#this is kind of half-done bc i just need to get some thoughts out. some of y’all annoy me.

[autismnation]

seeing people deny katniss being clearly indigenous coded really irritates me.

a lot of people use the excuse that, because she’s in the woods most of her time, she’s in the sun and gets a tan. she says that she, like everyone in the seam, has olive skin/dark hair/gray eyes. so unless everyone in the seam is also going out into the woods (spoiler alert: they’re not. in fact, they’re spending most of the time in the mines, away from the sun.) then katniss is a woman of colour.

but, okay, let’s ignore the signs that she is indigenous. she is still a person of colour! that’s the whole point of the seam/merchant sections in town.

it’s about class inequality and how race plays a part in that!

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

[space-cowgirllll]

Right Where You Left Me

a/n: I was going to wait to post this but I had written a lot more than I thought the last time I touched this. A little lengthy bc I’m a yapper but here's part two of Tolerate It. I'M SORRYYYYY 🥹

The flurries Abby had seen as she walked into work this morning quickly turned into actual snowfall. Twelve hours later, everything around her is covered in a thick blanket of white snow. Traffic had been worse than usual, making her already shitty commute twice as long. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding leaves her when she finally pulls up to the curb in front of her home. She's safe. Forcing her frozen fingers to uncurl from the death grip she had on the steering wheel, she parks the car, cursing when she feels it slide just a little. She was due for a tropical vacation soon. 

Despite her disdain for the snow, Abby can admit the quaint neighborhood looks beautiful. Thousands of multicolored lights adorn the houses and yards around her. Laughter from the kids having a snowball fight across the street fills the night air. Their giggles make Abby's heart feel a little lighter. A couple of her neighbors have their curtains drawn, displaying their immaculately decorated trees. It reminds her of those cheesy hallmark movies she secretly loves watching. 

Abby cringes when she realizes her house is the only dark one on the street. In her mind she can see the purple Post-It still stuck to the fridge reminding her to pull the outdoor decor down from the attic and actually decorate. The red plastic tubs have been sitting at the top of the steps for weeks. She trips over them constantly, telling herself she'll get to them tomorrow, but it seems there were just never enough hours in the day. Eighty hour work weeks left little room for anything else- not that she had much going on. If she wasn't at the gym, or catching up on some much needed sleep, she was at the hospital. 

Her head hits the steering wheel in defeat when she taps the screen on her phone and catches sight of the date. It's the twentieth of December.  

"Too late to do anything about it now." She mumbles to herself. Her palms dig into her tired eyes. Today was truly the day from hell.

But the universe doesn't seem to be quite done with her just yet. Over the hum of her ac blowing she hears a familiar tune. Her head snaps to the radio in recognition. Her usual radio station has switched over to playing nothing but Christmas music for the night. It's your favorite song. Shit. Her shaky index finger blindly reaches for the button to kill the engine before throwing the door open, jacket forgotten in the passenger seat. 

She shivers as she speed walks to her front door trying her hardest not to slip on the icy sidewalk. The straps of her work bags dig painfully into her right shoulder when she bends down to collect the multiple packages that had accumulated on her porch. After days of ignoring them, they were starting to block the doorway. But hey, at least this year she had gotten ahead on Christmas shopping. 

These days it was all about the small wins. —

Abby drops the mattress she dragged out of the guest room in front of the fireplace with soft grunt. She hasn't done this in years, but she needs it today. This had been one of your favorite ways to unwind after a long week. Always there waiting for her with a big smile and her favorite snacks, a movie waiting to be played on the tv. In the later months of the year, around the holidays, Abby could always count on finding a pair of pajamas for her that matched yours laid out on your shared bed. She had always thought it was kind of silly when you had a perfectly good bed and tv upstairs. Now, she could only dream of coming home after a long day to a warm house and you bundled up in blankets waiting up for her.

It's quiet as she stares out the window watching snow fall. Her head is fuzzy from the wine and she knows she's going to regret it tomorrow. The movie she randomly picked half an hour ago is now muted. She can hear the distant buzzing of her personal phone from somewhere in the kitchen, but she can't be bothered. Calls from her family trying to confirm next weeks plans go ignored. Abby loves them, but the thought of being asked if she was ready to start dating again before trying to set her up with the friend of a friend for the fifth year in a row made her want to cancel her flight home. She can't stand the pity in their eyes every time they look at her.

Bleary eyes roam around the room, the sight of  the unlit, half-decorated tree in the corner and the lone stocking missing its pair hanging off the mantle make her chest hurt in a way it hadn't in a while. It may not look like it, but she had tried. Most of the Christmas stuff actually made it out of the attic this year. Which is more than she can say for last year, and the years before that.  She'd finally gotten the tree out and decorating had been going well, until she pulled out that ornament. 

The little house you had custom made to look like a tiny replica of the first place the two of you were sharing as a married couple. Abby remembers how excited you'd been, staying up waiting for her to come home from a late night so you could open it together. The look in your eyes as you traced over the details, the names stamped on the back. You made her hold it as you hooked it onto the tree, wanting to do it together.

Her fingers trace over the pink floral pattern on the sheets. You'd picked these out, excited to host her parents over the thanksgiving holiday for the fist time. Abby didn't have the heart to change them out. Minus your personal things, she didn't have the heart to make any changes to your original decor. You'd made the house a home. Some nights she swears she can catch a whiff of your favorite candle, or the lavender spray you'd douse the pillows with before going to bed. 

Abby gives up, shutting the tv off and settling into her pillow, ready for today to be over. She can't help but feel silly laying here in the dark by herself. Nights like this had been more fun with you around. Everything in her life had been more fun with you around. 

You made Abby's life magical, she just hadn't realized it until it was too late.  ---------------------------

Abby watches you push your food around your plate out of the corner of her eye. The scraping of the fork makes it hard to focus on the conversation happening in front of her. Would it kill you to at least try to look interested? Her hand lands on your upper thigh, squeezing lightly to get your attention. The two of you exchange subtle glares. 

It isn't until her colleagues retreat back to their own table that she finally looks at you. You're swirling the ice in your drink around with a straw. Your gaze fixed on the window, staring out at the busy street. She had thought a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant would soften you up a little, but with how little you've spoken all night and your plate still full, she's starting to worry. 

After an explosive fight the morning after she'd forgotten your wedding anniversary, you'd been distant. In all the years Abby had known you, she could count on one hand the amount of times you'd fought, and even then the two of you could never stay away for long. Communication was one of the things you prided yourself on the most, never wanting to go to bed angry at each other. But it's been three weeks and Abby realizes she's really fucked up. 

"Alright, what's going on with you?" 

"Oh, now you notice." You retort. Her eyebrows knit together, surprised at the thinly veiled anger in your voice. 

"You're so dramatic." She huffs. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Your eyes shift to the side, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. She can practically see the gears turning in your head. You're holding your tongue. 

"Abigail, let's not do this right now." You beg. "Please."

"No. We're going to talk now." She speaks lowly, grateful for the little privacy the corner table provided. "Sitting in silence isn't going to make this go away. Stop being childish and tell me how to fix this." 

You looked her in the eye, no longer seeing the person you fell in love with. Knowing that if you stayed you'd end up losing yourself in someone who couldn't love you the way you deserved anymore. There was no way you could have the family you wanted with someone who constantly prioritized their work, making you feel like you were the distraction. 

Your lips part on a shaky exhale. You can't keep lying awake at night contemplating this. You have to do it now. From the corner of your eye you can see the couple at the table closest to you subtly lean towards you. 

Abby leans back in her seat waiting for you to speak up. Her arms folded across her chest. The way her leg bounces up and down gently shakes the table. Something about the dejected look in your eyes makes her panic inside. 

"I want a divorce."

---------

Department store wrapping stations were a small luxury Abby didn't mind spending the money on. She wasn't the best gift wrapper, often leaving rips or weird folds on anything that wasn't shaped like a box. 

She stands in line with all the other last minute shoppers, people watching when her eyes fall on the last person she thought she'd ever see again. Abby swears she must be dreaming. Her knees nearly buckle when she sees you standing there slowly making your way through a rack of baby clothes. A little boy no younger than two perched on your hip, his leg trying to sit comfortably against the small swell of your stomach. He's a carbon copy of his mother. Abby sees you wherever her eyes land on his face. 

Your hair is longer, framing your pretty face. There's a glow to you that she doesn't remember seeing in those last two years of your marriage. Your eyes are tired but bright, even from here Abby can see the way they sparkle when you stare at the little boy in your arms. Nothing like the cold way you'd looked at her that fateful night. 

Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she steps out of line, making her way to a more secluded section of the store. Hiding behind a tie display she watches you interact with your son. For a moment she pretends that you're still hers and that the last five years didn't happen. Pretends that she didn't fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to her. God, she feels like a delusional creep. 

A tall woman walks up behind you, making a silly face at your toddler. You smile when he reaches out for her, trading the boy for the to-go cup she was holding out to you. Abby doesn't have to guess what you're drinking. She knew how much you hated coffee, preferring hot chocolate to keep you warm in the colder months. Her stomach bottoms out when you raise the cup to your lips.

A ring that isn't hers sits on your finger. 

Abby didn't realize how big of a gut punch that would feel like. While you still spoke to her parents from time to time, they made sure not to relay any information to her. She knew you wouldn't stay single forever, but actually seeing you like this ripped apart whatever was left of her heart.

You'd gone silent on social media since the split. A new and private Instagram account was all she could find one night after she'd been drinking a little too much. She'd cried herself to sleep, wanting nothing more than to be a part of your world again. 

She studies your wife, who's everything Abby isn't. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a loose bun, the pink knit beanie on her head matches the scarf currently wrapped around your neck. Dark eyes watch your face intently with a smile as you hold up a onesie to her. Abby looks down at her old college sweats and worn sneakers, nothing like the well put together outfit she's wearing. The woman even looks like she gets more than five hours of sleep each night for crying out loud. 

She looks happy. Something Abby hasn't been for a long time.

And judging by the way you're looking at her, like she hangs the stars in the sky, Abby can see how happy you are. She bites the inside of her cheek, refusing to remember what it felt like to have you look at her that way. Tears prickle in her eyes as you make your way down to the front of the store, dramatically blowing kisses at the giggling toddler being carried just a few steps ahead of you. One of your hands rubbing softly at your bump. 

Abby startles when you look back towards the men's section, eyes going straight to the tiny display she stood behind. Of course you spotted her. You lock eyes with her. There's a tiny smile on your face watching her come out of her shitty hiding spot. For a moment you two stand there just staring at each other. Abby's aware you probably look crazy to anyone watching but she can't bring herself to care. 

Those are my sweats. You mouth. Abby releases a watery chuckle she doubts you hear. She looks down, finally noticing the nail polish stain just under her knee. It's purple. Your favorite color. 

The sound of an alarm brings you both back to reality. You give her one last smile, waving as you walk out the doors and into the chilly December air. Her eyes follow you as you cross the street, until you get lost in a large crowd of people. 

Watching you walk away this time feels like a final goodbye. You’d always have a place in your heart for Abby, no longer feeling any resentment towards her. She had been too young and selfish to love you the way you deserved. She can see you've found that. And while she's happy for you, she can't help the tears that spill out once she's in the safety of her car. 

There's a bittersweet feeling in knowing that the world didn't stop spinning for you the way it did for her the day you walked out of her life. 

