a while, you finally decided to open up to her about what had happened with Cillian in counselling. You were hoping that she would have some words of wisdom to help you navigate this unexpected turn of events.

“He wants Mara three days a week and negotiate care during the times that he is away on an as needed basis through a mediator, prior to filming. This means Mara wouldn’t even have time with the both of us, together, as a family. This was what we have been working on so hard, just for him to throw it all away?” you told her, reading from his solicitor’s letter which explained, in detail, the proposed parenting plan and mediation document.

She listened quietly, then pulled you into a warm embrace. “He is hurting Y/N, but I have known him long enough to believe that he will come around again. He might just need some time and some distance from you ,” she whispered, rocking you gently.

You let out a heavy sigh, nodding in silent agreement. You knew she was right. Despite everything that had happened, you couldn't help but still care for him. You wanted nothing more than for the two of you to find a way to co-parent Mara peacefully and amicably, without the constant tension and hostility that had become the norm.

As mother and daughter released each other from their embrace, your mum placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It will all work out and, until it does, just make sure Mara gets the one on one time with her father she needs. I made this mistake myself, alienating you from your father out of spite and   anger, and I see how much it still affects you. Let's not repeat this. Mara will need her father and his love, as much as she needs you and yours, no matter what happens between the two of you.,” she said, her eyes filled with wisdom and understanding.

You looked at her, appreciating her words of wisdom more than ever. She was right. You needed to put your differences aside for the sake of Mara's well-being.

“I know and I have no problem with him spending time with her on his own, but I just wanted her to have a family union too rather than a mum at one house and a dad at another,”  you explained, as you wiped away your tears.

“I know dear, but sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to, and we need to find a way to make the best of it. It isn’t ideal, but it’s better than not having a relationship with her father at all,” she replied, soothingly.

After a few moments of silence, you composed yourself and prepared to leave with Mara as it was getting close to her bedtime already. 

Surprisingly, she settled quiet easily that night even though your mother gave her more sweets than you would usually have approved of.  Finding it hard to shake off thoughts of Cillian and the recent counseling session, you found yourself in Mara’s room, lying beside her, wishing for everything to be different. 

As such, shortly after Mara went to sleep, you couldn’t help but pick up your phone and  type a message to Cillian, hoping that  he would change his mind. 

The text read:

"Hey, I know you are angry with me but, can we talk about this please? I think it would be best if we could discuss everything openly and try to find a way to co-parent effectively without a mediator. It just seems sterile and I feel like the arrangement proposed by you is unsuitable for Mara."

It was a simple message, but you hoped it would convey the urgency you felt in finding an amicable solution, but Cillian’s response was sharp and to the point. 

“I disagree, and I insist on mediation moving forward instead of counseling something that, clearly, cannot be fixed. I will pick Mara up at noon tomorrow as discussed,” he replied.

You pursed your lips, frustrated. He still remained firm on his decision despite your plea.

You sighed and let your fingers dance on the screen, “Alright then. Have it your way, but just remember that Mara is not a piece of possession to be traded from one house to another. She needs us both, working together and she is used to staying at my house overnight, so it will take some time to change this. She is still young Cillian.” 

There was a pause, and you stared at the screen, praying for a reconsideration. But there was none.

Instead, Cillian replied with a single word. "Understood."

You sighed. It wasn't the response you were hoping for, but at least it was something. You knew that there was no point in trying to argue further and so, you decided to leave it at that. For now.

The next day, as promised, Cillian arrived at noon to pick up Mara. You both exchanged pleasantries but it was clear that the tension between you was still palpable.

Cillian's demeanour was distant, and his eyes barely met yours as he reached out to take Mara from your arms. You could feel the tears threatening to spill over again but fought them back, not wanting to create a scene in front of Mara.

With Mara, at least, he was genuinely warm and affectionate. He loved her more than life itself and she was excited to see him. 

“Dada, Dada, Dada!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she caught sight of him. It tugged at your heartstrings to see how much she adored her father, even if the current situation was far from ideal.

As Cillian drove away with Mara, you found yourself alone in your house, feeling a mix of emotions but you kept yourself busy by cleaning and attending to various chores.

Then, before you knew it, it was dinner time and Cillian returned  Mara to your care. Once she was settled in for the evening, you decided to take a long, hot shower to wash away the stress of the day.

You stood under the warm, pulsating water, letting it soothe your tense muscles and relax your mind. The silence was blissful, a brief respite from the chaos that had been your life as of late. As the water washed over you, your thoughts turned to Cillian, and you couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

What was he thinking?

Was he really okay with the mediator getting involved and handling all the communication between the two of you? It seemed so cold and emotionless to you, but you knew it was his way of coping with everything that had happened. You sighed, reaching for a towel to wrap around yourself as you stepped out of the shower.

