#they're both so desperate trying to cling onto a past that is gone and the people in it

[tarobumma]

there are so many things u can say about the goldfinch (2019) movie but my personal nitpick of it that i will never get over is how they made kitsey not wear the emerald earrings at the engagement party. i feel like its such a small but important moment in characterising her and theo’s relationship. 

it takes place after theo confronts kitsey about cheating, so at this point they’re both fully aware how much of an act their relationship/engagement is, and how much they both don’t love each other, at least not the way they should. 

theres something so uncharacteristically tender about it. i truly think this is the only moment of actual real understanding and vulnerability between them. the fact that kitsey chooses to wear them, even though she was right - they don’t suit her - but she’s decided that the fact that they mean something to theo is more important. 

for kitsey, willingly choosing something that blemishes her perfect appearance is so at odds to what we’ve seen of her until now. kitsey’s entire reason for being in a sham relationship with theo is to do with keeping up appearances. 

i think people tend to overlook that kitsey is also dealing with a lot of trauma (in recently losing andy and her dad) and i just feel that this tiny excerpt lifts so much weight in characterising and deepening our perspective of her and her relationship with theo. 

in wearing the earrings, kitsey is acknowledging theo’s vulnerabilities, and i almost feel that in recognising his grief and loss, she exposes her own. and its so fascinating because really this shared experience is what binds them, but is the one thing they never directly acknowledge. this is their one moment of actual honest tenderness and transparency towards each other, and i also love how its immediately followed by everyone at the engagement party interpreting it as a romantic moment and being like, ‘omg finally the happy couple interacting!’ and taking photos of them, etc. the reader is immediately taken out of the intimacy of the moment and swept back into the glaringly contrasting performativity and facade of their relationship. 

[heretherebedork]

The reverse of the embrace from when they were young but, in a way, still the same roles. For all that Kazuma talks about Ren as being shining and perfect and beautiful and having all these friends and being so, so popular... it's still Kazuma who starts everything, Kazuma who makes the first move and the first offer, Kazuma who acts on the yearning and love they share. Every time he takes the first step.

Which makes it even more heartbreaking when you realize that Kazuma's illness and disappearance are why Ren keeps pulling away from him. Ren believes that Kazuma disappeared because they had sex, because he didn't want to have sex with him and that was crying because of the sex when they were young.

And Kazuma never knew because by the time he was able to talk to Ren again... Ren was gone. These two boys are just heartbreaking because Kazuma crying over Ren's beauty and the actions they took leaving him feeling like he'd hurt him was instead taken as regret for what they did together rather than how they did it together.

Kazuma is blinded by how he sees Ren that he doesn't see Ren's own insecurities and fears even when he voices them aloud. Kazuma sees Ren as this perfect, beautiful person who everyone loves and doesn't see how much Ren is begging for his approval and seeking him out constantly.

Again and again they are faced with a situation where they are so young and they don't how to communicate yet and they hurt each other and they hurt each other because they think the other person is hurt, the other person rejected them and that's the greatest pain they share, truthfully, that they are both hurting and both hurt and never managed to say the words in a way the other man understood.

They have missed each other so much. They both left thinking the other person blamed them for what happened, that the other person was hurt by what happened, when both of them were in the same state afterwards but for different reasons and it was illness that kept them apart without them knowing and just... oh, it's agonizing to realize how much they have to talk about but neither of them knows how to talk about it or why they should.

Kazuma wants to be an open book. He wants to talk about everything and put it out in the open but Ren is still certain that Kazuma left because they had sex and he doesn't want to face the idea of any other choices, he doesn't want to hear it from him. Ren is sticking to his assumptions and Kazuma just cannot get a word or force a conversation.

Ren's assumptions and force of personality are driving this when what would solve all their issues is Kazuma's wish for openness and honesty between them about what happens. But the way Kazuma phrases everything, the careful way he talks because he is scared of losing Ren again, of losing any aspect of their relationship, that he locks himself into non-answers and non-responses and nothing because he still thinks Ren is better than him. Oh man, this war of low self-esteem expressing itself in different ways is just the most aching thing in the world.

And then the rules.

The absolute yearning of both of them is a physical and palpable ache in their relationship. They are both still in love and still pining and still desperately clinging to the hurt of the past. Kazuma in his fear of pushing Ren and Ren in avoiding everything from Kazuma that might argue with his view of him.

Ren declares him straight and doesn't give him a chance to argue and Kazuma doesn't try to argue because he's so scare of what he could lose. @absolutebl Japan knows how to place someone on a pedestal and show that they don't want to be there at the same time... especially when they don't realize they're there. Ren has no idea how high the pedestal Kazuma put him onto is but he keeps accidentally reinforcing it with his actions without meaning to but also while not realizing that he's being hurt because of it. But Ren has also put Kazuma on a pedestal this time around, he thinks of him as popular and cool and straight.

They both care so much about each other but they don't see it in the other because what they're looking for and what they're seeing is so different from what they're showing. Ren's very real fear and conviction that Kazuma is a straight man (despite all the proof otherwise) speaks to the way they've both placed the other onto a pedestal of sorts.

There is just so much love between them, so much tenderness and care but also so much history that they can't shake.

They're so in love but neither of them has figured out how to talk about it, how to communicate about their wants and their wishes because they both have fears of being abandoned again. And Kazuma doesn't see it in Ren because he's not looking for it and Ren doesn't see it in Kazuma because he's put him on this pedestal of being straight despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Okay, so we're going to see next week that Ren did know that Kazuma was sick and blamed himself and ran and that hurts so much more in a way because all we know is what Kazuma experienced and feels but Ren is still a mystery.

This show is destroying because it's about mutual pining that has gone through a decade of pain and isn't stopping any time soon because they might be friends with benefits and they might be friends but they're not listening to each other yet.

[bapzap]

not to overanalyze splatoon lore but the last Big Run really fascinates me, even compared to the BIG Big run.

the music specifically. all the Big Runs have had that mild horror-esque tone to the music. the ominous pre-fighting Omega-3 practice before the run begins, Bait & Click itself being an 'evil' (lets go with evil even though Salmonid and Grizz Co morality is its own post entirely) dark reprise of The Song Of Splatoon 3, Clickbait.

Big Runs are the Salmonids on the attack. taking turf. pushing Grizz Co, Inkopolis and Splatsville back into their own homes away from the Salmonid territories. it's dramatic! it sounds dramatic! it sounds terrifying! it's an invasion! but every time they attack, they're beaten back.

but it keeps happening, much like how they never seem to give up in a regular Salmon Run they never give up on the Big Runs no matter how much Grizz Co blocks their migration

then there was the BIG Big run. every location getting hit at once. two years of Grizz Co smashing the Salmonids down again and again and again both on their own turf and deep in Salmonid territory. whether it was an intentional mass scale invasion or just an insane migration doesn't really matter. that was probably their last big push they had in them. years of this and they muster up a final Big Run to try and get past Grizz Co's defenses and push inland

and they lost. badly.

then they come back one more time towards the Grand Festival. except it's an entirely different energy now

there's no more pre-run practice by Omega-3. now it's Happy Little Workers, same as ever, but covered by Deep Cut. except its even less sinister than usual? it's cheery. it's happy. it's upbeat. it actually does sound like happy workers! and why wouldn't it? this is a victory lap for Grizz Co at this point

the Salmonids burnt everything on the BIG Big run. they're probably on their last legs when it comes to putting up fights with Grizz Co so fiercely. the tension is gone. the inkfish have won. decisively. the Big Runs aren't a true threat anymore. they're disasters, but no worse than a flood or earthquake.

you can hear it in the Grand Festival Salmon Run music too. the song is entirely different. it's frantic. it almost sounds desperate. the dark reprise sounds like it's falling apart. it has none of the tension or menace of the original. it's not an inkfish song being conquered by Omega-3 anymore. it's them trying to cling onto it while the Salmonids use every last bit of strength they have to get past Grizz Co, even bringing out the goldies like they're regular everyday salmonid grunts. bringing out all three king salmonids. everything they have for this last fight.

and the inkfish just turn it into a party with stolen Big Shot cannons and set a grand prize on how much they can win because they're not taking them seriously anymore. not "if" they can win. how much they can win.