[stxneflxwers]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[acedocx]

do something about it

•

c.b.g (oneshot)

word count: 2.35k

tags: choi beomgyu x reader, college au, enemies to people that make out in a classroom, academic rivals to lovers, can you tell i'm stressed about college, pretty suggestive but there's no actual full smut (its story required in fics like this tension is the point im not weird guys), brat!beomgyu, dom!reader, makeout sequence, dry humping/grinding/idk what to call this ive never done this before

warnings: smut kinda, swearing, degradation, reader goes off on gyu (i love gyu guys i feel like i make him annoying in my stuff but i love him so much i promise), kind of public place stuff (classroom and building are empty), shitty formatting bc the author still doesn't know how tumblr formatting works

📖 author's note: hi guys! been a while, college is crazy! obviously, i'm handling the stress well (lie) (haven't slept) (publishing this at five in the morning) which is very evident in this fic lol. i'm pretty nervous to post this, as it's much more risqué and suggestive than my last one—it does kind of border on smut. i've been on smth recently i don't know what's wrong with me. but it's almost certainly totally unrealistic, so sorry in advance lol. this was originally supposed to be a full fic, and i do have some ideas for it, so if yall want more (or a part two or smth) let me know! perhaps ill make it a full fic lol. enjoy!

it was on that crisp february afternoon, in the confines of the worn concrete walls of your anthropology class, that you genuinely (and ironically) began to reconsider your moral stance on murder.

you stifled a sigh of annoyance as you heard the screech of the chair in the row behind you as it ground against the linoleum floor. always first. he was always first. you really thought you had him this time, only two questions away from the final eightieth question.

you glanced up from your exam and immediately wished you hadn't. you felt rage begin to simmer in your stomach as you made eye contact with choi beomgyu, who smirked at you as he all but sauntered back to his desk to grab his things.

"prick," you hissed to yourself, hoping the sound of the closing door disguised your outburst.

choi beomgyu. you didn't believe in nemeses—you hadn't, until now, even really believed in academic rivals—but there was something about choi beomgyu that made you so angry it was difficult to breathe.

he was insufferably annoying—cracking jokes, sleeping in class, talking and laughing loudly as the professor explained concepts that would surely be on the test. but more than anything, it was that it didn't matter.

beomgyu had top marks, had never failed an exam, almost always the highest score in the class; you hated him for it. you were always the second highest, always just below him, if only by a half-point. it drove you insane, because you slaved over the assignments and spent hours studying—not a day went by where you didn't. you had basically no life outside of school.

and along comes choi beomgyu, who could come into class hungover and get a perfect score on an exam. just the thought of it made you sick.

despite just having an exam, you found yourself in the library again that afternoon slaving over study materials. you had been staring at your screen for what felt like hours, back and shoulders aching from your poor posture. your head swam with information—definitions, dates, people, everything blended together into one hazy blur. you let out a sigh of exasperation, letting your head rest on the table, eyes closed. i bet beomgyu isn't even studying, you thought with a flare of annoyance. he probably won't. he's probably out partying, having fun, enjoying college—

"d'you expect to find the information in the wood grain, or what?"

your head shot up at the teasing voice from in front of you. had you summoned him? was this a divine joke—god's cruel punishment upon you when you needed it the least? you sighed, turning your eyes back to your computer.

"just resting my eyes. i've been at this for a while," you answered curtly. something you probably wouldn't understand, you added to yourself.

"the anthropology stuff? really?" he scoffed. you clenched your teeth. don't let him get under your skin. "we just had an exam. which, how'd you do on that, by the way? i think i did pretty well—98%, could've done better."

"fine," you snapped, probably too quickly to be believable. you honestly hadn't looked at your grade yet, but you knew it wasn't that. you prayed you could change the subject quick enough before beomgyu bragged about his any more. "what are you doing in here anyway? since obviously, you don't need to study," you said, fighting to keep the venom from your voice.

"ouch," beomgyu laughed, pushing his long brown hair out of his face and moving closer, leaning against the table. "so what, i'm not allowed in here if i'm not boring myself to death?"

"what do you want?"

"nothing! just coming to talk to my classmate," he said innocently. he began to turn to walk away before turning back to look at you. something in his gaze lit a spark of anger in your chest that you fought to swallow. "sorry you have to work yourself to death to keep up."

you didn't know if it was the exhaustion or the two months of pent-up frustration that caused you to snap, but that did it. you pushed yourself up from the desk so forcefully, the chair nearly fell behind you. beomgyu turned back to you with a start. that familiar tightness in your chest took hold, and forgetting about your computer and bag, you grabbed beomgyu by the wrist and began to drag him out the door and down the hall.

it was long past the last class of the day leaving, and golden hour beams filtered lazily in through the windows—a stark contrast to the tempest that you could feel raging through your veins. you dragged a protesting beomgyu into the first empty classroom you saw, slamming the door behind you and whirling to face him.

"okay, we're doing this now, what the fuck is your problem?!" you all but spit at him, trying with everything in you to not raise your voice—it made sense to you now; he wanted a rise out of you, and you couldn't bear to give him the satisfaction of knowing it was working.

"what are you talking about?" beomgyu said with feigned innocence, smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"do not play stupid with me. you've proven too many times that you think you're smarter than me to play stupid." your hands shook at your sides with the monumental effort of not grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and you squeezed your eyes shut to block out the smug expression that was undoubtedly still plastered on his face.

"have you ever considered that maybe i am smarter than you? did that cross your mind? wow, your ego must be fuckin' crazy if you really believe no one at this university could possibly be smarter than you," beomgyu scoffed. your mouth hung open in shock. ego? he was talking to you about ego?

"do you know how hard i had to work to get here? do you know how many hours, how many nights i slave over materials to have as high of a grade as i do? do you know how exhausted i am? do you?! no! you don't! because you don't have to work!" you could feel your throat growing tight as you fought the urge to tear up from anger. you sucked in a deep, shaky breath, lowering your voice to a near-whisper, the vitriol in it acidic enough to burn.

"do you know that i can't stand you? every time i see you, i feel my, my blood boil. everything goes to static—you make me so angry that my head spins, you infuriate me to the point of—of," you squeezed your eyes shut once more. "of total incoherence. you make me incompetent, and i hate you."

the words hung in the air, electrifying the atmosphere in the room. the tension was thick enough to taste—you could feel it pulled tight like a cord between the two of you, waiting to snap. you slowly opened your eyes again, defiantly meeting beomgyu's gaze.

the smirk was gone, replaced by surprise and—you noted with a surge of pride—slight outrage. but behind his eyes, there was something else. a challenge—like he was waiting for you to yell at him again. it was him who broke the silence finally.

"yeah? i make you that mad?" he leaned in closer, the spark of defiance behind his eyes brighter now—different in some way. "do something about it."

you were warm, hot, unbelievably hot, as you felt the blood rush to your face, pounding in your ears, drowning out all logic or reasoning. everything outside had disappeared—your vision tunneled on beomgyu. it felt like flames—tearing through your body, screaming to get out in some way. you wanted to hit him. you could—you could hit him, punch him, kick him, slap him, something—anything.

your lips slammed against his with enough force to fully knock him back into the desk behind him, nearly knocking the both of you over in the process. something in the both of you snapped, and all the fight and indignation in beomgyu seemed to have fled him.

one of your hands found his wrists, pinning them behind him to the wooden tabletop below. the other found his long brown hair, snaking up into it, grip tightening as you pulled. you smirked into the kiss at the whine beomgyu let out, his legs seeming to go weak beneath him.

you wanted to devour him—you bit and sucked at his lips, surely leaving them swollen and bruised, tongue exploring every inch it could of his mouth—the mouth that had caused you so much chagrin for the last two months, finally silenced at your discretion. this was justice, vindication, you thought to yourself. putting him in his place.

it was only when you became truly dizzy from a lack of oxygen you pulled away—more accurately, pulled beomgyu away, yanking his head back by his hair, to which he let out another pathetic noise. as you both gasped for air, your gaze settled upon him again, and you noted with disdain how beautiful he was like this.

his eyes were half-lidded, teary, the pupils blown out with lust. his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a bright pink, a sheen coating his whole face. as you suspected, his lips were swollen, red, and trembling. this close, you could clearly see that the spark in his eyes that you had seen as challenge before was something else entirely—it was desperation.

everything began to click into place. he wanted your attention. that is why he acted out that way in the library. your mouth twisted into a smirk reminiscent of the expression beomgyu wore minutes ago. pride surged through you where there should have been annoyance—he enjoyed this. he wanted this, wanted you to put him in his place.

beomgyu seemed to come back to himself for a moment, the infuriating arrogance that you had come to associate with him adorning his features once more. he gave you a smug look again, shakier this time—he knew he had been caught.

"l-look at you, kissing me like you're—you're trying to eat me or s-something—thought you said you...couldn't stand me."

you scoffed at him. "i can't," you hissed. "so sit. get on the desk."

beomgyu pushed himself back and up until he was sitting on the desk, legs to either side of you. you pressed your lips to his neck in slow, lazy kisses that trailed up to his jaw. beomgyu tilted his head back, eyebrows knitted, bruised lips parted in a shaky sigh, trying and failing to stay quiet as your teeth found purchase below his jawline.

once you were satisfied with the bruise, you leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"do you get off on this?"

the shiver that went through his body was confirmation enough, and it nearly made you laugh. you were giddy, power-drunk—you would later blame the power trip and the blinding rage for just how much you enjoyed seeing beomgyu unravel so beautifully beneath you. it was almost enough to convince you that you weren't enraptured by him, almost ethereal in the golden light that bathed the empty classroom.

"that's humiliating. are you excited by this? by me yelling at you, degrading you," you made another mark near his collarbone, "being rough with you?"

"yes, god—i'm, i—please, please—" beomgyu was incoherent, speaking in fragments, newly freed hands grasping at your shirt, your arms, anything to pull you back into him.

you pouted at him in mocking pity, pulling his hands from your shirt, pinning them back firmly on the desk.

"poor thing, can't even speak. thought you were smarter than me," you said in a sickly sweet voice. "please, what?"

"please, please, anything—kiss me, touch me, something—" you could see tears in his eyes that threatened to fall, and you looked down at the mess you had made of his outfit. the collar of his white tee had been stretched to reveal his collarbones, necklaces askew in every direction. the hem of his shirt had ridden way up where your hand had found its way under it, revealing some of his stomach as it rose and fell with his short, shallow breaths—and the obvious tent in his black jeans.

it was impossible trying to lie to yourself—you wanted this just as much as he did. but you couldn't lose now, not when you've finally bested him for once. you swallowed, hoping he didn't see the way you faltered as you stared. a smirk found your features again, and you traced the waistband of his jeans with the tips of your fingers, pressing more lazy kisses into his jaw.

you pressed your body flush against his chest, your thigh coming to rest between his legs. beomgyu shivered again, chasing the friction as he began to grind against your leg. it was unholy, the sounds he made—even worse the almost undeniable urge to let him, to fuck him there in that classroom.

you tugged him back from you by his hair once more, pulling yourself away from him entirely as he whined in protest, standing back to observe your handiwork a second time.

beomgyu looked an absolute mess. hair wild, eyes puffy, face flushed almost burgundy and streaked with tears—fucked out, and you had barely even touched him. entirely pathetic, entirely at your mercy. you couldn't have been more satisfied.

"we're in a classroom, y'know," you taunted. "you didn't really expect to do it here, right? freak," you added venomously. beomgyu couldn't even respond, only shaking his head dazedly.

you turned towards the door, smoothing your shirt and hair nonchalantly.

"you...y-you're such a...you are evil, you can't..." you heard beomgyu stammer out from behind you. you turned towards him with a perfect mimickry of his smug smirk from earlier.

"do something about it."

[thedeathwitchescats]

Finishing the golden raven knocked me the fuck out so my Coherent and Eloquent thoughts are gonna have to wait so enjoy this very spoilery mash up of whatever is coming to mind now before I do a proper deep dive

-I was really expecting more in terms of jerejean development, but Im not surprised that nora is waiting until the last book. I would assume there is also a bit to do with them having originally not been intended for one another... and on that front I dont remember nora ever confirming them officially just her deleting the ec and saying she isnt letting it define these three books. Which does point to jerejean endgame but ((and correct me NICELY if im wrong)) she never officially said the two of them are to get together.