You padded into your bedroom, your mind swirling with thoughts. You glanced at the clock and saw that it was already almost 10 pm. Mara would be waking up early again tomorrow, and you wanted to be well-rested for her.

So, you quickly dried off, slipped on your pajamas, and crawled into bed. As you closed your eyes, the day's events replayed through your mind.

The following morning, you woke up and scrolled your emails which is where it was, the first email from the mediator. It had been sent the day before but you never noticed.

In this email, he relayed that Cillian's solicitor had asked for Cillian to have Mara every Saturday, including nights, until filming was completed and seeing how he would fly home on a Friday afternoon and then fly back on Sundays, this wasn't entirely unreasonable.

Knowing it was best for Mara to see her father every week, you agreed  to it and also proposed a weekly FaceTime call on Thursday nights, to facilitate communication and let Mara have some consistency in her schedule.

The mediator was pleased by your willingness to make this work and also proposed a weekly meeting, via Facetime, with you both to address any issues that may arise and to work on a parenting plan for when Cillian was back home.

You felt a small sense of relief as this arrangement seemed much better than what you had thought would happen, but you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach. This all still felt like strangers stepping in and taking control of your lives, but you vowed to make it work for the sake of Mara.

The rest of the week was a blur. You spent your days focused on work, Mara, and your studies, avoiding any lingering thoughts about Cillian and Cillian did the same. He focused on work, filming the new Peaky Blinders movie and socializing with colleagues. 

One of his colleagues was no other than Annabelle Wallis who had returned to play Grace Shelby, only ever present in Thomas Shelby's dreams and hallucinations. Cillian and her had a fair few scenes together and, unbeknownst to you, she had always taken a liking in him which ultimately was what led to numerous rumors of an affair between them while he was married to Danielle. 

Annabelle was excited to work with Cillian again for reasons that were not just professional and throughout the entire week she would often initiate conversations with him, asking about you and Mara.

It was no secret on set that the relationship between you and Cillian was strained, especially not after the media fall out that came after the Oscars, and Annabelle was determined to take advantage of it.

As the days went by, Annabelle was always there, making sure she spent as much time as possible with Cillian, whether it was in front of the cameras or behind them. She would often make comments about your relationship, pretending to be there as a shoulder to lean on when he needed someone to talk, although mostly, Cillian remained silent when it came to his personal affairs. 

"You know, if you ever need someone to vent to, I'm here, alright? I just went through a breakup myself and I know it can be hard," she said with a warm smile, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder after they wrapped up filming for the day. 

"Thanks, Annabelle, but I'm fine. We're just working things out and that takes time," Cillian replied, but he felt a pang of guilt in admitting this to Annabelle.

"Don't you think that, maybe, this ship has sailed?" Annabelle asked, eyeing him skeptically. "I mean, I've seen the news. I've read the tabloids and last night you were really pissed off with her. I've heard you talking to Steve about it and it's just, I don't know...," she trailed off, letting her words hang in the air before continuing the conversation into a different direction. "Do you want to go for a drink? No talking, just relaxing and listening to some live music? It might help you relax and unwind before the early start tomorrow," Annabelle continued, sensing that Cillian needed an escape from the constant stress of his personal life and work.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before agreeing. "Alright, let's go. I could do with a pint," he said with a chuckle and so they spent the evening at a popular pub in town, enjoying a few drinks and chatting about everything except the elephant in the room - his broken relationship with you. 

Annabelle seemed to instinctively know when to change the subject and Cillian found himself appreciating her efforts. She was a good listener, too, and seemed genuinely interested in his thoughts and opinions.

As they talked, Cillian felt himself relaxing for the first time in ages. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he could breathe and think clearly again. For a few hours, at least, he was able to forget about his troubles and focus on something other than his strained relationship with you.

When they finally emerged from the pub, many hours later, they were both feeling quite tipsy as they walked back to the apartment building in which the cast was staying. It was like a hotel of some sort, but without a bar on site. 

"Would you care for a nightcap at my place?" she asked, giving him a suggestive look and, again, Cillian hesitated for a moment, his thoughts immediately going to the obvious and unspoken boundaries between them. 

Annabelle sensed his reluctance and decided to press the issue, softly placing her hand on his forearm and looking him in the eyes. "Hey, no pressure, just a drink and some good conversation. I promise," she said with a smile.

He knew he shouldn't do it, but some part of him wanted to simply have some company. Besides, what could it hurt? It was just a drink, right?

"Alright," he nodded, following her up to her apartment even as his conscience screamed at him to rethink his decision.

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[ahli-stuff]

The Corinthian: more than an object but less than a human and a wretched reflection of his creator

My obsession with the Corinthian is so funny because at first it's like ok. Cool. He's this gay serial killer nightmare with creator issues who's turns out to be a charming antagonist while he's pitted against dream and going about his nefarious plans on screen. What's not to love?