1.5 billion golden eggs btw. thats how much.

i actually wonder if splatoon 4 will touch on the Salmonids or not given they were completely ignored in ROTM for some reason

[junisfics]

Hate Fucking ft Eren Jaeger (Day XV)

Focus: Hate Fucking

Warnings: Smut / Nsfw 18 + (Rough Sex), Brief Violence (Blood, Asphyxiation)

Word Count: 2k

You could kill him.

That impulsive, hate ridden, destructive maniac. You want to rip his throat out with your teeth.

Your jaw is clenched tightly, eyebrows furrowed together in anger, as you sit beside Sasha and across from Connie. They chatter nonsense as you eye him down from across the room.

Just hours ago he had taken out all his pent up anger by mercilessly insulting you after your defeat during training. Although wasn't for the reason one would think.

He had you pinned to grass bare dirt, knee pressing into your right arm and opposite foot pressing painfully into your right wrist. The tendons in your forearms rapping up against the sole of his shoe like the strings on a guitar.

His knife held against your throat, every swallow you take causing it to bob gently. His other hand bracing him up by the ground beside your skull, preventing him from sitting on your upper stomach.

"Get off me." You spit, writhing beneath his unexpectedly heavy body.

You speak with your eyes boring into his own. His brows knit together, beads of sweat trailing down his dirt covered face.

"You couldn't even give it your best for me?! You're going easy?! Piece of shit!" He practically growls, pushing the knife further against your quivering throat to enunciate the expletive.

He hates the way you distract him. Never did it cross his mind that you didn't give him your all, it was only the most convincing excuse he could come up with. He despises you for the way your innocent eyes glint as you look at him, and he hates you more for the uncertain lust that lures behind them as he has you pinned beneath him.

"Eren, I'm not - I didn't - get - you're hurting me,"

Recklessly, he throws the knife aside, causing the blade to slit a shallow cut against the fragile skin of your neck. It stings, assumingly more than a deeper cut would have. His large hand replaces the blade, his sweat poisons the wound and sending harsh waves of prickly pain through your body, he squeezes... hard.

Pathetic croaks slip under his palm and past your lips, blood rushing to your face and a deep buzz filling your ears.

Your limbs flail in response, desperately trying to shake him off.

His nose is scrunched, teeth grit into a snarl, face inches away from yours as he alternates the pressure on your neck.

Hard, bruising, enough to threaten unconscious, but before that can happen his grip goes soft enough to give you a moment of uninterrupted breaths. All the time while looking into your fearful eyes, like he's waiting for the light to go out.

You hated the way your body heated up under his dominance. You can't blame yourself, who wouldn't feel at least a twinge of excitement when pressed that closely up against a guy that attractive.

"Eren - p - please, I can't - I" You're voice is hoarse, tears flooding your vision.

He's tackled off. You sit up quickly, hands go flying to your abused throat, clutching and clawing at it mindlessly as you swallow heavy gulps of air. Sasha's by your side, squatting back on her calves with an arm thrown around your heaving shoulders.

Connie throws violent punches to Eren's face as he presses his skull into the dirt with his other hand.

His face bruised, Connie's fist split open a gash in his cheekbone. His pretty green eyes surrounded by popped blood vessels.

You admire his wounds from your table, completely disregarding your dinner and pushing it to Sasha. You go as far as thinking he's pretty... when his mouth is shut. Such a shame that such a handsome face is attached to a shitty person.

"Connie took care of him, y/n, he won't bother you again." Sasha says through the bread stuffing her mouth.

"He's just... an angry person."

***

You shower off the emulsion of sweat and blood that's covering your skin. Scrubbing so harshly with the tattered rag that red welts leave in its wake. The gash on your throat pulses and stings but your glad it's clean.

The itchy fabric of your shirt clings to your damp skin, the now cold water in your hair drips down your your chest as you squeeze it in your fist to wring it out. Legs guiding you back to your room.

Before you can completely retreat, the door gets pushed open as you attempt to close it.

"Hey -" Your mouth shuts immediately.

Eren enters shamelessly, shutting the door behind him as you back away slowly. Your heart wracks against your chest, breath caught once again in your throat no thanks to him.

He's come to finish you off, he's got you alone and now he's come to pummel you into next year.

His hand grips your jaw to avoid the slit on your throat, pressing your cheeks together so your lips pucker ever so slightly. You reach up to his wrist, reaching for sinewy muscle that strains under his grasp.

His eyes look down to you, a dangerous look passing through them momentarily. His face too close for comfort, his hot breath passing through his grit teeth and fanning over your face.

He walks forward, sending you stumbling back against the closed door.

You feel embarrassingly helpless before him. You pray he can't feel the shaking in your legs.

If he starts getting violent will someone know? Will someone hear? Would there be anyone to stop him this time?

"I fucking hate you." He spits, leaning against you and resting his palm against the wood of the door beside your head, "I think about killing you every fucking day we're stuck in this stupid cottage."

Your stomach turns at his words, but you have no courage to speak out against him. Something inside you tells you to listen to him... to wait.

"You drive me insane"

"Eren -" You speak through puckered lips, one hand holding his wrist and the other pushing against his chest.

Whimpers leave your mouth, desperate cries for him to release you, leave you, apologize, something.

"Fuck - " His voice falters for a moment and his jaw slacks as he glances down to the floor, "Do you know what you do?"

His eyes meet yours, the gears in your head begin to turn. They're softer this time, apologetic.

"I - I don't - please, Eren - I don't know what - "

"Stop begging, fucking stop," He closes his eyes tightly as the hand on the door drops to the field of skin between your neck and shoulder.

He squeezes tightly, desperately trying to restrain himself.

"You're so god damn lucky my need for you is stronger then my hate." His face gets too close to quickly, leaning down so your noses are a breath apart, "because I hate you so fucking much."

It's not your stomach that turns within itself this time, it's something else... something lower. All of a sudden his grip is erotic and his body heat is radiating onto yours in all the right places. He's so close, the tension is straining.

"I - I'm - " You're stupid. You can't even think. Your entire body short circuits.

"Let me have you." He begs, voice needy and dropping octaves lower.

He begs.

You mouth drops open as arousal sparks deep inside you. A shudder wracks your body at his words.

"I know you want it. I see it. G - god, fuck, please y/n." Both hands come to hold your face in his hands, "I hate the things you do to me."

His hips stutter forward against your stomach and you can feel him, hard, throbbing in his pants. A whine escapes your lips.

It's pathetic... embarassing... how much you want him. How much you want the man that constantly dances on your last nerve to take you in his strong hands.

"I hate you." Your voice is weak and unconvincing to both him and you.

His mouth takes yours, swallowing your whimpers and flooding you with him. You taste him on your tongue, dull taste of mint toothpaste and herbal tea. You're drunk for it. Hands gripping at the collar of his shirt to pull his toned body flush against you. It's borderline violent, his tongue drinking in your breathy moans and teeth biting at your lips.

You need him. You need this. You need this feeling, this tension, flooded out of your system and gone for good. You want it fucked out of you.

You push against his neck to give you enough space to mumble against his soft lips, "I need you to fuck me, fuck me as hard as you hate me, please."

His cock twitches, jaw dropping at your desperation. A groan choked up in his throat.

You lick at his open mouth and he takes it in his mouth and sucks on it. Never, never in your entire life would you have thought your cunt would flutter around nothing due to someone taking your tongue in their mouth.

He lowers himself into a squat, taking the waistband of your sleeping pants and dragging them down your thighs, biting at the supple skin that's revealed. His calloused hands hold onto your legs as he licks a broad stripe up your inner left leg all the way up to your hip bone.

You let out a breathy moan as he kitten licks at your clit through your panties.

"No, please, I need you - need your cock." You plead and he lets out a curse as he stands.

You kiss him again. Hands grabbing at his torso to get a hold on the waistline of his pants. He follows you, using one hand to press your chest against the door and the other pushing his clothes down his thighs just enough so his aching cock is freed.

Roughly, he grips the backs of your thighs and hoists them around his waist. Cock slipping between your bodies and brushing against your clothed cunt. Pushing you high enough up the door to take his length in his hand, you pull your panties to the side. His tip teases your entrance. You're sheathed onto his length, filthily moaning out as his cock drags across your walls.

"Fucking shit." He groans into your neck, "You're so wet, you're so fucking wet."

It's overwhelming. The flexing of his muscles underneath your grip, his low groans against your skin followed by open mouth kisses. You bite down on your lip, walls fluttering around his throbbing cock in reaction to his words.