-tagging off that point: something about the pacing of this book felt very similar to the pacing of tkm. There were quite a few scenes that felt very similar to tkm, the general flow was also very similar. Just instead of jerejeans relationship forming we got jean forming relationships in general

-again tagging onto that, the scene where he braided lailas hair was the scene that made me cry hardest.

-what we saw of the foxes made me so violently ill in the best way possible. The fear in jean at seeing neil laying on the court floor after a raven check AGAIN was so brutal, even through jeremys pov. I dont think we would have survived the raven/fox game through jeans eyes tbh. Jean had too much on the line. He would never admit it but he loves neil, Neil is essentially family to him. We see that in his blind and unending trust in him

-again, sue me, speaking of that. Why the fuck did neil not tell AT LEAST Andrew abt his doings in california??? Was it to avoid bringing up andrews trauma?? Bc anything else goes so violently against everything that andriel is i will not stand for it. If this fandom is good at one thing its saying to hell with canon and making up what we want to believe and I will blind myself into whatever fanon I need to if we get a reason for neils omission as anything other than misguided protection of Andrew. Bc yes, it would be misguided. Letting his bf know he put a fucking hit out on someone is smt he should have done despite the state and circumstances. Though I digress

-back to jean and the fox/raven game. He was so fucking worried abt neil and andrew that I all out refuse to believe we wont get more updates. I know that this series is jeans, and Im not saying give either of them a pov or anything, but it would be nice if we got to see the two of them have a conversation with Jean together in the next book. Maybe andrews arm slung across neils shoulders as they watch him graduate??

-im pretty sure what we are leading up to championship wise is a fox/trojan showdown. Despite what Jean said abt not knowing if the foxes can pull off a miracle two years in a row and the whole freshman fox situation, Im betting that is going to be where we end. And as far as who wins, I have no guesses. The foxes beat the ravens at full strength with nine players and a prayer. Despite how badly the last of the ravens fucked them up, I am willing to put good money that nora will plot armor their asses to championships.

-speaking of plot armor, how the fuck did andrew manage to take neils weight, even if it wasnt all of it, to help him off the field with a broken clavicle that required surgery???? Ik wymack and abby got there in a couple seconds but Andrew still managed to do it

-okay Ill, begrudgingly, put the foxes aside bc i have more thoughts

-I love jeremy, Jean, cat and lailas casual intimacy with one another. The four of them move as a singular unit half the time and it holds a special place in my heart

-I do kind of think that this next book is going to end with Jeremy forsaking his family. We are seeing the cracks in whatever resolve he had up and to this point. And to back that up, while their different in so many ways, the series is taking some hints from the structure of the original trilogy and with that I dont think its an unreasonable stretch to assume that there is going to be another "who is he going to choose" moment. And how beautiful would that be to have the choice be between soulmate and family yet again? This time tho I think we will get a clearer answer if this happens again bc it genuinely took me like two full rereads of the og trilogy to piece together that andrew actually chose neil and I know from friends that Im not alone in this.

-as far as jerejean, I do think that the progression of their relationship is going to be similar tho different from andriels. Also I use their ship names to refere to them bc im too exhausted to type out their names, sue me. Anyways, I think that as far as similarities, there is a good chance it is going to start out sexual. Jeremy doesnt have enough belief in himself to have an actual relationship and Jean still has a lot of internalized homophobia from the nest ((riko)) to sort through. If I had to make an educated guess I would say something abt Jean reclaiming his body and Jeremy slowly realizing that he is allowed to give this part of himself to someone who actually cares for him. Though as far as how I think their gonna be different from andriel... well I mean it doesnt take a genius to figure that their probably going to be a bit more openly affectionate/quite a bit less derranged. I do also assume that if we get a canonical endgame jerejean that Jeremy is going to have to cut ties with his family. They are violently homophobic and will probably not have any interest in entertaining the idea of jeremy being associated with them any further

-stepping away from their relationship bc i just remembered something. Jeremy calls his father sir, which i know is a thing a lot of military kids do but it is also obviously indicative that Jeremy has respect for this man regardless of his continued absence in his life. It might just be that he is the parent who wasnt there to be abusive towards him... or it might be that jeremys father, in some way, deserves the respect?? We know Jeremy has a complicated relationship with his family and how he sees them we see that in his "shes my mom cat" towards the end and ofc throughout the rest of the book. But Jeremy was the one who kept reaching out, and kept his fathers calls logged in a journal, and still refers to him with honorifics- i want more Jeremy lore

-back to jerejean, im willing to bet that we are going to get an "i cant pick him over my family" breakdown from Jeremy and Im guessing that it is going to be William who helps him make the decision. "If you cant tell whos side im on your not as smart as I thought" or whatever it was that he said. He wants Jeremy to be happy, he knows Jeremy is not happy in that damn house, and he has shown that he is willing to buck the rules to ensure that Jeremy can scrounge up whatever joy he can.

-I think jeans moment of panic is going to be more of an internal thing, like "am I even good enough to ask Jeremy to forsake his family for me" and despite all the logic I think it is going to be Neil who he calls. Bc Neil did that. As far as Jean knows Neil could have deadass looked at Andrew and went "me or Aaron" he wasnt there for it like we were. And I think Neil is going to be his usual criptic self but give enough reassurance that he gets an affectionate "your a vile wretch" from Jean or smt of the sort.

-wymack still considering Jean one of his kids even if he isnt a fox warms my heart. He called Jean. He let kevin send Jean to California. He was willing to do whatever Jean asked. Wymack my love

-speaking of coaches who kill me every chance they get: rhemann. Fucking hell i love that man. He had my heart before jeans breakdown but afterwards? He earned himself a nice shiny spot next to wymack. With the way Jean described the preceeding events Im assuming rhemann had to carry him out of the gold court or at the very least shoulder most of his weight to get him out bc Jean seemed fairly out of it, and rhemann definetly had to carry him into the house once they got there bc if jeans recollection is right Im pretty sure he was unconscious and if not then so heavily disassociated I dont think he would have been coherent enough.

-also small shout out to rhemann and adi, love them

-the end scene of the book has me conflicted. And this is probably going to be my last bullet point bc I am dead tired rn. While I do, obviously, understand that Jean wasnt sure what Jeremy was doing when he leaned over to kiss rex/jaberwackys head, I dont really understand what Jeans gut reaction there was. He doesnt explain in his internal monologue, he is far more worried abt making Jeremy less terrified and keeping the dog safe. But the reaction was instinctual, almost seemingly second nature. Which I dont 100% understand. Jeremy and Jean are often very close to one another, in each others orbit more than their not to quote Jean ((yes I know he said this abt andriel that isnt what I meant)) and Jean has stated repeatedly that he whole heartedly trusts Jeremy. Also the gut reaction in context doesnt necessarily make sense to me, it might be a me thing Im not discrediting that, and also traumatized people sometimes have instincts that only make sense to them if that bc their brain is in survival mode, so it might have been an attempt by nora to show that, but having it as the last scene in the book feels odd to me. The only thing I can assume is that Jean wasnt processing what was happening just saw jeremy coming at him quickly and reacted but also we see him not reacting to other similar situations often. You could argue that its bc Jean has feelings for Jeremy but we see Jean not reacting to Jeremy making fast movements, getting in his space and touching him throughout the series so far so I just dont get it. Now there could be a less meta reason for it, being that nora needed smt to trigger Jean thinking abt how the rules he has held to arent in place anymore but they are for him but maybe he could let them go but trauma. But he thinks pretty similar thoughts in other parts of the series too so I just dont understand. And it might be me, Im not saying it vouldnt be. Idk, I feel like the last scene in thebbook was an odd place to have such a vaugely explained and not previously seen trauma response from Jean towards Jeremy.

Okay thats all. Im gonna reread the series with tgr and give more well rounded and coherent thoughts some time in the next week. If you read all of this consider yourself a saint

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Headcanons about the svd and sve Bachelor(ette)s discovering the farmer will always sleep until the next day 6am on the dot no matter what?

Bc finding out your spouse will is both capable of sleeping from 1am to 6am and 7am to next day 6am and passing out in the mountains to 6am must be real fun to find out.

If that hasn't been done yet please and maybe thank you <3

Agree, a situation where your spouse can't be woken up before 6am is pretty funny and a good source for a funny headcanon (or even angst). Which, by the way, while writing it gave me another funny thought (maybe I'll write it in the future) - what if we switch roles? Because all bachelors/ettes go to bed at exactly 10 p.m., and you can't get them up again until the next day...

"Hey, Elliott, do you want to watch a movie or do something... more interesting?~"

"Of course, my love, we can-"

*10:00 p.m.*

"Zzzzzzz...."

"....Seriously, Elliott? Elliott?"

Oh well, I got distracted.... 😅 Anyway, thanj you so much for the ask, dear anon! ❤️

_________________________________________

Stardew Valley:

Harvey:

Harvey is already often at the doctor's mode every time he catches his spouse with serious wounds after their adventures, and now there's a new cause for concern. In addition to the fact that Farmer will not wake up before 6 a.m. under any circumstances (which is already a cause for concern, because what if they are somewhere far away, in forest for example?), the fact that because of this peculiarity Harvey's spouse will suffer from either sleep deprivation or oversleeping. And in both cases it has a negative impact on health. That's why the doctor will remind Farmer to go to bed on time and not to overload themself with farm work.

Shane:

Shane didn't pay attention to Farmer's habit at first, because either Shane couldn't get up that early (okay from 7 a.m., but 6 a.m.? Nah...) or he left Farmer to sleep further if he got up earlier than them, because they worked hard and they needed rest, and he went to make breakfast/feed the chickens. Although the moment when his spouse lay down on the couch to take a nap at noon and woke up with 6am the next day already, Shane freaked out, because holy shit he already thought they were sick or worse. Does this have some kind of bad effect on Farmer's health? No? If it's ok, Shane will get used to not being able to wake his spouse up before 6 in the morning pretty quickly.

Elliott:

Farmer got up from the bed and headed toward the kitchen, waiting for their husband Elliott by the coffee machine. But the kitchen was empty, which was odd, since Elliott didn't usually start the morning without cappuccino. Just when they were about to assume where the writer was going, their ginger spouse kicked the door and ran into the house... with Harvey and Maru? "This way, doctor, hurry! Farmer's not feeling well, they won't wake up and they need help right away- Oh..." False alarm... But honestly, Harvey will confirm Elliott's concern: it's really weird that Farmer is in no way awake to all of Elliott's futile attempts. The writer and Farmer will listen to a couple of doctor's advice and get a prescription for some medication. Elliott will make sure his dear spouse goes to bed early so they don't get sleep deprivation and its attendant problems.

Sam:

"Babe. Babe. Baaaaaaabe. Are you awake? Hon. Babe-" Sam had been shaking Farmer for probably ten minutes, but to the musician's surprise, his spouse was sleeping the dead sleep. Which made him a little worried, because.... They don't wake up at all, and- Oh! Farmer mumbled something in their sleep, so at least they're okay. "Babe. Wake up, please. Babe. Baaaaabe-" Though such a deep sleep was still stressing Sammy out a little bit. After half an hour, Farmer stopped making any sounds at all, but as soon as the six a.m. alarm clock went off, Farmer abruptly opened his eyes. "Good morning, Sammy~" "I thought you were dead." "Wha...?" Well, Farmer would agree with their spouse - If the roles were reversed, they'd be worried too.

Alex:

Tired, Farmer wrapped themself in a blanket on the couch and fell asleep at 4:00 p.m. Alex, who found them in such a position, left the kiss and went to prepare dinner for two. The food was ready, and the athlete went to wake up his spouse. Woke him up for about ten minutes, no effect. From that he started calling Harvey in a panic, and when Farmer was taken away, he was sitting not far from the emergency room where Farmer was lying. He refused to go home, and while the doctor spent the whole night trying to wake Farmer up and wanted to call Zuzu hospital, Farmer got up at six in the morning sharp. Yoba, Alex cried and hugged the confused Farmer, who did not understand why the spouse was sobbing, why Harvey was lying unconscious and how they ended up in the clinic.