But then there's the next layer of oh...he has preferences and quirks and interests, but he's not a person enough to be a human he's a tool.. that's why he gets unmade in the middle of the street by his lord!! That he had a couple millennia of history with!! Because it's easy.. Dream has the blueprints, therefore remaking the Corinthian and editing out these faulty design aspects is pragmatic. It's efficient. It's less effort and way less emotionally taxing that trying to wrangle in your rogue creation and trying coax them back into doing their job. A human makes a mistake, you correct and reprimand them and offer a better course of action. But if your wrench rusts, you throw it away and buy a new one. It doesn't matter if it's your prized or even your favorite wrench, if it's been rusted to the point of uselessness, you toss it.

And the Corinthian, the agonized wrench, can probably only think: "Did I really mean so little to you?"

I think it totally fucks with his mind. The fact that Dream refers to the Corinthian as his masterpiece and yet he is still lesser in every form of his being—his agency is lesser in every form.

But you can't really blame Dream, can you?

Dream treats the corinthans agency like he treats his own—unnegotiable. For him, it has always been perform your function or die.

Dream: We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than what I am.

And the Corinthian, in his own eye teeths, has performed his prescribed duty perfectly without hesitation or fail for thousands of years as well and worn as a well used knife—but he knows he can do more, so he does. Because if his function is to chase and slaughter in the dreaming, what's to say can't do it in the waking too?

Besides, in the waking, he's realer. More combobulated. More valued. If you're a mirror for long enough you start to crave a look of your own.

And oh, even with the thrill of newfound freedom, he loves his lord. He's eager for to give to him—to share with him—everything that's ever been dreamed of. In the Corinthians long, long, life he has only ever had his purpose and his lord and for a while that was enough, but his expectations evolve, he changes.

And that's really what dooms him.

Over the course of The Sandman you can see that looking deeper into Dream's ideology "perform your function or die" reveals one of the true themes of the sandman which is "change yourself or die." The Corinthian, whether intentionally or unintentionally serves as a mirror to dreams own character arc and the way dream treats himself.

Like how people put facets of themselves in their original characters, I think that in the corinthian Dream put a version of his own insatiable hunger; to break every rule, to run freely, to enjoy hedonistically. In creating the Corinthian as a mirror Dream unknowingly reflected a distorted face of one of his own buried desires—and i think he couldn’t accept that.

The Corinthian even calls dream out for it at the serial convention (even though he's advocating for murder) he's also jabbing at Dream's unwillingness to show emotional vulnerability and the cage he's built around himself.

Corinthian: Or you might actually feel something.

The dream the Corinthian knows he always cared exceptionally little for humans save for a select few, so what remains is this. Dream might've cared for the Corinthian, but he would unmake him, his prized creation, not for any moral justice, not for a personal slight, but for his rules and nothing else.

For the corinthian, who has spent years upon years upon years with his lord, fighting in his wars, chasing after his approval, pouring every ounce of love and loyalty to him—it stings.

And then there's this scene.

Dream: You're right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you. But I created you poorly then.

This is the Corinthian, knowing he is about to die, spilling his frustration and spite to his creator for maybe the first and last time and trying, desperately, to make dream understand that none of this is fair (it's never been, for either of them. It's been the function and nothing else for an eternity but they could be happy.)

This is Dream purposely misinterpreting the Corinthian in the way that is guaranteed to hurt the him the most. Dream, with a writer's indifference, reduces the Corinthian's complicated desperate desire for freedom, rebellion, and his creator's love to his typo. Like a character’s grievance towards their writer, like a man’s outrage towards their god, Dream decides not to deign the corinthian with even the right to call his treason his own. He will not even let him have that bit of agency. No, Dream made the Corinthian wrong.

And then Boyd Holbrook does a phenomenal piece of acting here—he knows how to play evil and charming so well but the Corinthian’s vulnerability is so starkly on display it feels like a knife.

And when you imagine he is about to burst into bloody tears and anguished final words, this is how it ends: they leave each other cruel and jagged, because the corinthian will not end pathetic and he will have the last word.

The Corinthian: I am only sorry I won’t be here to see Rose Walker do the same to you.

The first Corinthian never gets a happy ending.

I don’t think there’s any universe where he doesn’t bite more than he’s allowed to and there is no world where he can really be forgiven. As there is no universe where Morpheus Dream does not stubbornly tie himself to his function and hurt himself and those around him with his pride.

In objectification and the inability to change, they exist as wretched mirrors of each other: The first Corinthian, sick of his function and executed for abandoning it, and Dream, unendurably tired, taking his sister's hand in his when he can no longer bear to perform his duty.