"Oh my god, y/n. Did you just cum?"

You did.

You're cunt gripping his dick like a vice. You came just as he buried himself to the hilt. His tip kissing your cervix gently.

"Give me another." You beg, fisting his shirt tighter in your fist.

You're fucked into the door, shirt riding up as you're dragged up and down the both literal and figurative wood.

"You - Eren - you're so big." Your grip on his shoulders is bruising, arms wrap around his neck and forehead falling against his, mouth open in heavy pants.

"You're so pretty like this. God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this. How long I've been conflicted by you. I've fucked my hand to your pretty face every fucking night wishing it was your cunt."

You can't believe it. This whole time he hasn't hated you for anything you've done... he's hated you because he was hating the way you made him feel. You're cunt throbs around him at the mere thought.

"And now... fuck - fuck - just like that - now I have you... and my cock is inside you and not my fucking fist."

You came harder then you ever have before, head slamming back against the door and legs shaking as you suck him in and milk him dry. He slams you down one more time onto his cock and holds you there, throbbing inside you.

[hiraethenthusiast]

The Hollandairé | t.h.

pairing: ceo!tom x ceo! reader

word count: 16k+

synopsis: exes cross paths on a big event. will they be able to forget each other's mistakes?

warnings: language, sexual innuendos, mentions of an anxiety attack (if you squint), talks about miscarriage, my favourite angst.

a/n: well, well, well im back from a very shitty writers block! look at me, writing angst with exes? oof. can you tell that i absolutely love angst and makeouts in the end? i was somehow inspired by 'idfc' by blackbear to write this fic lol. it took some time and ofcourse i went overboard with it, so hope you enjoy! don't forget to like and reblog! (i even made a moodboard kinda thing uwuwu)

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"Conan I won't hesitate to knee you in the crotch if you don't stop pulling me off this sofa right this second" You tell your roommate, who is desperately trying to get you to go to a gala with him. Being a CEO brings its pros and cons. Pros being, you have a private jet, you're your own boss and you can shout at people with a reason. Cons being, annoyingly nice roommates. You had just shifted to a penthouse in downtown London with your friend Conan, because you refused to stay alone in this bigass house. (You tried living alone once, you were bored to death)

"Conan leave me alone yoo!" You said whining and hunching back into the sofa.

"Get the fuck up and get ready for the launch dude you promised me you wouldn't leave me hanging" Conan shouts over the voice of the t.v. blaring in the background. You pull you hand away from his grip and reach for the remote to shut off the t.v., focusing back on this tall red-headed figure in front of you.

"You know I don't like fancy shit." You grumble.

"It's YOUR fancy shit, get up Y/N." He says and reaches for your arms now, finally making you stand.

"Call Laura, I really don't want to go." You say pulling your phone out from your back pocket and handing it to him.

"If you haven't realised, your manager is the one who forced me to force you to attend the introduction of your fashion line" He fights back.

"- and Y/N. Hey, look at me. You've dreamt of this for how long? Almost all your life. And if you miss the chance to see your empire expand, it's gonna be devastating. You'll obviously miss the fashion show who's got the actual Rudy Pankow walking on a ramp, you'll also miss the opportunity to see people happy with YOUR work. Now get your ass up and get ready." He says and leaves the room, to get ready himself.

It's not that you don't want to go, you really do. Afterall, all of it is your hardwork. But the reason you're not going is because of that asshole. That asshole with whom you used to go out with once, the one who's current goal is to bring you down. The one and only, Tom Holland. You two used to date at some point, the ones who were in love actually, but the rivalry you two have got going on now has lead to you two knowing too much about each other. More than you know about yourself, the other knows it all. Small arguments turned into big ones, that eventually lead to the two of you leaving each other alone. You don't want to go because whenever you meet him, it all turns up into a big mess and your night is typically ruined, and you weren't in the mood for that, atleast not today. He's just a narcissistic bitch who thinks of nothing but degrading you. And that's the reason you don't want to go. Because you know if you talk to him one more time, these banters will persuade you.

But you do realise that you have to go. You have to go because you haven't gone to the last two launches for your perfume and swim line as well, and if you don't go today, Laura will actually end you.

So you just chug all your tea, leaving the kitchen with a grunt to go get ready.

"Hey Marco, can you send in that pantsuit I got done the other day? Look over for modifications if possible, although it looks great in just the solid colour, and please get it drycleaned." You tell your designer over the phone, to which he agreed and you go into your room to get your hair and makeup done.

"Wear a dress to the launch of your fashion line when it gets famous, yeah?"

"Pantsuits all the way Holland, you know I hate dresses."

"I know you do."

You remember the faint memory from over two years ago, that dream actually coming true, just without the person you dreamt it with.

You put your hair in a low bun with a middle part, giving you a classy formal look, and you do a almost non existent makeup look, only your eyes bold to accent with your outfit. Marco drops off the forest green pantsuit at your house, you giving it a twist with wearing a lace corset beneath the blazer.

"I look hot." You told yourself.

You and Conan leave for the event, you fidgeting in between 15 minute durations, Conan reassuring you that he'll be with you until the night ends.

That didn't last long. You lost Conan as soon as you entered the venue, so you occupied yourself with having conversations with other company owners, hearing how they're doing in the industry, blah blah blah.

"Do I look like I care?" You say to yourself.

You move ahead, only to cross paths with the one and only. He was wearing a cherry coloured perfectly tailored suit, adding a hint of Tom with the glasses. He looked good.

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Y/N?" He says, twirling his champagne glass in his hands.

"Look Holland I really don't have time for this shit, please take a goodie bag on your way home" You say with a bit of sass and start to move away, only to get your arm held back, making you bump in his chest.

"I see you wore the pantsuit you always wanted to wear at your event, angel " He says, making you pull away from him.

"Don't ever call me that again, and this is a warning." You were about to continue further with your answer, but you were utterly shocked to see the person in front of you.

"Is that the Y/N Y/L/N, in person, the one who's way too busy to answer my phone calls?" He says, making you laugh a bit.

"Jaeden?" You say, laughing heartily.

"In the flesh, tigeress." He says, doing grabby hands at you as an indication to pull you in a hug. You oblige and walk towards him and give him the biggest bear hug you've given anyone in two years. You pull back just to hit him on the chest once, playfully ofcourse.

"Tigeress. Oof haven't heard that in a while" You keep your conversation going on with Jaeden, while Tom is absolutely dumbfounded about whatever just happened in these past few seconds.

There's this hot guy named Jason or whatever, who calls you 'tigeress' and you aren't pestering him for calling you with a nickname but you definitely were ready to give Tom a piece of your mind when he called you 'angel'? Who is this guy?

Tom goes off to find Conan, who was situated at the bar downing a shot of tequila.

"Hey who's that guy Jason?" He asks him, pointing towards you and Jaeden in the middle of the hall.

"You mean Jaeden?" He says, biting onto a slice of lemon.

"Yeah whatever who is he?" Tom asks again, turning towards to bartender asking for a glass of whiskey.

"Why do you want to know?" Conan shoots back.

"Just curious. Can you just fucking tell me now?" Tom tries again, getting frustrated now.

"Chill dude. Jaeden used to work with Y/N a long time ago. He had this crush on her for like forever, but then Y/N went in for entrepreneurship and they were just not in contact with each other." He says.

"Crush huh?" Tom says, gripping onto his glass so tight that his knuckles almost turned white.

"Why do you look like you're about to murder someone?" Conan asks, getting concerned.

"Because I might." Tom says, grinding his teeth while forcing a smile.

The night goes by pretty smoothly, for you. You and Jaeden were clinged to each other almost the whole night, and then Tom watching you both from a distance, trying not to snap hard at people. He just took enough of it, he had to do something. He wasn't really sure why was he jealous, 'maybe because you love her' his heart said, but his mind crossing paths with a 'no you don't' in the middle. He was in a dilemma, but was mostly leaning towards his heart's side. He finally got up from his seat and walked towards you.

"Y/L/N." He says, keeping his composure.

"Yes?" You turn around to come face to face with him, laughing on something Jaeden had said.

"Board of Directors want to meet you on third floor. I was going that way only, wanted to inform you." He says.

"Oh okay. Jaeden I'll be back in a few. And tell me about that Mario Kart incident." You say, your laughter dying as you walk towards the elevator, motioning Tom to move as well. You both enter the elevator and you click the button for third floor.