Sebastian:

Though outwardly Sebastian was calm, his heart was beating quite fast from worry. He was a bit nervous, for he had never before encountered a heavy sleeper like Farmer. Sebby could easily be wakened by a rustle, but his love did not care at all about external sounds, even if a meteorite fell, they would not wake up. But at least they breathe and sniffle, that's good. He looked at his spouse for a long time, until he had fallen asleep himself, and now Farmer was looking at his slightly asleep husband. "Did you not sleep well, Sebby?" "....You could say that." He would ask Farmer to consult a doctor about it, because it... wasn't exactly normal.

Penny:

Penny's first encounter with such a peculiarity of her spouse did not go very smoothly, to say the least, as she stood crying by the bedside, vainly waking up Farmer and thinking that they had died or fallen into a coma. Imagine Farmer's face who woke up at exactly six in the morning from a sweet dream, and instead of their wife's warm smile and the smell of fresh coffee saw a sobbing Penny with the phone in her hands, calling Harvey for help. The conversation will be awkward, and Penny will rightly be angry, because she should be warned about this, but quickly adjusts to such a strange Farmer's habit. Though she'll still periodically check to see if they're breathing, just to reassure that everything's okay.

Abigail:

Abigail used to think that her Farmer was just a very deep sleeper, as she usually didn't take long attempts to wake up her spouse, leaving them to dream further, and went to do her own thing without Farmer's help. But the violet-haired girl began to notice this sort of thing more often. On one such night, she decided to test her little theory - Abby lightly shaked them, tickled them, tried to call to them (loudly), even put ice on their hand/leg/stomach - to no avail, they lay still like log, and only sniffled quietly. "You really are a deep sleeper until 6:00 a.m., like wow!" Abby shared her thoughts the next morning with Farmer, and she sounded more like admiration than concern.

Maru:

When the rooster crowed at exactly six in the morning, Farmer stretched sweetly and turned around to where Maru should be lying. Only instead of a sleeping wife or an empty seat (when she gets up early and makes breakfast), Maru was looking directly at her spouse, with notepad and pen in hand. "Hey darling, did you sleep well?" "Did you sleep well?" Judging by the heavy sigh and bags across Maru's eyes, apparently not. The young inventor noticed this strange pattern and decided to test her theory. They do indeed always get up at 6am, no matter what time they went to bed. It's very interesting! ...Although she admits that it was kinda strange to watch Farmer like that, and plus she was getting sleep deprived.

Haley:

Well, Haley hadn't noticed it at first, for at least she'd adapted to farm life, but getting up at six in the morning, seriously? People are still in bed at that time. But later, she caught this unusual phenomenon when Farmer lay down to rest for a couple hours at noon, but slept through all the plans they and their beloved wife wanted to make for the evening. Haley herself sleeps about 10 hours a night, but 18? And her spouse was impossible to wake up with anything. Nothing works, at all. The next morning she'll be a little passive-aggressive that the promised date got derailed, but she'll also be concerned because somehow this is kinda weird. Maybe they should see a doctor.

Emily:

"Thank Yoba! I was already afraid you wouldn't wake up!" The first words Farmer heard after waking up caused them to rise abruptly and look around their surroundings. Hmm, strange, they're not in a clinic, nor are they on the first level of the Mines. They're fine, and only a sad and worried Emily was standing around. "I heard some sort of scratching outside the front door and I wanted you to check, but there was no way to wake you up, and I was starting to get scared-" Oops... Farmer forgot to mention that they don't get up until after 6am, and there's no way to wake them up. Yeah, it's a weird peculiarity, but that's the way it is. At least with Farmer it's okay, so Emily relaxed a bit. But Farmer themself is worried: if they don't get up before 6 am, how to help their wife if someone, Yoba forbid, gets into the house...?

Leah:

In the first time this happened, Leah naturally freaked out when Farmer didn't wake up after a long sleep/consciousness in the Mines (just tired and collapsed from exhaustion, not wounds). And then it happened again. And again. And again, and again, and again. Until, annoyed by Farmer's disregard for their own health, the artist picked up a sculpted hammer and threatened it at the Farmer's face. "You know, I understand you have this thing with sleep, but that doesn't mean you need make it worse. Dear spouse, go to bed on time, or else..." Farmer did not want to know what would happened after "or else...", so they listened to their strict but caring wife and started to go to bed on time. And at home, not in Mines/Skull Cavern (...in most cases).

Stardew Valley Expanded:

Magnus Rasmodius:

Magnus would at first think that some kind of curse (from his ex-wife) had been cast on his spouse, or that his own spell, which he usually casts on Farmer for protection, had given strange side effects. But after checking, he found nothing life-threatening - Farmer is always up at six in the morning no matter what, and the effects of magic are nowhere to be found. Unusual, but Farmer themself are quite an unusual person, as is Rasmodius himself. There will, of course, be worries in case Magnus' beloved spouse inadvertently falls asleep or passes out in a dangerous place, but it's nothing that enchanted artifacts or spells can't solve.

Victor:

Perhaps Victor would not have been so frightened by the first encounter with such a peculiarity of his spouse, if it had not been for a series of previous events. Victor didn't know that Farmer didn't get up until 6:00 a.m. His spouse had returned from their adventure complaining that they had bumped their head a little when falling from a height. No serious wounds, and Farmer checked with the doctor, ok. Farmer was still complaining of a headache, and decided to take a half hour nap, ok. Victor wakes Farmer after two hours of sleep, for dinner. They don't wake up. The spaghetti lover's first thought is that the head injury turned out to be much more serious... Which is why Victor immediately sounds the alarm and calls Harvey. The next morning Farmer wakes up as if nothing had happened ("Wait, is that clinic?"), but Victor insists that more tests must be done. He's worried, alright?

Lance:

Hmm, pretty unusual, and... Lance is getting a little worried about this information. His spouse is telling him in direct text that if they fall asleep or pass out, they will not, under any circumstances, wake up before 6am the next morning. And if Farmer for some reason decides to spend the night in a tent near a place swarming with monsters or wild beasts, or collapses from exhaustion in the same forest or other, not too safe place... The pink-haired adventurer knows that his beloved Farmer can take care of themself, but will still either recommend going on adventures with him (or Marlon), or find a solution to this problem in magic (instant travel artifacts if Farmer starts to fall asleep/lose consciousness, or something like that).

Sophia:

Sophia's first assumption when she couldn't wake her spouse was that they had fallen into a coma, and in a fit of panic, she tearfully began calling Dr. Harvey, Maru, Gus - anyone who could help Farmer in any way. Those who arrived had already brought a stretcher to lay Farmer down and take them to the clinic, but as soon as it hit 6 a.m., they quietly opened their eyes.... and were stunned by the change of scenery. Why are they on a stretcher? Gus, Harvey? What's goin- Sophia, why are you crying? The pink-haired girl will insist on visiting Harvey to see if her spouse is okay. Yes, the habit is strange, but it doesn't affect Farmer's health, except that it is necessary to go to bed on time and preferably at home (at least in the Pelican Town where there are people). Sophia checks them before they go to bed anyway to make sure everything is okay. That incident scared her terribly.

Claire:

"Dear, don't you think this is a little strange? Do you always get up at this hour?" Claire asked the question casually, since although her spouse was fine and had no health complaints/sleep problems, such a strange coincidence couldn't help but go unnoticed by her. If Farmer replied that they woke up like this, at six a.m. sharp, precisely after they moved to Stardew Valley, Claire would be a little concerned. Maybe.... Farmer should watch their sleep schedule and lighten the adventures duties? She's just being caring and wants to make sure they're okay and it's not detrimental to their health.

Scarlett:

Scarlett noticed that Farmer got up at a certain time, although at first her theory was a bit wrong. She thought that her dearest spouse wakes up only after the rooster call only, which usually crowed closer to 6 am. So Scarlett decided to test her little theory by letting Copper (their rooster) into the bedroom at half past six in the morning. The proud bird immediately started his wake up song, but Farmer was deed asleep. But when the clock had already struck exactly six, they got out of bed. "Good morning, dear- Why is our rooster in the bedroom?" "Oh, we just testing a theory." Kinda strange, but if Farmer's health wasn't threatened by this, Scarlett would be relatively calm.

Olivia:

Olivia didn't just call a local doctor and his assistant - the former Joja accountant started calling all the professional doctors she knew from Zuzu city, worryingly describing the symptoms and the condition of her spouse who was still asleep. Farmer woke up yesterday, went to couch for an hour nap at 11am and still hasn't woken up! Olivia is in a panic, and while Harvey tries to sort out Farmer's condition, she runs back and forth with her phone. Waking up already in the room, Farmer will be in complete shock, to say the least, to see a whole bunch of doctors examining them. Olivia's spouse is fine, but they're both definitely not leaving the clinic until the doctors' verdict. And if Farmer had warned her about this 'peculiarity'...

[lilithknoxville]

Needy (Johnny Knoxville x F!Reader!) 18+!

Summary: “Wait, what the fuck happened to your arms?!” You asked, your eyes widening again in surprise and horror. His hands grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the foot of your bed. Your breath left your lungs for a moment as he got in your face, his eyes needy.

“Anaconda in a ball pit. Don’t wanna talk about it. Need you.” He murmured, pressing his lips to yours within a second.

Content Warnings: Graphic Smut, 18+, Oral (Fem Receiving), Swearing, Dirty Talk, Daddy Kink

Word Count: 2,176

AN: PHEWWWWWWW. i was debating between a smut or a fluff and we see what side won. i am a whore. but it’s okay bc it’s johnny LOLLLLLLL. also maybe someday i’ll know how to properly end a story. today is not that day…

please leave requests in the inbox! this one just kind of. fell out of me. also if anyone wants to be my beta reader i think id love you forever. i need a beta reader bad. OKAY ANYWAYS into the story ✨

You were sitting in Johnny’s bedroom, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, chuckling at videos here and there. It was one in the morning, and you were still wide awake. Johnny was out late, a shoot taking longer than expected. He had texted you, letting you know way beforehand that this one would be taking a while. You had sent him some videos of your rabbit vibrator in you, the videos going unanswered. You were used to it by now, the shoots took up most of his time. You had done your business, came to the thought of him three times, then put your toy away. You were getting sleepy, your eyelids getting heavy.

The sound of the front door to the apartment slamming shut made you sit up in a panic. Footsteps echoed off of the walls, and the bedroom door opened suddenly. Johnny was standing in your door frame, blood covering his forearms and soaked into his white t-shirt. His rainbow suspenders, which were also blood soaked, hung loosely around his shoulders. Your eyes widened in fear for a moment, before relaxing into a confused smile.

“Shit, babe. You scared the hell out of me.” Your hand came to your chest, but as you slowly took in the sight of his appearance, you blinked in confusion, “Wait, what the fuck happened to your arms?!” You asked, your eyes widening again in surprise and horror. His hands grabbed your ankles, dragging you to the foot of your bed. Your breath left your lungs for a moment as he got in your face, his eyes needy.

“Anaconda in a ball pit. Don’t wanna talk about it. Need you.” He murmured, pressing his lips to yours within a second. You made a noise of surprise against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck. The kiss was bruising, Johnny not even giving you a moment to breathe. You broke the kiss, sucking in a quick breath.

“Whoa, slow down!” You let out a breathless laugh as Johnny’s hands were already at the waistband of your pyjama pants, pushing them down your thighs, discarding them somewhere on the floor, “Where’s the fire?” You asked in confusion, watching him kneel down at the foot of your bed. His hands shoved your thighs up towards your face, and you saw bloody handprints on your ankles. You gasped out a breath, trying to sit up. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Your pussy was still soaked from earlier, and he moved his face closer, licking a long stripe up towards your clit. You bit your lip hard, your body writhing and your head falling back against your pillows.