[akajustmerry]

"The cycle of violence in The Last of Us Part II appears to be largely modelled after the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I suspect that some players, if they consciously clock the parallels at all, will think The Last of Us Part II is taking a balanced and fair perspective on that conflict, humanizing and exposing flaws in both sides of its in-game analogues. But as someone who grew up in Israel, I recognized a familiar, firmly Israeli way of seeing and explaining the conflict which tries to appear evenhanded and even enlightened, but in practice marginalizes the Palestinian experience in a manner that perpetuates a horrific status quo.

The game's co-director and co-writer Neil Druckmann, an Israeli who was born and raised in the West Bank before his family moved to the U.S., told the Washington Post that the game's themes of revenge can be traced back to the 2000 killing of two Israeli soldiers by a mob in Ramallah. Some of the gruesome details of the incident were captured on video, which Druckmann viewed. In his interview, he recounted the anger and desire for vengeance he felt when he saw the video—and how he later reconsidered and regretted those impulses, saying they made him feel “gross and guilty.” But it gave him the kernel of a story.

“I landed on this emotional idea of, can we, over the course of the game, make you feel this intense hate that is universal in the same way that unconditional love is universal?” Druckmann told the Post. “This hate that people feel has the same kind of universality. You hate someone so much that you want them to suffer in the way they’ve made someone you love suffer.”

"That's what this story is about, do the ends justify the means, and it's so much about perspective. If it was to save a strange kid maybe Joel would have made a very different decision, but when it was his tribe, his daughter, there was no question about what he was going to do," Druckmann said.

In the game, most of the Wolves regime's restrictions are directed at a post-apocalyptic religious sect called the Seraphites (the Wolves call them "Scars" after the ritualistic scarring of their faces). These Scars vexed FEDRA as well when it was in control. The dynamic in the city when the game begins is one of conflict, escalation, and a broken truce. The Wolves, like FEDRA, leverage more resources and raw power, while the Scars rely on surprise strikes against Wolf patrols, and a zealous willingness to die for the cause.

To run through just a few key ways in which the Scars uncomfortably reflect some Israeli stereotypes about Palestinians: Later in the game, Ellie finds a location called "Martyr Gate," where the Scars' spiritual leader apparently died, indicating a religious significance of a specific and disputed location, and emphasizing the notion of martyrdom as central to their culture. The Scars are able to get around Wolf patrols and various barriers around the city via an elaborate, secret system of bridges between skyscrapers. These function as a kind of flipped version of the underground tunnels Palestinians use to bypass Israeli blockades and other means of limiting free movement in order to get supplies and carry out attacks on Israel.

In The Last of Us Part II's Seattle, Scars and Wolves hurt each other terribly, and the same can be said about Israel and Palestine. The difference is that when flashes of violence abate and the smoke clears, one side continues to live freely and prosper, while the other goes back to a life of occupation and humiliation. One side continues to expand while the other continues to lose the land it needs to live. Imagining this process as some kind of symmetric cycle benefits one side more than the other, and allows it to continue.

Ellie's journey of revenge seems especially cruel, even idiotic, because we are never given a good reason for why she keeps recommitting to it. Acts of cruelty along the way, like Ellie's torturing another character to get information, are presented as inevitable. This seems to be The Last of Us Part II's thesis: humans experience a kind of "intense hate that is universal," as Druckmann told The Post, which keep us trapped in these cycles. This is not a universal feeling as much as it's a learned way of seeing the world. 

The Last of Us Part II is an incredible journey that provides not only one of the most mesmerizing spectacles that we've seen from big budget video games, but one that manages to ask difficult questions along the way. It's clearly coming from an emotionally authentic and self-examining place. The trouble with it, and the reason that Ellie's journey ultimately feels nonsensical, is that it begins from a place that accepts "intense hate that is universal" as a fact of life, rather than examining where and why this behaviour is learned."

The Not So Hidden Israeli Politics of 'The Last of Us Part II' by Emanuel Maiberg

[heybank]

DENY PART TWO

ok i think i might make a series about my jj x reader x pope fic

also kind of dedicated to @starfxkr bc their blog gets me through the jj pope drought that is on tumblr (if you don't wanna be tagged i'll totally delete but i luv you even tho i don't know you

this isn't technically a part two but it's inspired by my previous fic deny

i'm hoping to maybe fully flesh out a whole mini story about them bc i love jj and pope so bad and i wanna kiss them both and have them kiss each other.

please send me prompts or if you have any ideas or you just wanna gush about jj and pope 💜

i'm a cancer, ok

you've always felt your emotions more deeply than others. you have a lot of feelings and it's not uncommon for you to start tearing up at random times throughout the day when you see something that elicits a strong feeling from you.

kie says it's because you're a cancer and while she's so true because you are the stereotypical emotional water sign, you're not sure how much of your mental state is because of your astrological sign or if you're genuinely a few screws loose in the head.