"So Jaeden's a long lost friend, I assume?" He tries to small talk, failing miserably.

"Yeah, I used to work with him a long time back. Why do you ask?" You say, being the nicest you've been to Tom in two years.

"Just making small talk. So, exactly how long ago, you used to work with him?" He tries again.

"A really long time ago." You tell him.

"When we were dating?" He says, hesitating.

The elevator dings and you reach third floor, both of you moving into a very empty hallway.

"Why do you care Tom?" You say, making him frustrated even more.

"Because you're my fucking ex-girlfriend whom I'm worried about because that asshole has a mega crush on you" He says, making you jerk your head towards him.

"How many whiskeys have you had?" You ask him, because he was sounding oblivious that's for sure.

You turn around to open the meeting room to find it empty, making you glare at Tom once again.

"Why the fuck did you bring me up here Holland, where's the meeting?" You say, narrowing your eyes towards him.

"There is no meeting Y/N, the Board didn't show up this year, remember?" He says moving and fidgeting around the room.

"Then why did you bring me up here, dumbass?" That put him over the edge. He starts walking towards you making you take a few steps back, finally cornering you in the room.

"Because that guy is fucking flirting with you Y/N. That guy has been roaming around the whole night with my girl, touching and hugging my girl in front of me and you expect me to keep my calm? Huh? I don't fucking care okay? You're supposed to be mine and I was a jerk who let you go. I can't stand seeing you with other people. What the fuck is wrong with you Y/N, why did you leave me?!" He shouts at you, making your blood boil even more.

You push him back and stand in front of him, glaring as if you were going to rip his head off.

"No Tom, YOU left me, alright? I cried almost every night after that day when you left, and you didn't even have the empathy to give me a call. You, are too self-absorbed, and not me Tom. It was all you. I haven't been to even one of my launches just because I know you'll be there, you'll be there to put me down again. And why the fuck do you care about whom I talk to huh?" You shout at him.

"Why would I come to every single one of your launches Y/N?! To see you! To see the person who understood me more than I did, just to fucking see your face and calm my nerves!" He shouts back. He moves towards you and holds you chin to put your eyes at his eye level.

"Look at me Y/N. Look at me. Did we mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you? Look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. Tell me I meant nothing to you and I'll leave this second. Tell me that this was all a lie." He says, making your eyes water.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Then why do you keep hurting me Y/N?! You hurt me so much! You left me when I needed you the most! I wanted you and you weren't there-" He shouts again.

"SHUT UP TOM, SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop! Please. Stop." You're crying hysterically now, hunching up in a corner trying to calm yourself down. Tom immediately sees it and runs towards you holding your hands and cradling them.

"Hey, hey Y/N. Look at me, look at me baby. It's Tom. Hey baby. I'm here, yeah? I'm here. Stop crying come on babe, please. Love, look at me. I'm here." He says, now running his hand over your cheeks wiping your tears.

"Go away. Go away from me." Is all you say, which makes his ears perk and brings water to his eyes.

He stands up and moves out of the room, closing the door just to hear you crying again. He sits down on the floor with his back on the door now, crying, waiting for you to say something.

"Please, open the door." He says, bursting into tears and hugging himself with his arms, wishing it was you.

Fifteen minutes pass by and you still haven't said anything. Tom misses you so much, and it was so fucked up of you to leave him like this. He was hurt, but he could never stop loving you. Ever.

"Losing you would be a nightmare that I'd beg to be awaken from everyday." You say opening the door, your eyes blood red, hair disheveled making Tom look at you, whose eyes were blood red too.

"What?"

"I was pregnant, Tom." You tell him, making his eyes widen and holding your hand for comfort.

"The day-" You clear your throat "The day we fought is when we lost the baby. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that day, but then that happened." You were crying a bit more now, but still held you composure so you can handle Tom from now.

"The argument gave me too much stress and, and it was affecting the baby so as soon as you left, um, my stomach started aching really badly and, and yeah we lost our baby then. That's why I left." You say, you were crying on his shoulder now, intentionally ignoring his reaction because you knew it would hurt him.

"We, we- lost our baby?" He says, a bit shocked but choking on his tears. You remain silent.

"Hey, hey. Listen. It's okay. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I shouldn't have fought with you. You were already really worried and I just added onto your pressure. I'm so sorry baby I'm so so sorry." He was full-on crying now, he sniffled in your neck because he was too afraid to show his emotions.

"It wasn't your fault Tommy, it was ours." You say, running your hand in his curls. The way you missed his chestnut curls. It was all good again, well atleast you hoped.

Tommy. That always brought butterflies in his stomach.

You talked everything out in the bathroom, while washing your faces and cleaning up. You both understood that everything was going back to normal, just like the old times. One conversation lead to another, and you spent two hours on the bathroom floor just laughing and having gossip.

"It's been a while." You say laughing, looking at your watch.

"Yeah."

"Why did you say 'my girl' Tom?" You ask him directly.

"Hm?"

"You called me 'my girl' in the conference room. Why?" You tell him, and he instantly remembers that he did do that.

"You're in my head almost everyday Y/N. Even when you're not supposed to be. It shouldn't have been this hard letting go, but it was. I still love you, even if you don't." He says, taking some tissue paper off the counter.

"Who said I don't love you?" You say, making his eyes widen.

"Wha- wh- what are you implying here?" He stumbles upon his words, making you laugh.

"I still love you, you goof."

"Y/N you have to be serious you're making me want things I can't have." He says wholeheartedly.

You say nothing but grab him by his collar and kiss him with full force. After two years, you felt those soft lips on yours again, reminiscing every moment you had missed in these past years. They felt the same, soft and plump, just as if they were made for you. They fit in with yours like a puzzle, that was meant to be solved by these two hearts which were tangled, but now, in a right way. Tom kissed back almost immediately, feeling your lips was like a dream come true. A recurrent dream in his mind. You both pull back to see red and puffy lips and give out a light laugh. He doesn't stop, he keeps leaving peppery kisses all over your face mumbling sweet words again and again.

"I missed you so, so much angel." he says leaving a kiss on your nose.

"I missed you too bubba." you say leaving a small peck on his lips.

"Let's go now, we've been here for almost two hours." You start to move towards the door, but get pulled back by your waist.

"Tell Jaeden to maintain distance, yeah?" He says.

"Or what?" You say in a playful tone.

"Babygirl, I think you've forgotten what I'm capable of." He says, kissing your neck.

"I think I have. And stop kissing me I look shit." You say, laughing.

"I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He says leaving another harsh suck on your skin, which can hopefully be covered by your blazer.

"Are you going to eyefuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?" You say, now kissing Tom's sweet spot.

"Finish this event in the next half an hour. I'll see you at my house babe." He says leaving one last peck on your lips.

You both reach downstairs after fixing your makeup and hair, you reach upto the stage and and hold onto the mic.

"Thankyou all for attending the event. We look forward to having more business with you! Don't forget to post something about our line 'The Hollandairé' on your social media platforms and don't forget to tag us! We are, The Y/L/N's thankyou have a good night!"

He listen to you and smirks to himself, because you do do what you say.

"I'm going to name my first fashion line 'The Hollandairé' " You say making a banner with your hands.

"And I'll be right with you then baby" He says, kissing your cheek.

Looks like he kept his promise too.

tagging some friends whom i think would like to read!:

@hollandslittlekoala @hollandsmushroom @leafy-holland @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @t-lostinworlds

(pls do tell me if you don't want to be tagged further on!)

don't forget to reblog!

ilysmmmm. tpwk y'all!