“Need you. Fuckin’ opened the videos you sent me on set. Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about them.” He murmured, the southern accent causing thrill to run through your veins. His hands scrambled at the seam of your underwear, tearing them in half along the seam.

“Goddamnit, you can’t keep tearing my underwear, PJ.” You threw your head back against the mattress, a strangled moan tearing from you as he dove into your pussy, his tongue diving into your weeping slit.

“I’ll buy you more.” He growled, his hand coming up, his thumb lazily circling your clit. His tongue dove into you again, immediately finding that spot that had you seeing stars and your body writhing again. Your hands came to his hair, moans tumbling from your lips, as he devoured you like a cannibal. His mouth dipped up, his lips attaching to your clit and sucking gently. You rolled your hips, your chest rising and falling quickly. He changed his ministrations from sucking on your clit, back to his tongue diving back into your pussy.

It wasn’t long before the coil started to wind itself in your stomach, the pace of his tongue relentless. It was like he wanted to pull an orgasm out of you as fast as possible, and it was working. Between his tongue in your pussy and his thumb on your clit, he had that thread inside of you snapping within a moment. Your hands pulled his hair hard, your back arching off of the bed. His groan rumbled through your body, adding to the already heightened feeling racing through you. His face stayed between your legs until you whined from overstimulation. He pulled back from between your legs, his chin and lips covered in your slick. He wiped his mouth with his hand, giving you the smirk he knew drove you crazy.

“Head of the bed, now. All fours, hold onto the headboard.” His voice was gruff, and you scrambled over yourself, getting into the position he demanded of you. You faced the wall, your ass poking up into the air. You heard the sound of his belt clinking, and the soft Whoosh of his slacks hitting the floor. He came up behind you, his thick cock dragging against your weeping slit. You grit your teeth, shuddering.

He lined himself up, pushing into you with one thrust. You groaned, your knuckles going white from how hard you were gripping the headboard. He stayed in place for a minute, letting you get used to the feeling.

“Y-You’re good, honey.” You shuddered underneath his hands, which were on your hips, gripping them tightly. You heard a low chuckle from behind you, and if you thought he was relentless eating you out, his pace fucking you was even more brutal. You let out another groan, your voice cracking, as his hips slammed into your ass relentlessly. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, as you dropped your head, catching a glimpse of his cock slamming in and out of you.

“Take this fucking cock,” He growled out, his left hand coming from your hip to your neck, pulling you up to where your back was against his chest. His hand snaked around the front of your neck, his thumb and forefinger applying the right amount of pressure to the sides of your neck that made your head swim, “You fucking slut.” He snarled, and the tears pricking the corners of your eyes fell down your cheeks.

His tongue darted out, licking the tears off of your skin. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your right hand leaving the headboard and tapping his forearm frantically. The grip he had on your neck loosened, and you sucked in a breath. You heard him chuckle lowly in your ear, his hips snapping against you harder this time.

“Gonna cry over how amazing this cock feels?” He spat, his lips curled up in a vicious smile, “That’s it, you little slut, let Daddy love you the way you deserve.” His pace was relentless, almost frantic.

The coil in your stomach started to burn red hot again, and you sobbed, two of his fingers coming to your mouth and pressing hard against your tongue. Your lips closed around his fingers - your tongue circling around his digits - as your eyes rolled back in your head again.

“That’s it, my sweet girl. My sweet slut.” Johnny grunted out through clenched teeth, his voice tight in his throat, “Cum all over Daddy’s cock.” His words finally broke you, and you all but screamed around his fingers, your orgasm hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, and he grunted out, his teeth sinking into the dip of your shoulder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, just like that baby.” He snarled against your skin, his tongue darting out and licking away the small amount of blood pooling on your shoulder. His breath was heavy against your skin, his pace speeding up even more. At this point, you were sure his hipbones were going to leave bruises against your ass with how hard he was pounding into you. You sobbed, thick tears running down your cheeks at the overstimulation, “Just like that, babygirl.” His tongue ran over the wounds on your shoulder, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses against your neck.

“Da-Daddy~!” You cried out, and you heard his groan reverberate through your head. His pace started to become sloppy, his own orgasm near.

“Fuck, sweetheart-!” He grunted out, his moans strangled beside your ear. You gasped out choked sobs, his hand leaving your neck and coming back to your hip.

Within a couple of thrusts, Johnny stilled, as his cock twitched and pulsed in you. You threw your head back, letting out an animalistic scream as another orgasm rippled through you at the same time. You dropped your head to the pillow in front of you, gasping in greedy breaths. Your heart was racing in your chest, and your thighs trembled around his legs.

It was a quiet couple of seconds while you and Johnny caught your breath. He sucked in a shaky breath, pulling out of you, causing you to whine from the empty feeling. Your legs gave out under you, and you heard him chuckle gently. He got up from the bed, getting into the drawer where he knew you kept the towels. He went into the bathroom, and you heard the tap running. He returned to the bed, using the - now damp - towel to wipe the blood off of your legs, hips, and anywhere he had touched you. He turned you over, wiping you completely down. You turned over after a moment, giving him a tired smile.

“Now do I get my answer of what happened to your arms?” You asked, a soft chuckle coming out of your lips. He laughed as well, going to the bathroom that was attached to your bedroom.

“Stupid fucking idea of me, Ryan, and Wee-Man in a ball pit with an anaconda. No, wait, it was two anacondas.” You watched as he dabbed one of the washcloths you used for cleaning across his arms, the activities opening up the wounds again. He patched himself up as best as he could, half assed putting gauze all over his arms, “I was supposed to catch one of them, but the fucker kept whippin’ his head back and bitin’ me.” He got all of the blood off of his arms, throwing the shirt he was wearing into your bathroom trash can. He was fully nude as he walked back into your bedroom, digging through your drawers for new clothes.

“If it was literally anyone but you, I would be surprised. You get checked by medical before you practically burst my door down?” You asked, a small yawn tearing its way from your lips. You heard him chuckle before he was slipping a new pair of underwear onto your legs, covering you with the comforter a second later. He crawled into bed beside you, holding you tight. You shifted uncomfortably until you got used to the feeling of the gauze on your skin.

“Yes, I did. Said it should heal within a couple of days, since they were surface punctures at best.” He held you tightly, the sound of his heartbeat soothing you and you snuggled more against his chest.

“You wanna explain why you practically tore my door off of the hinges to fuck?” You asked, his laugh rumbling through his chest.

“Bam’s stupid ass. I had my phone on one of the tables by the cameras, and before we got shootin’, you sent me that video.” His voice was husky again, his lips by your hairline. He pressed kiss after kiss to your forehead and scalp. “Bam brought me my phone, makin’ it sound like you were textin’ me frantically. Of course, I thought something was wrong at first, but I made the brilliant choice of openin’ the video you sent me.” He laughed, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Did anyone-” You asked, but he shook his head quickly.

“No, babygirl. No one saw what was on my phone. I closed out of my texts and put my phone in my pocket before anyone saw.” He reassured you, and you let out a shaky exhale, “Though it was in my head the entire time. Wasn’t thinkin’ straight, so that’s why the anaconda was able to take a couple of nibbles on me.” He chuckled against your forehead, his fingers tracing over your shoulder. He pulled his head back, looking at your shoulder. Where he had bit your shoulder had nice teeth marks in your skin, and he grimaced.

“Don’t worry about them, hon. They don’t hurt.” You assured him, shrugging, “I’ll doctor them up in the mornin’. It’s bedtime now.” You giggled softly, pulling his head down to where it was resting against yours. He hummed, his arms snaking back around you tightly.

“Bedtime it is, ma’am.” He murmured, and you rolled your eyes hard.

“Don’t call me that, PJ. I love you, but you know I hate that shit.” You chuckled, and he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too, sweetheart. But you know my mama raised me to be a southern gentleman.” He smiled against your skin, and you shook your head slightly.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, baby. Goodnight.” You leaned your head up, giving him a sweet kiss, before you nuzzled your head into his chest. His heartbeat was coming back down to a normal level.

“Goodnight, babygirl. Sweet dreams.” Johnny pressed another kiss to your head, before letting his head fall back against the pillows.

[kamii-2]

“you thought wrong”

so sorry for not posting a chapter in almost 2 months but i hope you guys enjoy this long-ish chapter! a part of this chapter is based off of a fanfic i read a while ago, im not sure who wrote it or who the fic was about but if i ever find out who it is i will definitely give them a shoutout type thing. i’d also like to say this chapter is where things start to like really happen (idk how else to word it, hopefully you get what im saying) and im very sorry if the beginning of the sorry is confusing in any way, also act like they’re all old enough to drink.

warning(s): cussing, drinking, kissing

genre: fluff

pairing(s): kk arnold x reader

“you thought wrong” masterlist

==================================

chapter 3: “is this some kind of prank?”

==================================

the moment you accidentally opened the door then shut it, kk pulled away from the girl she was making out with and ran to ice, not telling the other girl what was going on. “ice, i think i messed up any chances i had with y/n. she just walked in on me making out with another girl.” kk told her best friend, trying to catch her breath from running down the flight of stairs. “why would you even make out with someone else if you wanted her so bad? are you actually stupid?” ice was mad that kk would even do something like that, wanting a girl then making out with another, it made no sense. “i haven’t done anything with anybody in a while and the girl offered so why not take up that offer?” kk said, half joking. kk thought about where you could’ve went, “she left second she came back down here.” ice said as she took a sip of her drink. “great.” was all kk said as she plopped down next to her best friend.

-

kk was all you could think about while you laid in bed, trying to sleep. after seeing her kissing another girl it made you realize how in love with her you were. you wished you were the one she was kissing, not some random girl at a house party who probably just wanted to use kk for sex. the image of her and the other girl kept replaying in your head again and again, you couldn’t take it anymore so you tried to watch tiktok to forget about kk and the stupid girl she was with. when you opened tiktok the first thing you seen was an edit of kk. “oh my God.” you said out loud as you got off the app and turned on your tv. you decided to just watch some netflix until you fell asleep.

when you woke up with a mild headache, you didn’t drink too much so your hang over wasn’t as bad as it usually was when you drank. you got up and took some medicine to ease the headache and drank water to help the pill go down your throat. you grabbed your phone and seen that symphony had texted you a few times asking if you were okay, you told her about how all you thought about was kk last night and how when you opened tiktok she was the first thing you seen. you two continued to text about what happened last night and other random things until symphony just randomly stopped texting you back for a good 20 minutes. you brushed it off and went on with your day, thinking she was busy or her phone died. in reality, symphony got a text from kk’s best friend, ice, on instagram.

-instagram direct messages-

@ice.brady: hey this is symphony right?

@symphony_roy: yea why?

@ice.bradyy: be honest, does y/n like kk bc kk likes her a lot and doesn’t believe me that y/n likes her back. @ice.bradyy: pls tell me i promise to not show kk like fr

@symphony_roy: yes 😭 ive been telling y/n since the day she told me that kk is gay and likes her back but her slow ass won’t believe me

@ice.brady: bro they act the same way exact same way 😭@ice.bradyy: anyway the reason im texting you is bc i think we should make them go in a blind date but don’t tell them the gender of the person bc i don’t want them to find out immediately

@symphony_roy: wait that’s a really good idea @symphony_roy: but we need to plan this more before we dive right into it

-real life-

after they planned out their entire plan, symphony went to your dorm. “hey.” you greeted as she barged in, using the spare key you had gave her. “so…. how do you feel about blind dates?” she asked while clasping her hands together, taking a seat on the couch next to you. “uhm, they’re okay i guess… why?” you reply while stopping what you were doing on your phone and side eyeing her. “because you’re going on one on monday.” symphony stated, “what?!?” you yelled while whipping your head to look at her, “i did not sign up for that!” symphony just stared at you, a small smirk on her face. “well, you’re going on it, i don’t care what you say.” symphony shrugged while getting up and leaving, “bye, remember you have a date in two days, i’ll send you the details later.” she closed the door.