you remember hiccuping and sobbing into jjs shirt for the better part of half an hour- staining his sleeveless tee with your tears all because you saw a seagull missing a foot and he seemed to be running slower than his other seagull friends. your only relief from the obvious heartbreaking situation was jj softly murmuring comforting words in your ear, his strong arms around circled around your waist, your body snuggled onto his lap. the scene isn't uncommon for the pogues to see. the two of you have always been more affectionate than most.

all of this leads you to where you are now, curled up on your bed sobbing. soft sad music playing in the background making you sob even more. you put on a brave face with your friends but in the sanctuary of your own bed is where you can finally let your feelings free.

seeing pope and jj kiss hurt you more than you originally thought. your mind keeps replaying the scene of the two boys kiss, their lips moving together sensually, saliva being shared. you're sure that if you hadn't interrupted them, the kiss would lead to something more and involving less clothes.

hey google, play "that should be me" by justin bieber.

what if when they start dating they drop you? what if pope isn't comfortable with how touchy or affectionate you are with jj and he stops your cuddles or what if jj doesn't want you to hang out alone with pope because he knows you two kissed. what if they stop needing you because they have each other?

the thought makes a sob crawl up your throat and fat tears roll down your cheeks. you feel like your head is going to explode from how hard your crying. you need them like air, you felt like that even before you and pope kissed and before you realized you're in love with jj. you need them because they're your closest friends- they're the family you so desperately crave because your own doesn't care much for you and you're so scared if they start dating each other then they won't need you.

it's why you give out your love so freely, the feeling of being needed by people is something that is so deeply and inherently buried in your bones. when someone needs you and you can help them, it feels euphoric. a psychologist would probably have a field day with you because if you're not needed, what good are you?

----

"i'm really confused after our kiss" pope mumbles, nervous to look at jj in the eyes.

"good or bad confused" jj responds.

"is there such thing as good confusion?" pope asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. "i didn't think i was gay or bi or whatever and yeah i think some dudes are hot but like i've never wanted to kiss them but i wanted to kiss you!! and then we kissed and it was like... nice but different and i couldn't help but think about gracie and how she and i kissed and how good that also felt and then i felt guilty and-"

"pope, take a breath" the maybank boy utters, effectively cutting off popes rambles.

"i liked kissing you pope. i never let myself be attracted to dudes but it's you, ya know?" jj continues.

"but i also understand wanting to kiss grace. i... well i want to kiss her too." he finally confesses. he's never said his feelings for his grace out loud before.

pope gently stumbles over to where the maybank boy is perched on his bed, he leans in to grab jjs fidgeting hands, grasping them in what he hopes is a comforting hold.

he leans forward so he can give jj a small peck on the cheek. reassuring him that they're ok, that they'll make it through whatever turmoil they're feeling right now.

jj grabs popes face and brings him in for a deeper kiss, lips and tongues touching. it makes jjs stomach burn with desire. after several minutes or maybe hours of kissing, he's not sure, pope reaches up and pulls on jjs soft blond tresses, tugging on the boys hair a little to pull him away from popes lips. they both let out little gasps when they disconnect.

"have you heard of polyamory?" pope asks jj... a shit eating grin on his lips.

---

giggling and kicking my feet. i love them 💜

[bots-and-cons]

Hello there. This isn't my first time requesting, but it is my first time requesting to you. I read your rules carefully, if I somehow still managed to get it wrong, let me know. There is human baby that is very affectionate. They are always excited to see the Autobots and always giving them a kiss on the cheek or hugging them everytime their feeling down (Platonic). Ratchet and Arcee, please and thank you.

A/N: I wrote this with the reader having a baby/toddler, that they bring to the base occasionally, so the reader is the parent in this case. I didn’t really know how else to write this. There's also this post, this post, and this post about a similar topic

~Arcee~

•When you first brought your baby to the base they were just a few weeks old, so they’ve basically been around the autobots since they were very, very young

•Arcee ended up being the baby’s favorite autobot, and she became very attached to the baby too

•It’s not like you can leave the baby alone with the bots for like the first year, at least not for longer periods of time

•A big part of that is that the autobots are all so big, and might have a hard time holding and handling the baby

•Arcee is smaller than any of the others so she has an easier time handling small creatures, such as a baby or a toddler

•Arcee thinks it’s very interesting to watch your kid grow, and she also finds it very hopeful, like how a creature as weak and fragile such as a baby, can grow into someone so resilient and strong as you

•The kid comes to think of Arcee as a part of the family, and she’s their favorite babysitter

•You’re good friends with Arcee as well, so you spend a lot of time together, and your kid of course is there too

•The kid loves to hug Arcee and be held by her, and Arcee loves holding them and keeping them safe

~Ratchet~

•Ratchet isn’t exactly ecstatic about a baby at the base, because he feels like a baby might disturb his work

•As if that doesn’t happen with the team and the kids too, but surely a baby would be too much

•But when he meets your baby for the first time, it’s an absolutely awe-inspiring moment

•Ratchet has never seen a real baby before, and they’re so tiny and fragile and… adorable?