[alexglitches]

Honestly if the self aware tweels heard me talk about my fanganronpa I think theyd be at least a little bit disturbed. Basically I have a pair of twins who are a pop star duo, a girl named Alice and a boy named Alex. They have a terrible dad and a dead mom, so naturally they care about each other the most. I wanted to do a spin of the classic trail 3, so I had it be two victims and two killers. Basically there was a motive that if someone didn’t die then a person would die, but if you get away with the murder both of you survive. Both of the twins got each other and didnt tell each other afraid the other would be mad at them if they killed someone. When the deadline grew near the twins (separately) killed one of their friends so they could have their twin live. The trail was a mess because there were two killers. The execution has them perform on a platform stage, their goal is to perform good enough to reach five stars which are shown above them, the fifth star is a lot bigger than the rest. Alice knowing from past executions that the mastermind would never let them live pushes her brother in fortune of her when the fifth star ends up falling out of the meeting the requirements. Alex ends up surviving and falls near the edge of the stage, but Alice is crushed to death with her hand sticking out. Alex instead of looking for an exit desperately tries to lift the star trying to save his sister, while griping her hand. While Alex tries to save his already gone sister spikes start to pop up around the edge of the stage alps the as if a war in g Alex should just leave. He ends up being impaled by the spike and falls onto the star griping his sister hand in his last moments. In a bitter sweet way they both got what they wanted, Alice wanted protect her brother, while Alex wanted to stay by his sister side no matter the cost.

o-o

yeah they're really disturbed by it

like- im assuming that the trial is really angsty and the execution is graphic

i'd be surprised if either of them didn't cry or look somewhat uncomfy

they're very uncomfy

Floyd clings to Jade for the rest of the day

[owchie-wowchie]

hi :) resident made inevitable fan here.

first off, weird to me to go "I don't understand this rarepair" cause to me that makes it sound like it's more popular than it is. There's like 3 dedicated fans. I know that's a nitpick but whatever

Second off, that's not why I ship it and it's not random at all. infected Paul and Wilbur have insanely well-paralleled stories. Both of them are human characters that were manipulated by the lords in black and are now shells of the people they once were. Their lives were destroyed, all that remains are monsters that the lords do with as they please. The old Paul and Wilbur are long dead and gone and they don't even hate it, they think they're happy and content and powerful. Imagining the dynamic they could potentially have isn't that out of nowhere, in fact it's very interesting, at least to me.

I, personally, am just fascinated by exploring what the two meeting would be like. Would they hate each other, would they unexpectedly bond? I prefer exploring the latter. I feel like Wilbur would like being with someone who wouldn't try to see past his surface and Paul doesn't really have opinions anymore so he'd just go along with it. Or even if it's like a half-infected Paul situation, he'd cling onto a relationship with another person like a lifeline, trying so desperately to hold onto his dwindling humanity