-

when you woke up you seen kk had followed you back on every app you followed her on, seeing this made your stomach do backflips. you were a bit embarrassed because you had followed her for ages and she just now followed you back but you didn’t really care because atleast she followed you. as the day went on you kept stalking kk, being careful to not like any super old pictures on instagram or old tiktoks. you were stalking so hard you even found her mom’s facebook page. in the middle of your stalking, symphony barged in your room, “okay so what are you gonna wear tomorrow?” she asked while sitting at the edge of your bed, facing you. “i don’t know, probably jean shorts and a crop top.” you shrugged, “basic as hell. wear something more revealing, you gotta show off all that ass to them.” she half-joked, “bro then you find my outfit.” you sighed at her.

symphony went to your closet and started to look through everything to find the perfect outfit for you. after about 10 minutes she found a short, tight, light pink dress. you bought it last month and never got the chance to wear it. “it’s perfect, i’ll tell your date to wear something on the nicer side. you guys will look so cute together.” she smiled while holding the dress up. you were still unsure on the whole blind date thing but you were kind of excited for it, maybe you’ll meet your soulmate. you had thought about who it could be and you thought about it being kk but you weren’t sure if symphony would do something like that.

symphony stayed over for the rest of the day and didn’t go home until sunset. you two talked about life, ordered pizza, and watched a few movies sherrie she went back to her dorm. you were too nervous to go to bed, knowing that the next day at 7pm you would be meeting up with a potential complete stranger for dinner.

-

the whole day you were super nervous and could barely think straight. part of you was thinking about just not going but you know if you did that then symphony would rip you a new one. you were hoping the date was a girl and hoping it was kk but you knew it wasn’t gonna be her, kk was just making out with another girl 2 days ago, she wouldn’t switch that fast, or so you thought. at around 6:00 you started getting ready, putting on the dress and some white heels that made you an inch taller, and putting on light makeup. symphony showed up to your dorm at 6:34, “im taking you to the restaurant because im gonna sit a table or two away and watch yall.” she said with a huge smile on her face. you nodded in response and continued to get ready.

on the way there you were so nervous to where you thought you could throw up. the whole car ride you were silent and had short answers when symphony talked to you. “y/n its okay i promise. dont worry about anything. all you gotta do is meet this person, talk to them, eat dinner, then you’re done.” symphony reassured you, keeping her eyes on the road. you sighed and tried to think on the bright side of it, if you didn’t like this person then you’d probably never have to talk to them again. as you got closer you got more and more nervous but you kept thinking about what symphony said and it helped it go down.

when you two got to the restaurant you immediately got out and walked into the restaurant. symphony pointed, “your date’s already here.” you stopped dead in your tracks and whipped your head towards her. “is this some kind of prank?” you asked while wide eyes. “nope. your date is kk.” symphony laughed while pushing you towards the table. “symphony you’re fucking lying.” you said while trying to resist her pushing you. “i’m not, now go sit down and talk to her.” she said while pushing you again and walking away. you sighed before slowly walking over to the table that kk was at. when she looked up from her phone she paused for a second before she realized that you were her blind date. when you sat down it was quiet for a second before she said something. “hey y/n. how’s life been?” she said, not knowing what else to say. “it’s been fine, how about you?” you asked her, “good. did you know that i was your date?” kk asked with a smile. “no, symphony literally came into my dorm and told me that i was going on a blind date, didn’t tell me anything else.” you two laughed and continued to talk.

the night went very well, you two talked about everything under the sun and flirted a lot. symphony and ice were watching from a few tables over and talked about how cute you two were together. “i’m glad they made us go on this date.” you admitted while admiring kk, looking her up and down. “i agree, maybe i can get your number or something?” kk asked, “yea.” you say as you proceed to tell her your number. after she got your number the flirting was nonstop, now she was certain you liked her back. the rest of the night you two continued to talk about random stuff and even talked about going on another date.

at free you guys paid for the food snd drink you both went over to symphony and ice’s table. “hey guys.” ice said with a smirk, “do yall wanna go to a club or something?” symphony asked while standing up. “sure why not.” you said, “okay i’ll send you the address.” symphony said, talking to ice. ice nodded and you all went to the cars. “so how was it?” symphony questioned you the moment you both got in the car, “we were flirting the whole time and she asked for my number.” you answered, “aren’t you glad i made you go on this date?” she smiled while pulling out of the parking lot and driving to the bar, you nodded and told her more about the date.

after you got your ID’s checked, kk grabbed your hand and pulled you into the bathroom. “what’s wrong?” you asked when you reached a stall. “nothing.” she mumbled before kissing you, you immediately kiss back. the kiss felt magical, the way your lips fit together perfectly made your stomach do frontflips. you relunctsntly pulled away for air, “damn.” was all kk could say as she went back for more.

==================================

i’m so sorry this took like 2 months to get out but i still hope you enjoyed!! i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[hughiecampbelle]

Disfavor (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,330

A/N: I love my family, I do, but sometimes I think I'm better off on my own. I'm humiliated and embarrassed and sexualized and my every flaw is made up to be some sort of joke. I'm scrutinized for being too quiet, too in my shell, but when I speak up, I'm laughed at or ignored or made fun of. It makes me feel like there is something innately wrong with me, like I'm a failure and a weirdo and I don't deserve the same kind of love my brother and cousins get. I've made mistakes, of course I have, but it seems like they're put on blast compared to my cousins. I sobbed in the bathroom bc my mum was going on and on about me not having a license or a plan or anything, like I'm some huge burden on her when all I do is try to help, when all I do is try to make myself smaller and easier to digest. I thought I escaped it with my stepdad, but sometimes they're just as bad. It hurts so much more knowing she thinks like this and feels the need to tell my aunt and uncle and grandparents. I know I'm too sensitive, I know it's my fault for crying and overreacting. I just thought I was safe from it with this side of the family when the other side has never cared about me. I thought that they took me in and accepted me, faults and all.

I’m a mess, you laugh, but what comes out is pathetic and sob-like. Wiping your eyes, attempting to present yourself, half-heartedly, together. In one piece rather than fragmented, serrated edges held together with desperate hands, holding yourself, mimicking the kind of love you know you’re undeserving of. He moves from the doorway, the light bright and blinding. Slowly, he shuts it, the two of you left staring at one another. The tears keep falling despite your best efforts. Rubbing your eyes, hoping he won’t notice the redness, the bloodshot, the gleam and extra shine. Hoping he won’t notice you’ve disappeared from the gathering, carrying yourself up the stairs, seeking asylum in a place without people. A bedroom. How cliche. A place you can throw yourself into and cry like a child. It’s, but the word can’t come out. You can’t manage to finish the line. It’s what? Hard to explain. It’s something you created for yourself. It’s your fault, you think, and the ending feels right. It’s all your fault. 

You make yourself smaller. Quieter. Less opaque. You hide yourself, hoping it won’t draw attention to you. Your life. Your body. Everything you’ve ever done and everything you will do. You listen and smile along, watching others receive praise, watching others receive accolades and approval. Hoping, stupidly, that they will acknowledge the effort you have put in, the thought and intentionally behind your life. Hoping, like a baby, an idiot, a fool, that they will show you the same kind of tenderness. Why would they, though. Why would they when you have done nothing for them to celebrate. How selfish you are for thinking you deserve it. How naive you are for thinking you could be on the same level as them. And so, you drink a little more and you eat a little less and you blend into the background. You place yourself among the wallpaper, holding your breath, watching your skin turn colors you have never seen in order to camouflage yourself. In order to protect yourself. They still see you, though. Predators and prey, you can run and hide, but their teeth will always find you. They will sink their incisors in the fleshiest parts of you and call it love. Affection. Adoration. They will tear you limb from limb, play with your tendons and chew through your muscles. They will chew on your bones. They will do all of this and wonder why you’re hurting. Why have you flinched? 

Your heart was not made as others are. Something is missing. A wall, a kind of shield or armor. Something vital to survival has been lost. The bone across your breast has ceased to exist and all that protects you is a flap of skin. Perhaps it was never there in the first place. It doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s not there and now you watch it, feel it, beat outward, thumping vulnerable where anyone can press and play and squeeze. Where anyone can poke and prod and laugh when you pull back, tears stinging your eyes. It was made sensitive. Too sensitive, you correct. Not equipped for the life you have, the blood you come from, the family you derive from. It is not made for the harshness of reality. The blame is put on you, then. It is your fault you cry. It is your fault. You take things too seriously, you hurt when you shouldn’t, you overreact. You repent. You fall to your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. You are ashamed of the way you act, doing everything in your power not to let them get to you, not to let yourself feel too deeply. You take it out on yourself instead. It is better this way. The bruises will heal eventually. Let them degrade you. Let them point and laugh and hate. Let them humiliate you. Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to put up with? You’re the problem, not them. 

When it becomes too much, when it stings a little too much and you can no longer keep yourself together, you excuse yourself. You disappear into the house, doing a poor job of concealing your emotions. You find the nearest refuge and shut the door and pretend this isn’t happening again. Pretend that you are not at fault, that you are not wrong. He has learned to follow you. Quietly, so that you do not take off running. When he cannot find you, when they shrug off your absence, that is when he goes searching. He cannot rely on sound alone. You have learned to sob quietly so as not to disturb anyone, so as not to ruin the night for anyone else. Eventually, he finds you. Sniffling, the water running, any attempt to hide. Knocking quietly, he comes in before you can let him. Before you can play pretend and beg him to go back, afraid of getting caught. A deer in the headlights. You have tried, in the past, to move further into the body, the house, locking yourself in a bathroom, splashing cold water on your face until you feel ready to rejoin society. To hide, your back against the locked door, where you can finally let go of control and sob. He must be gentle in his movements. He must be soft so that he doesn’t spook you. 

You don’t say anything, just watch him move towards the bed, laying on his side, looking up at you. Again you try to feign happiness, abiding his eyes, realizing what you must look like. Hiya, he says, and you can hear their laughter from outside. Muffled, subdued. Hi, you whisper back, searching his face for his thoughts. Roman has always been unreadable, though. Do you, you start, but realize how silly it will sound. Instead you sniffle, playing with a loose strand of thread on the quilt. Do you think I’m being too sensitive? Those brown eyes. Puppy dog. So sad and sincere and hurt, as if you had just slapped him. Stinging. Of course not, he says quickly, then with a smile: Do you think they’re being fucking idiots? You shrug, your fingers tracing the string. They’re not bad people, you justify, as you have justified before. As you have repeated in your head over and over. They don’t mean it, you reinforce, and you can tell he is thinking, choosing his words carefully. He opens his mouth, but closes it, deciding against it. Do you want me to beat them up? You laugh a real laugh this time, your fingers moving from the bed to his shirt. A distraction. Necessary. You play with his cufflink. That’s okay, you smile, and he smiles back. 

You sit like that for a long time. Not saying anything, just enjoying one another's company. Outside, through the walls, you hear laughter and heated debates and jokes you can’t make out. He will give you as long as you need. When you’re ready, you stand, smoothing your clothes, wiping your eyes for the last time. You ask if you look okay and he keeps the comment to himself, though you know it must be crude, vulgar even, probably something like liking you better when you’re naked, and you roll your eyes. You grab your drink and his hand, bracing yourself for the worst. He stands by your side, saying very little, biting his tongue as he has learned to do over the years, respecting your wishes. The feeling after crying never leaves you, unshakable, but you will get through the night. You will be relieved when it is over like you always are. Do you want me to beat them up? Yes, you wished you had said. Yes. Hurt the way you have hurt. And then, a small voice speaks up: you will undo the damage. You will not inflict that kind of ache on anyone else. They don’t deserve it, but neither do you.