•Sure the baby sometimes makes some unwanted noise, but in general, they’re a pretty calm and happy baby

•Ratchet looks after your baby when you’re busy with work/studies, so you can work freely

•You’re still at the base when you work, and he comes get you when he doesn’t know what to do with the baby or when they need something

•Ratchet grows very attached to the baby, and he does his absolute best to keep them safe and happy

•In a weird way, the baby also does the same for Ratchet, they give him hope about a better tomorrow

•Ratchet is like family to you and your kid, and you all take care of each other, the baby too, even if it’s more on an emotional level with them

•Sometimes Ratchet just holds the baby while he works, because he wants to be absolutely sure they’re safe

[writing-whump]

It hurts like a bullet, but we don't talk about that

Isaiah sick at an international wolf meet at night. Shawn for some awkward comfort.

Isaiah was fine.

He was completely and utterly fine. No stress. So he broke up with his girlfriend after a year and two months after saying 'I love you' for the first time.

So what. Worse things happen all the time.

Seline didn't really explain. No, she actually explained too much. Hell, he didn't want to think about it.

It still felt so unreal. He thought they were doing fine, that the pack was fine, that he was gaining stability under the little stumble with the heart attack.

This was a shame, of course. And it was humiliating in a way, but he wasn't going to let this consume his attention. He would just disconnect from the issue for a while, until he was sure the emotions wouldn't cloud his judgment and make him unobjective. Time healed everything. In a few weeks he wouldn't feel anything at all. Or disconnect again.

It was no trouble. Like a switch. On or off.

To take a physical and symbolic break too, he let Shawn drag him over to a wolf meet. Conference. Half a year...something. It was important, whatever it was.

Isaiah listened and ignored all the whispering and the looks that he was there. Did he enjoy it a little? Did he really want their attention, the superiority like she said-

He shook his head like he was chasing away a bug. Sometimes thoughts like that - in her voice no less - would assault him out of nowhere.

His heart would speed up and he would get all sweaty and Shawn would give him a look and then make a loud joke, creak with his chair or drag attention to himself in some other emberassing way. That helped a little. Not enough, but a little.

They shared the room together. Isaiah wasn't sure why exactly, Shawn was just as rich, but he wanted Isaiah's name at the registration and Isaiah was too scattered to really look into it.

Shawn was weird on good days. What was a little of it in addition and light of recent events? Nothing.

Matthew said Seline wasn't home either. Went to a conference of her own and then to Rom with her mom and then straight to a colloquium. Maybe they would spend their first weeks after the breakup running around different cities. Just to avoid each other.

He felt a little better after hearing it. He didn't want to analyse why.

The day went on alright. The night was harder.

He woke up sweaty and breathing hard, startled in bed. There was that feeling on impending doom and threat and his chest was squeezing itself together. But he couldn't remember what he was dreaming about.

Isaiah looked at his phone, opening his contacts. He longingly stared at Seline's number. Then on Mattews. Then he put it away.

When he dropped back down on the bed, the bile rose in his throat. He could feel the chicken salad from dinner protesting inside his stomach walls. When his heart got this fast, he always felt nauseous, even now that he was more used to the meds.

With a defeated sigh, he struggled out of bed and went to the bathroom. At least it was a nice, luxurious hotel—lots of space, clean, with good lighting.

He braced himself against the toilet, drops of sweat flowing freely from his face and onto the smooth surface. His stomach hurt dully, the nausea coming and going like the steady movement of sea waves.

He didn't want to think about the sea. Or the girl he watched playing in it for the past month.

The thought was followed by an agressive retch that had him straining over the bowl. Drops of saliva joined the sweat. He followed the nasty strings all the way to the water, feeling entirely dirty in comparison to the smooth bathroom.

Another burp. His stomach muscles contracted and then he vomited the salad. All in one long go. He could barely catch his breath before another followed.

If he let it happen, it would cease to hurt sooner.

He spat out some pieces of green and flushed. Getting to his feet caused him to sway a little, but the panicky feeling was better. He would feel bloated and blah for a bit but hopefully catch some sleep until morning.

He leaned against the massive table the sink was build into, squinting at the light. It was too bright. Why did he switch it on again?

Why was he not moving? Where was he going? Suddenly he felt the overwhelming urge to just curl up on the carpet. Maybe if he stayed in this smooth pretty bathroom, he would catch some of its characteristics. It was so nice and cool.

"Oi. Isaiah, what are you doing?" Shawn's hair was a mess from sleep and he rubbed at his eyes.

Isaiah shrugged. He wasn't sure.

"You are taking too long with the light." Shawn gave him a weird look, the sleepy annoyance yielding to something concerned. "Come on, man."

Isaiah let Shawn guide him back to his bed by the arm. Thankfully, the second step was shutting off the light. He was glad for it.