i do not understand made inevitable and i'm convinced it only comes from the fandom desire to throw random dudes together to have a yaoi ship rather than talk about the female characters

~~~

[harmony88]

Absolutely love your writing, I've been binging both series for the last week and I am obsessed. I was wondering, if you want to do it in your universe or not I'd love it - but you would be able to write something where the Doctor and Rose end up cuddling after a really hard day? If there is snogging I won't be mad. LOL . Thanks for your stories! They're great!

Hi there! Oh you made my WHOLE day! I'm so glad you like them! And I'd be happy to write something up! I just jotted this down, hope you enjoy! :)

It didn't proof it and I didn't write it as if it was part the verse you've been reading persay, but I suppose it could take place prior to the start of those series if you want, or just be a different AU entirely. I'll let you decide! Thank you!♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They stumbled onto the TARDIS covered in mud and smelling a little bit like death. Normally, a hyperbolic thought of that nature would cause him to smile, then ramble, then run to the library and pull down all the texts he could find to prove his point disproving the hyperbole, but that wasn't going to happen today.

He was finding letting go of her hand rather difficult, if not impossible, and she stayed by his side as they approached the console table and returned to the Vortex, where time and space lingered in limbo, just as they liked it.

He glanced over at her, noticing the dirt that was caked onto her cheeks, and he resisted the urge to rub it off with his thumb. She didn't say anything, but she did lean against the controls and sigh, watching as he shifted his focus from her face to the bloody wires that always seemed to his constant companion when it came to deflecting, and she bit her lip.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she whispered. He nodded, still playing with the wires. A moment passed, and she inched her way a little closer to him. "Can I have my hand back?"

"Sure," he said, choosing not to banter. even though he desperately wanted to. "Sorry."

"No one got hurt," she told him.

He stiffened, but he smiled and shrugged the way the words settled in his stomach off, and gestured toward to hallway. "Off you go, Rose Tyler."

She hesitated, and she almost kissed his cheek, but the mud and sweat that was illuminated in the light of the console room convinced her not to, and instead she smiled at him, her tongue doing it's usual thing, and she wasn't entirely surprised when his eyes dropped to her lips for a moment before they returned to the wires. "I'll see you soon?"

"Not if I see you first," he replied, and they both felt the sheer awkwardness of this conversation reach a new point, making her dart down the hallway, desperate to wash away this entire day.

The moment she was gone he collapsed into the pilot's seat, and he buried his face in his hands.

He's had her back for two weeks, and he was trying so hard to make it feel like she never left. He was boisterous always, (except right now he supposed). He was constantly bringing up the past, making jokes and reminiscing, but on each adventure they had gone on so far, in the back of their heads it was there - the lingering dread, the utter fear that the universe wasn't going to let this last, and they were on edge. All the time.

They were falling through space and time. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, unable to fathom letting go. Not after everything. Not after losing each other once, and that intrinsic fear was more than he could handle at any given second.

But her smile made it worth it.

He'd burnt up a sun, and he would burn a thousand more if meant he got to keep her.

He was telling himself it would get better, but so far none of their trips in the last couple of weeks had been very quiet - from meeting a fiery red head in a wedding dress to today, where she was taken to a dungeon and nearly beheaded because they apparently didn't follow proper greeting customs in the 190th century (he had sworn handshakes were still culturally acceptable, but apparently he was wrong), and she spent three hours trying to escape while he spent three hours trying to break in, and well...

They did a lot of running, and a lot of fighting, and somehow they were covered in mud. And all he could think about the entire time was how bloody close he got to losing her again, and he wasn't okay.

He wasn't even a little bit okay.

But he stood and walked to his own ensuite, showering the evidence of his fear down the drain, and eventually he walked out into the library in a fresh suit, with a fresh fire and a fresh pot of tea, and he settled into his armchair with a book he didn't really pay attention to the title of, when he suddenly sensed her waiting in the archway.

He looked over his shoulder at her, his breath catching in his throat when he saw her golden locks tucked up in a rather damp messy bun. She wore a loose t-shirt, one that was a little tattered and clearly loved, but it was her rubber duck pajama pants that was making his hearts break, because he knew what they meant.

She wasn't okay either.

"Hello," he chimed, flashing her a smile.

"Hello," she whispered, and she began to rock on her feet a little awkwardly, playing the bottom of her shirt. "Can I come in?"

"You don't ever have to ask that," he told her, his voice more serious and more tender than he intended, and he swore she blushed. He clenched his jaw and turned his attention back to his book, but he set it down of the table next to his chair and watched her cross to the sofa, tucking her body into a fetal position on the cushions.

She suddenly looked so small it made him want to run to her, but he stayed where he was. Neither spoke for many minutes, but when he saw some tears fall onto her cheeks he was there, curling up behind her, and he pulled her onto his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered.

"It wasn't even that big of deal," she whimpered, her tears growing more uncontrolled. "I'm sorry. I'm going to go -"

She tried to pull away, but he caught her hand before she could and gave her a careful look, and she couldn't help but notice his freckles as they danced against the flames of the fire. For some reason it felt...powerful, or something, she didn't quite have the words, but it was impossible to look away from him and she began to trace her lips with her tongue, lost in thought.

"What?" he whispered. "What are you -"

"Nothing."

"Rose -"

"I'm okay," she insisted. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm alright," he said, sniffing and leaning back against the sofa. "Think I'm just going to wipe handshakes from my memory, though."

She smiled, and he smiled back, eyes locked and hearts thudding madly in their chests. "What about hand holding?"

"What about it?" he asked.

"You still okay with it?" she said so quietly he barely heard her, and the smile he gave her sent her heart straight to her stomach and her head tripping over her heels.

"Well," he began, the word croaking in his throat, "I s'pose they are loads better than warp drives or wormhole refractors."

He was doing it again, calling back to the past in hopes it made her feel at home, and she bit her lip, slipping her hand in between his and settling back onto the cushion properly, but this time they stayed sitting up. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her as close as he allowed himself to let her be, and the impulse to kiss her hair was nearly all-consuming.

He didn't.

He just squeezed her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming to get me."

Her words were soft, but they were loaded, and he knew she didn't mean today.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he replied. She smiled.

"I do."

"Please don't."

He looked down at her, tracing every curve of her face slowly, oh so slowly, so slowly it was rather unfair, because it was stirring a heat and a need and a desire in her that she knew she'd never be able to act on. And before she could stop herself, she brought her hand up to his cheek and gently rubbed the line of his jaw, her fingers ghosting over his skin, warm to the touch and soft as silk, and he shuddered.

She watched his Adam's apple bob once, then twice, and she knew it was just a matter of seconds before he pulled away and started telling her about their next big adventure.

Any second now.

Any second.

"Rose..." he whispered, his breath hitting her cheek.

Any second.

The room started to feel warm in a way a she knew had nothing to do with the fire. Her skin was prickly, wishing so much that it was closer to him, as close as she could be, tangled around him and lost in his arms. It was unbearable, the centimeters between their chests, and his gaze was intoxicating, burning into her, and she noticed his chest was starting to rise and fall in a way he hadn't been before.

His lips parted ever so slightly, and his eyes fell from her face back down to her lips, which she licked before she could stop herself. "Doctor -"

"Stop talking," he said breathlessly and urgently, and he next thing she knew he had his hands on her lower back, pulling her onto his lap, and he was kissing her. She moaned at the suddenness of it, and at the way they seemed to skip a few steps and go straight to grinding against each other with their clothes still on, and he deepened the kiss so his tongue found hers, then snaked his hands under her baggy t-shirt and stopped when he realized she wasn't a bra.

"It's okay," she nearly screamed, but he seemed to realize what was happening and just cleared his throat, and he slipped his hands away, leaving them at his side. "Doctor, please?"

"Not like this," he said, surprising himself. She was stunned and just stared at him, and he made a face of embarrassment. "I meant. Not that I've thought about it, or, just....Maybe not when we're both feeling. Well..."

She smiled, placing her lips back on his slowly, and he couldn't stop the moan from escaping his throat. "Stop talking."

He swallowed hard.

"I'm never going to leave you," she whispered, her hands finding their way into his hair. "Do you believe me?"

"I..." he stammered, closing his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," she hummed. "Then dance with me."

He opened his eyes, but to his surprise she was sliding her body off of his and walking over to the record player in the corner of the room, turning it on and letting a soft melody filter into the room. He stared at her, captivated entirely as she reached out her hand and wiggled her fingers. He took her hand, but rather than stand and sway with her amidst the sea of books and glow of the fireplace, he tugged her back down onto the couch, and he gently laid her down. He hovered above her, kissing her softly, and his hands stayed on her hips, rubbing small circles over her t-shirt. She wasn't going to push him, but she responded in kind, her arms wrapped around his neck, and he groaned her name, still not trying to escalate anything beyond the snog, and she was finding she was absolutely okay with that.

"I think we should move to the bedroom," he said in her ear, and she changed her mind instantly.

"Yeah," she said, but before they had a chance to move, the TARDIS jolted and knocked them off of the couch, their heads clanking and subsequently spinning. "OW."

"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded, standing up with him as they ran to console to see what the hell was wrong. He sighed.

"Fancy a trip aboard an intergalatic war machine?" he asked her with a gleam in his eye.

"Do we have a choice?" she teased. "I'LL GRAB THE PSYCHIC PAPER!"

She was running to her bedroom to change clothes, and he watched her go, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face.

Oh, he was in trouble.

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter three: so, maybe i’m not okay

part four of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

word count: 2.5k (short lil chapter today!)

warnings: mentions of illness? other than that, none that i can think of? maybe the tiniest smidge of angst if you squint

Coraline has always been close to her father. One of her very first memories involved her perched on his shoulders at a Fleetwood Mac gig. He'd managed to sneak Cora, her brother, Daniel, and her heavily pregnant mom side-stage — the perks of him managing the venue at the time, in between jobs — and he'd cried when he'd heard her singing along to his favourite band. The show was all she'd talked about for a solid two weeks. Sure, the memories were a little grainy and probably warped by a crackly VHS tape of her mother's that she used to watch almost every day, but they were memories she held onto it as tightly as she could.