[fereldanwench]

i'm finally starting to feel human again and i actually have the time to do an update

so um

the update:

ya girl is diabetic (idk what type yet tho bc doctors are clowns)

so this week i learned that birth control side effects and fucking diabetic keto acidosis apparently have some overlapping symptoms lmao

all the issues i was having? the leg cramps, fatigue, shortness of breath--it's because my blood was literally poisoning me! i was also peeing a lot, but this honestly didn't register with me as being that abnormal because i have always had to pee a lot because i always drink a lot of water. i was also losing weight, but i was trying to lose weight, so again, didn't register as a bad thing

diabetes was obviously not what was my first assumption was given that all this also perfectly aligned with my birth control issues (i honestly thought i was going to have a blood clot or something but everything was fine on that front, fortunately), but it was something that was kind of at the back of my mind because my brother is also diabetic. he was misdiagnosed as a type 2 at the beginning of 2019, but after he couldn't get it into remission despite losing almost half his body weight, he found out that he's actually the adult-onset type 1 or "1.5" type of diabetic

despite me telling the doctors this, i was literally told they "don't care about the type" because my blood sugar was super high and the initial treatment is going to be insulin injections regardless. i'm trying to keep my stress levels at a minimum right now so i will forgo a rant but needless to say, NO ONE LIKED THAT RESPONSE!!! (my brother was especially pissed--he could basically be a blueprint for what i went through but why listen to patients when they answer your questions about family history when you can just ignore them!)

so yeah, i'm on fast-acting insulin injections 3x/day with meals and long-acting insulin at night, and a very carefully curated diet with lots of veggies and lean protein. my glucose levels are steadily getting lower and i am feeling much, much better, but my sleep is all fucked up from the hospital visit (on top of the time change) and i'm still a little light-headed if i move too fast

my follow-up is friday so obviously i will be asking for the tests to determine type because what the actual fuck and can hopefully fine-tune my treatment

emotionally/mentally i'm... fine. ish. lmao. seeing that my brother has gone through this and seeing how well he's been able to manage it and still live a very full life (including traveling a lot) i think has done a lot to prevent this from feeling too scary and overwhelming. he and i are very close too--he actually picked me up from the hospital so he could give me some 'betes starter gear--so i have a good support system here

but the crying comes in waves, lmao. i had a nice good breakdown last night. not knowing the type is kind of delaying my ability to process it, too, because if it's type 2, i will put this bitch into remission!!! but if it's type 1, that's gonna be a lot harder to cope with, i think

i really get most emotional when i tell other people about it bc i immediately feel the need to assure them i'm fine, lmao. and for some reason other people telling me i'll be fine also makes me cry so it's just kjdfhgjdkfgdfgdfg

anyway, i wanted to give an update since i said i would and i know i certainly appreciate it when my friends who get hospitalized let me know they're okay lmao, but despite my usual oversharing tendencies, i actually don't really want to talk about this here! at least not right now. something about it feels very personal to me, idk. maybe it's because this is such a high-judgement disease and i just don't want to fucking hear shit about it!!

and for my final thought, i would just like to say that potassium IV drips fucking suck balls, and my arms are so goddamn sore and bruised from all the stabs and pokes and prods and squeezes

[mystic-writings]

emergency contact | jack hodgins

pairing — jack hodgins x fem!booth!reader

summary — hodgins hasn’t heard from you in over six months, after you broke up with him and disappeared. until he gets an alarming phone call in the middle of the night

warnings — angst, canon-typical violence, mentions of death

word count — 2,528

notes — a few things: i wrote this back in january, and it was rushed and poorly done but im being self-indulgent for this one | also im not tagging anyone bc i wanna see how far this will get on its own (except for my beloved @shmaptainwrites who indulged me ily mimi)

masterlist | navigation

2:47am

Despite his many years working for the Jeffersonian, Hodgins had yet to get used to his phone ringing at odd hours. With a groan and a stretch, his palm landed where his phone lay on the nightstand table. Without checking the caller ID, he picked up the phone and slurred out a tired greeting to the caller on the other line.

“Hello, Dr. Hodgins, I’m Marie, calling from the George Washington University Hospital.” Why was a hospital calling him so late at night? “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/n Booth, correct?”

Your name sent a shock through Jack’s body. “I— I guess so, yeah. Why? Is she okay?”

“Your fiancée was shot on duty, sir. She’s in surgery right now. We suggest you be with her when she wakes up.”

Without a second thought, Jack hung up the phone and flung out of bed. He didn’t care how things ended between the two of you, good or bad, but he knew one thing for certain: he needed to make sure you were okay. After scrambling for a decent set of clothing and his car keys, Jack rushed out of the house and down the near-empty streets to the hospital you were taken to. 

Even though his mind was running at a mile a minute, Jack managed to recall what the nurse had told him. Shot on duty. You took a sabbatical seven months ago, were you back in town? Surely Booth must’ve known, he was your brother and co-worker, he had to have. Did he spare telling Jack to avoid the inevitable turmoil? Obviously you’d been back long enough to take a case, so it wasn’t like you had decided to come back out of the blue. 

By the time he found parking, it was half past 3 in the morning, and Jack’s heart refused to stop beating out of his chest, his palms sweating rivers as he clenched and unclenched them. Despite all of this, though, he approached the front desk with a cracking resolve, trying his best to be put together for the sake of not distressing the night staff and lingering patient family members. 

“Could you tell me where Y/n Booth is?”

The nurse behind the counter glanced up at him. “Connection to the patient?”

“I’m her-” he stumbled on the words. “Her, uh, fiancé. Emergency contact.” 

She typed a few things into the computer when a voice from behind caught Jack’s attention. 

“Hodgins.” Booth called, approaching with a weary face and a cup of likely burnt coffee.

Jack nearly sprinted over to the man, blue eyes frantically searching for answers in his features. “What’s up, man? I mean, what the hell happened?”

Booth took Hodgins by the arm and led him down a hallway, over to the elevators. “We were going after a perp. I told her not to go in first, that I’d handle the hard part. She didn’t listen, the bastard got her from behind, shot out one of her kidneys. Been in surgery for almost,” he checked his watch, “three hours now.” 

Jack deflated just as the elevator doors dinged open. The pair stepped inside, the space empty apart from themselves. “I just— I don’t get it. Yesterday, she was somewhere even I didn’t know, taking some damn sabbatical. Yesterday, I was still pissed at her. Now? She’s in surgery because she was on a case. Because some asshole shot her. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do with that, Booth?”

Unable to provide any kind of emotional support or response, Booth remained quiet as his friend tried his best not to break down in the elevator. 

When the doors opened, Jack attempted to regain his composure as best as he could while Booth led him down the hall. There was a separate waiting room here, for family members who had someone in surgery. He sat opposite Booth, next to a sleeping little girl and her obviously exhausted mother. 

He had no bearing of the passage of time, and felt as though there was no energy left within him to check the watch on his wrist. All he did was sit with his hands on his knees, head tilted to the sky, one leg bouncing like an infinite rubber ball. At some point, a doctor came out to notify the mother of her husband’s successful surgery — his tumor was gone, he’d told her, and there was little chance of it coming back. 

It wasn’t until the sun started to peek in through the waiting room windows that a surgeon called out your name. Booth had been asleep in the chair across from Jack, but he was wide awake. The pair jumped up and approached the doctor, throwing questions at him rapidly. 

“Y/n is okay. Surgery went well, though we’ll have to keep her here for longer than expected.”

“Why? What happened?” Booth asked. 

The doctor sighed. “Due to the location of the entry wound, the bullet caused too much damage to her right kidney. For now, she’ll only be functioning with one until we can find a donor match. She’ll be on dialysis weekly and some medication to assist the working kidney, but otherwise, she’ll be just fine in a week or so. The bullet did puncture the liver and small intestine, but the speed of the bullet slowed enough to only cause minor damage, nothing we couldn’t fix up.” He told them, and a wave of relief crashed over the pair. “She’s being brought up to her room now, if you’d like to go wait with her.”

Jack only nodded, Booth trailing him as the doctor led them up one more floor, where you were being transferred to the ICU. It was painful, seeing you after so  long, only for you to be hooked up to so many machines, laying nearly helpless in a bed. He pulled a chair up to your right side, reaching for your limp hand to hold, hoping you could feel him. 

Hoping you knew he was there. That you knew he always would be.

Booth leaned against the door frame, watching everything with anguish. After you left for California, you kept in constant contact with your older brother. But even in those months, you never explained why you broke off the engagement so suddenly. Why you took a surprise sabbatical, why you went to California specifically. Why you became so closed off, so cold to everyone, even to Parker. 

After a while, Booth left Jack alone to go pick up Parker from his mother’s house. He promised to be back later, your nephew in tow, and pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he left. 

Jack, swimming in an ocean’s worth of thought, barely noticed the sun coming over the horizon in the window opposite him. All he could do was process the emotions flowing through him. Anger, that you left him so suddenly and without explanation. Despair, that you’d come back so long ago and didn’t come to see him, to work things out. Worry, that despite your life-saving surgery, you wouldn’t get a new kidney, or that you’d never be the same again. Anger again, but at the bastard who shot you. Triumph, that he was rotting in a cell right now. 

 Jack’s only comfort in the sterile, whitewashed room was the steady beeping emanating from the heart monitor, a small assurance that you were okay. His hand remained clasped over yours for hours, thumb stroking the smooth skin on the back of your hand. Partly as a comfort to himself that you were still there, but mostly, he believed, a comfort to you. He hoped you could feel it; that you could feel his presence. He hoped his presence comforted you. 

By the time you woke up, all the worry had faded from Jack’s body and exhaustion had taken its place. He was asleep, head supported by his arm on the side of the chair, when he heard the sheets rustle in the bed. 

Somehow, in all your years of work, this was the first time you ended up in the hospital due to a job-related injury. It wasn’t the first time you woke up dazed after a surgery with little memory of how you got there, though. 

The sheets, despite being thin, weighed down your legs and torso, providing warmth and comfort. You could feel the leads for the heart monitor stuck to your chest, irritating your skin in the slightest bit. There was a cannula feeding oxygen into your system, though it rubbed the skin on the back of your ears uncomfortably. The main thing, though, was that your torso hurt. 

Despite that, you managed to notice something weighing down your right hand. It was warm, warmer than the blankets. And heavier. Garnering the courage to open your eyes, you blinked to adjust to the sunlight and fluorescent lights, trying to shift yourself upward, wincing when it pulled on your wound. Instead, you glanced over at your hand, only to find another on top of it. Following the arm connected to it, your heart stuttered and cracked when you found a sleeping Hodgins sitting next to your bed. Emotion swelled within your chest and tear ducts just at the sight of him, sleeping so peacefully next to you, his hand over yours in a firm grasp, as if that was the only thing that assured him that you were really here. 

Slowly, quietly, you tried to pull your hand out from under Jack’s, only for the movement to wake him up. He stretched with a deep inhale, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings. It wasn’t until he noticed you were awake that he seemed to come to his senses. 

“Hey,” he nearly whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

You bit back a scoff. “Terrible. First job back and of course I had to get myself shot.” 

Jack fought a smile, scooting forward to raise the bed up for you to sit properly. “They said they got all the fragments of the bullet during surgery. You’re down a kidney for now, though.”

You only nodded, allowing yourself some time to gather your thoughts. “Why are you here, Hodgins?”

“Apparently, I’m still your emergency contact.” He told you, sitting back down and resting his elbows on his knees. “And apparently, I still care about you enough to show up.” 

“Don’t put that on me.” You whispered, chest restricting as tears fought their way back to your waterline. “You can’t say that to me. Not after what I did to you. You should hate me. I mean, really hate me. Like, praying for my downfall, kind of hate. You shouldn’t still care about me.”

“Well, apparently I do. I thought I hated you, for a long time. But I guess I don’t.” Jack sighed,  taking your hand. You wanted to protest, to pull away, but you let him. “I guess this was a wakeup call for me. Literally. They called me at 3 in the morning to tell me you were in surgery.”