Curling up against the soft matrass was a logical next step. He made himself as small as possible, shivering against the cold the sweat left behind on his back.

Shawn looked a little confused, but he reached over and pushed the covers over Isaiah just the same. "You okay?"

Isaiah burped loudly, too tired and shaky to mind. His body gave another full-body shiver. "Dinner...dinner didn't agree with me."

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "We going with that story for now?"

Isaiah blinked, trying to identity the direction of Shawn's face. "We still going on with yours, aren't we?"

Shawn smiled sadly and sat down on the edge of Isaiah's bed. "That's fair."

"Yours is weirder." Isaiah managed to muffle the next belch against his hand. "Go to your own room."

Shawn snorted. "You got more of those lined up?"

"...Bye."

Shawn laughed this time. There was something strangely sad about it.

Strange was also the fact Shawn still wasn't leaving.

Isaiah rolled to his side, one eye covered by the pillow. "I don't have the capacity for you right now. Whatever you want, do it in the morning."

Shawn ran his hand through his hair. It was a stressful gesture. The man never touched his hair during the day, too careful of it. "Yeah, I'm aware. I'm sorry. I didn't...mean to make it more difficult on you."

What was that about? Did Shawn know about...? What did he know? What did he want?

"It's fine." If that did them in—the thing he didn't understand anyway—they weren't very strong, were they?

Isaiah let his eyes fall shut, not caring when or if Shawn went back to his own bed.

[earthry]

Mafia Boss Copia x Reader (Headcanons)

i cant find where i saw it but someone commented on one of my posts several days ago with 'evil copia' or smth and it's been stuck in my head. but also its me so he's evil but also a sweetheart so. here's evil copia and then i make him not-evil.

tw: implied/assumed infidelity, kidnapping (not by copia), violence/murder, copia makes a few oopsies and then does his best to make up for it, gn!reader

He would never raise his voice at you let alone a hand— could never in his life imagine doing such a thing to you. Others however? He almost relishes the way their bodies go slack when he’s had a hand around their throats for just the right amount of time. 

He’s not a full on sadist, but he does enjoy causing pain to those he seems deserving. He has a strong (albeit a little twisted) sense of right and wrong and isn’t afraid to put down his believes. 

The first time he meets you, he thinks that you’re such an angel that it has to be an act, there has to be something, a catch, anything. Humans are inherently folly, there’s no way someone as sweet and gentle as you exists.

You’re immediately charmed by him and he’s intrigued by you so he gives you a chance. He takes you out on a nice date and steals your heart without remorse, not knowing that you were giving it to him freely.

Things seem happy in paradise, he’s the perfect boyfriend, the most thoughtful partner.

Except he tests you, and each time you surprise him with patience and understanding. So he keeps on testing and testing, begins to go out with others and flirt around. He’s waiting for the jealousy, the rage, the pettiness— your true colors. He’s so sure he has it in the bag when one day he comes back with lipstick smudges on his neck and the look on your face is of pure horror.

Instead of the satisfaction and smugness of finally causing a reaction however, he only feels sudden waves of guilt, especially when your look of horror melts into a heartbroken despair instead of jealousy.

You don’t yell or scream or shout. You don’t accuse him of anything, you don’t ask him about the lipstick. Instead, you sink to your knees with a soft sob, hiding your face in your hands and trying to stifle your cries.

He doesn’t know what to do— not this scenario. This was not what he had expected and each sniffle you try to muffle before standing up and apologizing for making a scene makes him hate himself even more.

—

It hurts. Watching him with others, listening to him talk so sweetly and playfully while you’re only a few feet away. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the way he is, that’s his personality and you can hardly fault him for that, right? 

You’re afraid of confrontation, of facing the truth when he’s everything you never thought you could have. When it’s just the two of you, he’s so silly and sweet. He treats you like royalty and holds you so gently. You’re so loved.

It must be you that’s the issue then, right?

The night he comes home with lipstick stains and hickies decorating his neck it’s lIke your world is ending. 

He looks smug as all hell and you wonder to yourself— why?

Is it because he wasn’t satisfied with you? Was it your inexperience that he’s either bored or disgusted with? Was it because you weren’t good enough? Weren’t lovable enough? 

Or was it that you were blind the entire time, that you ignored all the signs because you were just so desperate to be loved, so desperate to finally have this one good thing?

You’re too busy facing your biggest fears to see the look of regret and guilt on Copia’s face, too busy trying not to drown to see him reel in his own emotions, to watch his expressions flash from smug to uncertainty to guilt and regret, and finally to a resolve. A decision.

He pulls you into his arms and you want to fight him but you also can’t help but cling. Your sobs get louder and his arms tighten around you, beginning to rock you back and forth soothingly.

You eventually collapse against him, and still you don’t ask the unimaginable. 