It was her father who took her first (dreadful) headshots, and him who she'd turned to when her sister died, and him who'd persuaded her that leaving everything and everyone she knew and loved back in Michigan to settle down in California (and then, later, D.C.) was a good idea. She owes her dad a lot, which is why the phone call has been playing on her mind all day.

The call came at 3am. She'd only fallen asleep two hours earlier, after Loren had arrived to pick up Maisie an hour late, hair a mess and rushing to apologise. Marcus had left a little while later and she'd practically collapsed into bed a few minutes later. She'd been woken by the low humming of her phone vibrating against her bedside table as it shot light through her dimly lit bedroom. She'd groaned uncomfortably and reached for it, cheek wedged awkwardly between her pillows and the mattress and legs tangled wildly in the sheets (Scott had always said she wriggled a lot in her sleep, but she'd always assumed he was exaggerating, until she slept alone).

She'd scowled when she'd seen it was her dad; he knew her schedule, and she'd told him she was up early when they'd spoken earlier that day. He never rings her late and it takes a moment for the frustration of being woken early by her phone to bleed away into worry and concern.

"Hello?" She'd croaked our groggily. "Are you okay? Is mom okay?"

She'd been met with a chuckle. His voice was low and gruff when it came, unusually thick and strangled. "Hey, Corrie." There was shuffling on the other end, hushed voices floating in and out of focus, until the phone went silent enough to think that maybe he'd hung up and hadn't meant to disturb her at all.

She'd scowled but her phone assured her he was still on the line. "Dad?" She'd called out to him. The panic had begun to rise when it wasn't his voice that replied.

"Coraline," her mother's soft voice breathed out. It was like a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you." Her French accent tipped the corner of her words. It always got stronger when she was upset or worried or scared, and it was especially thick now.

"What's wrong?"

Another pause. "Your father is in the hospital."

"What?" She’s suddenly holy upright, fear turning her blood to ice.

"He's fine, don't worry." She'd assured her. "He’s had some problems with his breathing again. They're doing some tests."

She'd almost booked a flight back to Michigan, almost abandoned filming and ran back home to make sure her dad was okay. The last time he'd been in hospital, it had been touch and go, and they'd spent an entire day huddled at his bedside in fear, just in case he'd stopped breathing. It was touch and go, and she couldn't live with herself if the worst happened and she never got to say goodbye to the man she owed so much to. She'd been in the process of scanning over the next flights on her laptop when her dad had taken the phone back from her mom and practically demanded that she stay in D.C.

Eventually, she'd relented. He'd promised to update her and she'd told them she loved them both before hanging up. But the phone call had sent her entire day into a tailspin.

She’d tried to sleep the extra hour and a half before she had to haul herself to work but her mind was running too wild for that. Even despite the reassurances, worry was plaguing her thoughts and panic was forcing her eyes open. Everything was just too much.

The last time it had happened, she'd had Scott. It was back when things were good, and he'd held her as she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up against him in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

But, now, he’s gone. Now, then, she was stood on set alone, trying her best to bite back a yawn and the tears, with so much concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes that she can feel it clinging desperately to her skin. And, of course, life had picked the day when they had the most action scenes to film to deprive her of sleep.

Her entire body ached. She isn't sure how she's still standing after the first hour of work, with her legs protesting with every movement. Two hours of sleep and the running and the jumping and the endless stunts had sapped every last scrap of energy from her bones. She'd carried on stoically for most of the morning but she's truly never been more grateful for a lunch hour before, when she finds herself curled up against the couch in her trailer, passing out even despite the panic still swelling in her chest. She'd been surprised when she hadn't cried — maybe she was just too exhausted and her body simply couldn't muster the tears — but she's grateful she manages to keep the tears in because she doesn't want to haul herself back to set with mascara tears on her cheeks.

She’s even more grateful when she makes it home after a day that feels like five rolled into one and the scattered couch cushions look far too inviting for her to ignore.

It's an uncomfortable sleep and she wakes with the beginnings of a headache thrumming through her skull and a stiffness in her spine that she can't seem to straighten out. She's not sure how long she's managed to sleep — barely half an hour, she assumes — because she's woken by a soft knock on the door instead of the alarm she'd set on her phone. It wakes her with a jolt and she can't help but groan at the aching protests her limbs give when she stands. She shuffles across the apartment to the door and Marcus is stood there, smiling, his suit jacket and tie draped across his arm.

She's half dressed too - only he looks a damn sight better than she does, because his hair isn't dishevelled and messy and his shirt isn't twisted half way around his torso. She shouldn't have slept in her clothes but at least she had the hindsight to take off the stiff jeans. Except, now, she’s startlingly aware she’s standing before Marcus in nothing but her underwear and an unforgivably tight tank top.

"Good evening, Sunshine." He grins, that smile that makes her think that maybe he should be the one she called 'Sunshine'. "I brought you coffee." An odd offering at nine on a Wednesday evening but she’d been complaining, via text, about the lack of quality caffeine all day. Marcus offers her a polystyrene takeout cup as he steps inside.

"Lifesaver," she mumbles as she grabs it by the flimsy top and shuffles towards the kitchen to pour it into her unused Death Cab for Cutie mug — the mug her brother bought her three birthdays ago — and sips on the coffee. It's far too hot but she doesn't care; she needs the caffeine just to keep her eyes open. She grabs the blanket that she’s been sleeping under and wraps it around her waist, hyper-aware that she’s still wandering around in her underwear. She’s almost too tired to care.

"Are you okay?" It’s almost like he can tell. Though, she’s sure it probably has something to do with the dark bags beneath her eyes. She’s sure it probably looks like she’s been punched square in the face.

She shrugs. "I'll be fine. 'm just tired," She hums. Coraline slumps back against the couch cushions, pulls a thick blanket back over her body and lets her eyes flutter shut again. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Bad night sleep?" There’s bags and piles of fresh laundry piled on the chair he usually sits on, a product of Coraline’s half-hearted attempt at productivity. Instead, he resigns and sits down beside her at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her legs absentmindedly to rest in his lap, sipping on his own drink, and smiling at her sympathetically as she stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.

Her eyes drag towards him when she opens them again. They rest on his face, studying everything from the softness of his brow and the curve of his prominent nose, to the scattering of facial hair that dances across his jaw, small patches of grey poking through at the edges. She’s glad he kept it after whatever undercover work he’d been assigned to before they’d even met. "If I tell you it was the worst night sleep I'd ever had, in my entire life, would that make me sound dramatic?"

"You? Dramatic?" Marcus scoffs and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. His free hand rests on her leg; he draws patterns against her skin but she’s not even sure he realises he’s doing it. "Never."

“Shut up.” Coraline glares at him but smiles, regardless. "Well, I think I'm allowed a pass today."

His face falls at her words. "What happened?"

She sighs and takes a hand through her hair. "My dad-" She eyes him as he watches her intently, brown eyes soft and comforting. "-he's ill again."

Cora had told him about her dad's illness, about how she worried he'd wind up back there again, in the hospital, that things would be worse this time. He'd listened to her like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world and she'd almost cried when he'd held her in a hug a little longer than usual. It was that night that she’d tried to ask him about his past; she wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid telling her because he didn’t trust her or because it held things he didn’t want to relive. She half-hoped it was the latter, but she hated to think that he might be bottling things up, things he didn’t want her to know or didn’t feel comfortable sharing.

She wishes he’d tell her things. She’ll understand, no matter what it was. She’ll listen, like he does to her, for as long as he needs, as long as he wants.

It’s almost comical how different they are in that sense. Marcus is reserved, closed off, but in way that doesn’t suit him. It’s like whatever exists there, whatever memories lingered, had been withered by sadness, by something or someone, until there’s a barrier guarding his secrets and story that he hasn’t meant to build. She sees the softness in his eyes when she tells him her stories or shares her fears, like his heart is aching to spill the details of his past. Like he can’t let it out. It works for his job — undercover work, secrets, classified information — but somehow it doesn’t suit the smile and the softness of his words as he illuminates Coraline’s darkness.

Coraline, on the other hand, finds her words spilling from her chest before she can even hold them back. She’s not sure if it’s just him — the reassuring smiles, the soft brush of a hand, the gentle voice — but they pour from her at an almost embarrassing speed, like a waterfall of words cascading at regrettable speed. She’s not even entirely sure that she won’t spill her secrets to the next stranger in the street who offers her a smile. But that works for her job; people prying, picking her apart like vultures, scavengers of information found tucked away out of reach. It’s the worst part of the job description, to expect someone to know every detail of your private life, but she often thinks she’s open enough to sate them, until they leave her alone at last.

On paper, they make no sense. Jobs, the polar opposite, necessary privacy mixed with relentless publicity. Open and closed doors. But Coraline thinks, perhaps, that’s why they work. It balances them both out.

Marcus reaches over and catches her hand in his. There's barely any space between them because of the way they’re sat, with her feet prodding at his knees. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispers, his thumb running over her knuckles softly.

After a shaky smile, gazes locked for maybe a little too long, Coraline stands up and smooths out her shirt. As much as she appreciates it, and appreciates him, she doesn't want to cry. Not today. "It'll be okay." She scrapes her thumb under her eyes, brushing away the black smudges that she's sure have formed underneath her eyes, and finishes the last of her coffee. "Everything will be okay."

Cora isn't entirely sure she believes that.

[toosicktoocare]

Oh gosh! Okay. So, that YouTuber!Lance/Teacher!Keith AU you did where the class knows about their not so secret relationship? Would you write something angsty with that where Lance is freaking out because he got a phone call and a family member was in an accident and they're fine but while he was slightly warm in the morning he is now /scorching/ and panicking and comes bursting into the classroom sobbing because after the word 'accident' he stopped paying attention... Please!!

This lovely is referring to this fic right here!

“You’re a little warm.” 

Despite Keith’s palm feeling slightly relieving upon his forehead and despite feeling more tired than usual, Lance frowns and weakly swats Keith’s hand from his forehead. “I’m fine.”

Keith’s eyes narrow in a way that could lead to an argument if Lance isn’t careful. 

“Did you not just hear what I said?” 