His words feel sugary as he comforts you— you’re not sure what to believe anymore— murmuring reassurances and promises that there’s only you, just you. No one else. He was a fool, he tells you, he was a stupid, stupid fool and it was just a dumb joke and he loves you wholeheartedly, adores you dearly. He’s not going anywhere.

But still. It doesn’t change the fact that those are another’s lipstick staining his neck, his collar. Another’s lips that bit and sucked those hickies into his skin. That marked him as theirs and not yours.

He manages to calm you down, until you’re only soft little sniffles and the occasional hiccup. That night he makes you something light for dinner; a comfort food with your favorite tea. He puts on one of your favorite shows and kisses your forehead before leaving to wash up. To shower and get rid of all the evidence of another’s claim on him.

He stands alone in the bathroom and stares at his reflection in his mirror. He wonders who he is now, if he’d fallen under your spell. But then he thinks about everything that is you— your laugh, your smile, your quirks. Your kindness, your patience, the sound of your voice.

He’s haunted by the look on your face when you realized he’d been marked by another and was unapologetic about it. He certainly is apologetic now. Regretful. Guilty.

He knows he’s a horrible man, a cruel one. He knows he’s done awful things. Learned from his father, his brothers. He decides that this is something he’ll never do again.

Never. Not to you.

When he’s fresh and clean, he dresses himself in comfortable sweats and seeks you out— you’re in the living room with your food that you’ve barely had much of. You’re not paying attention to the TV. You’re curled up on the couch.

Copia clenches jaw. He really is a bastard.

Gingerly, he coaxes you up and pulls you onto his lap so he can feed you. You’re reluctant but he manages to feed you at least half of dinner. Each bite you take is met with praise and words of love.

They don’t sink in, they don’t mean anything to you. Not anymore. You try to hang onto them, though. Try to relish the temporary affection you’re receiving while he’s still here. You’d be naive and foolish for thinking he’d stay, for thinking he’d love you unconditionally.

When you’re fed, he helps you change into comfortable pajamas; not protesting or commenting like he usually does when you pick out one of his oversized shirts for comfort. It’s the one that says ‘VVLGAR’ and you hope maybe when he finally leaves, maybe he’ll at the very least let you keep this one. A consolation prize.

He tucks you into bed and holds you close. Whispers his good night and love for you. You know it’s a lie but it’s nice to hear, to pretend it’s not.

Things change after that. He’s gentle with you, as if you’re spun from glass.

He never looks at another again, never touches or flirts again. Not in front of you, not behind your back either. 

He could never do that to you again. He treasures you, loves you. He never wants to hurt you again. 

Good things never last however, and you know it’s only a matter of time until he goes out to seek another’s warmth and company again. You spend months steeling yourself, letting yourself get used to the idea. It’s not healthy or good for you, but you’re so desperate to hold onto him that you think to yourself— if letting him sleep around and see others will keep him around longer, then why not?

Sure, the mere thought of it feels like a stab to the heart. Sure, you know that it won’t last forever and anyone you asked would tell you that it’s a bad idea.

But fuck— when he smiles at you and takes your hand in his, raising them to kiss your palm, to nuzzle with his cheek as he tells you how much he missed you while he was out, when he sits you in his lap and plays with your hair and teases you with light laughter and smothers you with kisses while you dissolve into giggles— you don’t want to give that up.

And you don’t have to, but you don’t realize that. Not yet. 

Copia can see it in your eyes, when you’re having a good time and then suddenly you’re quiet and there’s a sadness in the way you cuddle close and tell him that you love him dearly. He always makes sure to squeeze you a little extra tight for comfort, telling you that he’s not going anywhere, never again.

It takes a while for you to finally realize that he’s telling the truth— it takes you getting kidnapped as leverage against him to convince you that maybe, just maybe, he’s not going anywhere. Not now, not soon, not ever. 

It’s a bloodbath, the amount of carnage he sheds to find you. He takes down several of his competitors in the process— burning them completely to the ground without survivors. It terrifies the remaining rival groups into hiding for years after. 

He finds you eventually, and oh the way he holds you, the way he almost collapses with relief to see you alive and breathing. You’re a little worse for wear but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. He cuts the ropes binding you to the chair and sweeps you off your feet, refusing to let you walk even a single step. He carries you back to his house and calls for Aether, not trusting anyone else to be close to you. 

Aether does an excellent job of healing your injuries before he dips, knowing that Copia is a little beyond bordering feral at this point. The entire time he’s been holding you in his lap, clutching you to him as if you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

He promises you that he’ll make sure that this never happens again, that you’ll be safe. He apologies to you, for putting you in danger just by being with him. He’s gentle with you for months and months to come— even more gentler than he usually is. 

And throughout all of this, you know that you’re so completely and ardently loved and the next time he tells you, promises you, that he’s not going anywhere, that he loves you so so much— you believe him.