“I did,” Lance says against a sigh. “But, I’m fine, Keith. I feel fine.” His gaze is quick to soften at the glimmer of concern coating Keith’s dark eyes. “Keith-”

“For once,” Keith starts, raking a hand through his hair. “For once, can you just rest? I know you want to upload and please your fans, but you don’t know your own limits. I’d feel much better knowing you were resting and not pushing that small fever into something worse.” 

In just seconds, an uncomfortable wave of stress has washed over Keith, shown clearly by the prominent frown etched across his lips paired with furrowed brows. It’s enough to have Lance caving with a deep sigh and slumping shoulders. He’s not a fan of skipping uploads, but he can just send out a tweet; he’ll do whatever he needs to relieve the stress and worry from his husband.

“Okay,” he says, voice small for defeat tastes sour along his tongue. “I’ll rest.” 

Keith’s lips meet Lance’s forehead, and Lance can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips. 

“Thank you,” Keith breathes out, warm breath ghosting across Lance’s forehead. 

“Go teach the hooligans,” Lance says back, placing one hand to Keith’s chest to push the latter away. “You’ll be late.” 

Nodding, Keith steps away to shoulder his backpack. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“Will do.” 

*****

Lance’s phone ringing pulls him from sleep with a quick jerk and a loud gasp. He’s drenched in sweat, shirt uncomfortably plastered to his skin and sheets underneath him damp and sticky. He feels heavy, hazy, like he’s a massive weight sinking underwater. Reaching for his phone is a challenge, but he manages to snag it, not even looking at who’s calling as he presses the phone to his ear. 

“Hey,” he rasps out in greeting, frowning at the croak that had been his voice only hours earlier. 

“Lance, es tu madre. Tengo una pregunta de seguro rápida. Tu padre y yo nos metimos en un pequeño accidente, y … ”

Accidente? 

Lance blinks slowly as his phone slips from his hand and clatters to the floor, his mother’s voice growing faint. 

Accident?

He stumbles out of his bed, kicking his phone across the floor as he staggers toward his shoes. His heart is hammering hard against his chest, breaths becoming lost against the rapid thumping, and each step feels as if he’s walking across a rope bridge covered in mud. 

He manages to slip two shoes on before he’s turning back to look for his phone. His movements feel slow, unearthly, almost as if he’s watching himself walk and not actually walking. He drops to the floor and pats around until his hand finds his phone, and he presses it to his ear, interrupting his mother with quick, wheezy words. 

“Mamá, espera. Tengo que llamar a un Uber. Tengo que ir a Keith.” 

He ends the call and dials an Uber with shaking fingers. Keith can help, he thinks. He just has to get to Keith. 

*****

By the time the Uber arrives at the school, Lance can’t properly breathe. He feels on the verge of a panic attack, like he’s teetering the edge with unsteady balance. His heart is slamming against his chest and drumming loudly in his ears. There’s a suffocating heat clinging to his skin and bleeding further down to burn his bones, and his throat is dry and tight, feeling almost as if it’s shrinking away to nothing. 

He knows he’s crying, if the looks his Uber driver has been giving him are anything to go by, but he can’t feel the tears; they seem to steam off his heated face, or, at least, he thinks. He’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything other than that his mother and father have been in an accident, and he needs Keith. 

He stumbles out of the car, tossing his wallet to the driver before staggering up the school steps with choppy, gasping breaths. He ignores the front office, opting instead to move along with his trembling legs straight toward Keith’s classroom. 

It’s a struggle; he has to keep one hand braced against the lockers as darkness dots his vision, but he makes it to Keith’s classroom and slams the door open with a wheezing inhale. 

He’s not aware of the gasps coming from the students; he’s only aware of Keith racing toward him, and his body holds out just long enough before falling forward into Keith’s arms. 

“Lance!”

Lance keeps both hands wrapped tightly around Keith’s arms as he struggles to remain standing. “My parents,” he chokes out against a sob that’s slipped past the knot in his throat. “An accident.” 

With each word, he’s fading, as the slow realization that his parents truly were in an accident takes center hold in his racing heart. Darkness creeps at the edges of his vision, and all sounds become muffled. He thinks that, maybe, he hears Keith say something about “burning,” and now there’s yelling. Lance can make out the names Claire and Shiro, but after that? 

Nothing. 

He’s falling, and his vision goes black. 

*****

Lance comes to with an uncomfortable pressure in his arm paired with a faint, yet persistent, beeping sound. His entire body hurts, every single inch of it, but at least he can breathe. Opening his eyes is hard; his eyelids feel like sticky weights, but he manages enough to see Keith breathing out a deep sigh as their gazes lock onto one another. 

“You’re awake.” Keith says, voice cracking slightly as he leans forward to cup one of Lance’s hands in own. 

Lance’s brain is a puzzle desperately waiting to be pieced together. He frowns and motions weakly to the hospital room with his free hand. “What happened?” 

“More like what didn’t happen,” Keith mutters, hands tightening around Lance’s. “You came stumbling into my classroom positively scorching with an insane fever and tell me your parents got into an accident,” Keith pauses as Lance’s eyes go wide. “They’re fine, by the way. Which, you would have known had you listened to everything your mom said on the phone.” 

“They’re fine?” Lance’s voice is weak, quiet, and Keith nods. 

“Small fender bender. They were just a little confused on some insurance stuff.” 

The remaining pressure against Lance’s chest lifts with Keith’s words, and he slumps into his pillow with a deep sigh. “How did I get here, though?” He asks, and Keith breathes out a small, heated laugh that carries no heart with it. 

“I’m not finished,” Keith starts. “So, you pass out in front of my entire class. I have to tell my student Claire, who is one of your biggest fans I might add, to get Shiro, and he comes in and says we need to get you to a hospital immediately.” 

Keith stops and takes in a large breath before he continues. “Luckily, your Uber driver just so happened to be standing in the hallway with your wallet, that you gave to him, so Shiro carried you out to Uber while I did quick damage control on my class, telling them that yes we are married, not that that matters because they all knew apparently, and telling them no they may not post the videos of you fainting online.” 

Lance isn’t sure what the proper reply is, but as it turns out, there’s still more. 

“So, I follow the Uber in my car, and when I get here, the Uber driver is kind of freaking out. I have to tell him that the reason you were sobbing and wearing two different shoes is because you’re very sick, 105.2 degree fever I might add. And now, here we are. You’ve been out for a few hours, but your fever’s gone down, and you’ll be released in another hour or so.” 

Keith’s face is unreadable. Lance keeps two narrow eyes locked onto it, but he can’t find a crack in the harsh seams. He’s not sure how to approach a response, not with Keith so tense beside him, but Keith, ever-so observant, interrupts his flow of thoughts. 

“Don’t apologize. I know you want to. You panicked. I’m just glad you’re okay.” The tension in Keith’s shoulders slumps away until he’s is leaning forward and dropping his forehead to Lance’s hand. “You really scared the hell out of me.” 

Lance lifts his free hand to Keith’s head, tangling his fingers into Keith’s hair. “I did try and rest,” he admits, voice light, and Keith laughs, lifting his head to meet Lance’s tired eyes. 

“Yeah, well, new plan. I’m staying home anytime you are remotely sick from now on.” 

A faint smile plays across Lance’s lips as he nods. 

“You know? I kinda like the sound of that.” 

[heretherebedork]

All Ren ever wanted was to love and be loved by Kazuma but the tragedy of their childhood and the trauma of what the adults needed as an answer from him have left him unable to hold onto that, unable to accept that love because the past hurts him too much for the future to take hold.

And the weather repeats, the rain that floods them and takes them apart.

Both Kazuma and Ren have spent their lives waiting for each other, looking for each other, loving each other and feeling unworthy of the other person they love. They have spent lifetimes, ages, so long and so much pain searching for the person they still think is perfect and hanging onto that love that they lost on a rainy night with pain and illness and isolation.

Only Ren knows what he said he did and only Kazuma clings to the same innocence as before and that holds them apart even as they try to cling to each other, to find each other, even as they both scream their love they're separated by so much of the past being one-sided.

This, again and again, is that same pedestal they both put each other on, that idea of what happened back then not being worthy of the other person and that ideal that they want with him... but it's also about Kazuma again now, Kazuma who believes in so much goodness and who didn't see what Ren went through and has no idea that his mother hates the man he loves so fiercely he would shatter himself for without a thought.

Kazuma remains ignorant of the past while Ren cannot escape it.

Because both of them hold the other as perfect, as beyond words, as the one that they wanted to hold onto but could not. Kazuma searched the world for Ren and Ren called his phone every day to believe he was still alive.

They love each other to the point of pain but the past stands between like a monolith that stops them from truly comforting each other.

Kazuma hopes and loves in the light and loses Ren in the dark. He stands in the rain beneath an umbrella but brilliant and filled with hope and love and then he stands in their home, formally so warm, and is suddenly cold, suddenly lonely, suddenly in darkness that nothing can pierce.

Suddenly everything is so much bigger, so much emptier, so much darker, so much less and also so much more than it was and it leaves Kazuma without anything at all, empty and alone, isolated and without the love he's sought for so long and desperately wanted, needed, and had finally found again after so long searching. @absolutebl It's what would have happened if Our Dating Sim had gone dark.

The reminder to take care of his health coming from a stranger when his health was what caused all the issues in the first place is absolutely heartbreaking. Kazuma has loved Ren for so long and had him and lost him again without ever knowing why or what happened because Ren didn't want him to know. Because Ren experienced so much trauma at that time that he didn't want to let Kazuma know about any of it.

The wall that was built between them was built on trauma and the past and pain and love and pedestals and it hurts so much because their love takes up so much space in their lives but not enough to change how the pain and the past has shaped them.

And then for Kazuma to find out that Ren is still talking to his coworkers and he's so grateful he's safe and it's the same that Ren kept calling his phone to know he was safe and alive.

The most amazing part is that Kazuma isn't even hurt to know that Ren isn't speaking to him. He's just relieved to know that Ren is alive.

These two shots just made me think of @respectthepetty because Kazuma is always breaking out boxes for Ren, constantly pushing past all the lines that keep them apart and he does it even when Ren isn't there. He will always break out of the boxes they've put themselves in because love makes him so much braver than he is otherwise, because love has shaped him and his love for Ren is what has created him as he is.

The dark, dark home and the emptiness and Kazuma walking in and greeting the emptiness and then that last flashback, that shot of their warmth contrasted to the empty darkness behind them that Kazuma now lives in without Ren, the darkness that was waiting for him even at their happiest.

And then his empty arms n front of him, a parody of the hug he had perfect, an emptiness he can't fill any longer because the only person who filled that space isn't there.

Next week is just... we know Kazuma won't let Ren run but all he can do is confront him and keep pushing because he hurts so much and he's so empty and Ren fills up places he's left for him and he might be gentle but he is not shy. No boxes hold Kazuma but they hold Ren very, very tightly.