You laughed, a wet sound underlined with sadness. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really, I am. I just…”

“What, don’t love me? It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it.” 

Even when he should hate you, Jack still understood, and even worse, he still loved you. He was, somehow, the world’s most understanding man. God, you love him. 

“No, no I don’t hate you. Actually, it’s the opposite. I just wish things could’ve gone differently.” 

Now Jack was just confused. “What d’you mean? You broke up with me for a reason, right? You told me you didn’t love me anymore.”

“It’s too complicated, Jack. I want to explain it all to you, really, but it’s not safe. I don’t know if or when it will be, and I won’t blame you if you want to find someone else, or if you already have. You deserve to be happy, Jack. You should move on from me.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” Jack said, emphasizing each word and squeezing your hand. “I just want you. From the moment I met you, I knew you were it for me, Y/n. Even with your brother breathing down my neck to not even think about pursuing our relationship. It was terrifying, but I ignored it. Because you were too important to have in my life. I couldn’t risk passing you up. I just don’t understand why you ended things so suddenly.”

The tears that you had been attempting to keep at bay for this entire conversation now flowed freely down your cheeks, the emotions you’d kept close to your chest for nearly a year now breaking free. Jack, like the gentleman he was, gently tilted your head toward him, reaching up and using the pads of his thumbs to brush them from your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, daring to look him in the eye. 

“Don’t be.” He whispered. 

“I have to be. I hurt you. I ruined everything. And it wasn’t even worth it. It  didn’t change anything.”

Despite his confusion, Jack said nothing. He simply stood to his full height and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his chest — minding your wounds and stroking your hair. “It’s okay. You’re home now. We can fix this.”

“No we can’t.” You shook your head, looking up at him. “Jack, there’s nothing left to fix. Because if we fix it, you’ll die.” 

After what felt like an eternity of swirling, spiraling thoughts, Jack found his voice. “What?”

“That’s why I left.” You said. “I was ordered to. I was working on a case, some underground organized crime syndicate. I found out some stuff I shouldn’t have. My hands were tied, I had no choice.” Choking back a sob, you wiped the tears from your face and took a breath. “It was either break up with you, call off the wedding, and leave, or everyone I loved would die. They were gonna kill you, kill Seeley and Parker, and drain your accounts. There was nothing I could do.” 

Jack pulled you in tighter, his whole worldview shifting and turning on an axis. He couldn’t speak — hell, he could barely even think right now. Jack had spent months grieving your relationship, questioning why you broke things off, harboring a ruthless anger at what his life had become, and all of it faded to dust in an instant. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, pulling Jack back to the present. “I work with these people, Jack. They could ruin me in an instant.” 

“We’ll fix this, I promise.” Jack declared, and despite the fear that had overridden your senses for the past few months, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

You only nodded, curling further into him as best as you could with your incisions. Fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie, you listened to the beat of his heart beneath you and took a deep breath. 

Soon enough, you were drifting off to sleep with the firm belief that soon enough, with the help of your family, somehow, everything would be okay. 

if you want more jack fics, please feel free to comment and let me know!! writing for smaller characters is always a gamble but if people read this i’d be more than happy to do so!

[kurishiri]

spoilers for alfons route under the cut

thank you for the ask, anon!

Anonymous said:

Hiii, i wanted ask something regarding the ask about Alfons being "kissed" by others in the epilogue. When i first read it, it seemed to me like he was trying to make Kate feel better in his own way by spouting some lie like this to me? And doesn't him continuing his nightly escapades mean showing people who need them illusions instead of being sexual with them? I can't say that i'm an expert on him but characters like alfons usually become pretty jealous and possessive after they come to accept the love they starved for( there was an event where him kate and roger went to drinking and he shows this side of his openly i think) and to me Alfons doesn't seem like he would hold a double standard for his own "entertainment". Now i'm not saying it wouldn't happen but even if it did, i think it's in the instance where his former "playmates" throw themselves at him before he has a chance to react. Or i'm totally deluding myself lol but that was what came to my mind and i just wanted to share it.

One thing about Alfons is he's not gonna speak directly and twist words until they have the meaning he wants to deliver so i try reading into it rather than accept his words at face value. Sorry this got so long!

hii anon! first of all, sorry for the late reply!

first things first, i want to clarify that (according to al) it wasn’t that he was kissed by others, but rather he himself initiated the kiss. that may change the context then /nm that said, you’re right, he could be lying. he’s been suspected of lying multiple times — we really don’t know and it would be up to your interpretation. al promised not to have sex with others, yes, but well, kissing is sort of a separate thing from sex. the act of kissing (or sex) in and of itself was like a type of escape that al could give his “friends” anyway. it wasn’t an act of emotional intimacy, it was a means to provide a physical pleasure. he could give a kiss to all the women in the world, but the only one who he could give a “true love’s kiss” to is kate. it definitely does feel a bit more wishy washy in his case, haha. but he could be giving illusions, or he could be with his “friends” — they seem to fall under the same category.

that said, yeah, i do think he does get jealous pretty easily. and i also think it’s not necessarily out of his character to purposely try and make kate jealous as a way to make her keep thinking about him. i think it’s interesting to think abt al and double standards if i’m understanding right too — in fact, i think “double standards”…or maybe hypocrisy? english is hard lmao but anyway. i think it’s actually a sort of flaw of his in a way. for example, he wanted kate to keep thinking abt him and so he got really close to her, but when she actually did get close to him like he wanted her to, he pushes her away. or even how he “hated on roger” (which we all know that’s half bogus) because roger hid things from kate — as if he hadn’t done the same low key bfhkshfhsgds elbie sort of words this clearly in the past records featuring him and al, but perhaps bc elbie phrases this feature of al’s as though it’s an endearing feature of his (which ig it can be, yk, i think everything is up to interpretation. it’s similar to how jude gets easily irritated but it can be seen as endearing too bc “aww hes such a tsundere” mindset), we as readers may also think the same.

and fs! al’s words definitely are not and should not be meant to be taken at face value. its for this reason i do recommend his side stories; his thoughts are honest. and i mean, just look at alfons and roger. for all the hating alfons does on roger he went as far as to give an illusion to roger to make him forget abt al when he disappeared to confront the purification club. and as we know, he gave an illusion so that no one would have to be in pain or grieve for him when he died. to him, it was an act of kindness — one that he had given to roger as well. if he really hated roger, would he have gone so far? yes, al doesn’t think 100% positively of roger, but i don’t think he could ever dislike him fully either, especially when he can’t help but associate a couple positive memories with him.

[theeoriginals]

ok but what about werewolf!reader who is protective over tyler lockwood since mason died, and she's at senior prank night when klaus turns tyler. i imagine klaus being curious about her bc he hasn't seen or met her since she doesn't hang around elena & co. bc of what they did to mason. love u and thank you for blessing us with all these requests!!

i think i want you | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

author's notes; sorry this took a while!! holidays got the best of me and i've been so busy. i hope u like this!! go check out my klaus fic on wattpad for more content :) link on my masterlist

warnings; mentioned violence & death but nothing explicit. this is genuinely just a lot of fluff, and only a tiny bit of angst. I like writing klaus being straight up infatuated so enjoy

She’s heard of him. Klaus Mikaelson. Not only is he an Original, but he’s the worst of them. He’s a mystery, a myth of a man. The hybrid. The only one of his kind, and he’s trying to make more. He’s trying to become a god of his own making. He’s a terrifying beast, even in their world of monsters. He is the monster beneath your bed, he is the boogeyman that you see in the shadows of alleyways and glimpses out of the corner of your eye.

When she meets him for the first time, she expects something out of a fairytale, she supposes. It was unintentional, the image of him she had in her head, but she’s heard of this fabled man her whole life as a warning of what can happen if you grow lonely in this life. 

She figured if she ever met Klaus Mikaelson, it’d be the first and only time. There weren’t many stories based on people’s personal interactions with him for a reason. If he bothered to pay you a personal visit and not just send one of his cronies out to deal with you, it probably meant you wouldn’t be seeing another day. 

But instead of that, instead of meeting her demise at the hand of the infamous man for some offense she most likely didn’t even mean to do, she meets him in the high school gym in Mystic Falls, Virginia. 

She meets him, and he’s just a man. 

He’s a terrible man, no doubt, but just a man. She is perhaps wrongfully unafraid of him because of this. It most likely doesn’t bode well for her, because even though he looks just as human as the rest of them, she doesn’t doubt those stories about him are all real, and likely worse than the retellings. 

But she was raised with a pack that taught her to be unafraid in the face of death, and even though she doesn’t have that pack anymore because of men just like Klaus Mikaelson, she wants Tyler to know the security and safety of it just as she had. 

She does not flinch when he looks her way, and resists the urge to rip his head off of his shoulders when he snaps Tyler’s neck and puts Bonnie on a timer for finding a way to bring him back to life as a hybrid. 

She knows she can’t win a fight against him, so she doesn’t fight back, not even as he forces Tyler to drink the doppelgänger’s blood and turns him into a hybrid. A half-dead, half-wolf thing that her pack would likely call him an abomination for. It’s a very dark, comforting thought to her that they aren’t around to condemn Tyler to the ends of the earth for something that was entirely out of his control. 

She knows Tyler is frightened of her doing that, just by the way he looks at her. He learned from Mason and herself that there’s a sense of loyalty to their kind, and that vampires are an inherent enemy. Even his relationship with Caroline would be enough to get him shunned from most werewolf communities at this point. Though, even Mason himself didn’t take that into consideration considering his relationship with one of the doppelgängers. 

After everything is said and done that night, she takes Tyler home without saying a single word to Klaus. Anything she wants to say will get her killed, and Tyler needs her more than ever now, so she can’t get ahead of herself. 

Tyler sheds rare tears in the privacy of his home. He tells her he’s terrified right now because of the fact that a part of him is technically dead now, and that he’s never felt like a monster about being a werewolf until now. 

She does her best to comfort him, but it doesn’t help much. She doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now and they both know it. If the circumstances were any different, she’d probably think he was the new enemy. 

He falls asleep eventually and she leaves him be, heading to her temporary room in the Lockwood mansion. She falls asleep looking at the moon just outside her window, thinking about how she was just a little disappointed in the fact that Klaus Mikaelson is just a man. 

────── 

The next time she sees Klaus Mikaelson, it’s in the tea room in the Lockwood house. He somehow looks even more underwhelming in this place, despite its grandiosity. She doesn’t know why or when she’s going to stop feeling so disappointed in the fact that if she didn’t know any better, she could’ve walked past him on the street without even looking his way. 

He’s there for Tyler, she knows, but Carol’s playing her role of oblivious hostess, and now she’s left to entertain him while Carol goes and handles a small, mayoral emergency. 

Carol leaves them with a charming smile, winking her direction, and she ignores the older woman pointedly. 

“I don’t think I got your name the other night at the school,” Klaus says, tilting his head as he looks at her. “I’m not usually so rude, but the stakes were high and I ran out of patience. You know how it is.” 

She narrows her eyes, shaking her head a bit. “A thousand years old and you haven’t worked on your patience? Maybe your priorities are a little skewed,” 

Klaus’s eyes flash with danger, but she swears she sees amusement in the smirk that pulls at his lips. It sparks that flint inside of her that likes to push and push, just to see the breaking point. She’d tried to deny it, but it only takes the smallest moment for that desire to set its sights on Klaus Mikaelson, even though pushing him could mean death. Her curiosity was a fatal flaw in itself, she knows.

“My only goal in life has been to break this curse,” He says, leaning forward to sit the cup of tea Carol had brought him on the table in between them, the only obstacle stopping him from lunging for her and snapping her neck before she could even blink. She wonders if he’s even aware of all the ways he could kill her, just by looking at her in this mundane setting. She doesn’t know if she actually wants an answer to that, though. “And now I’ve done that. I think a thousand years of this has proven I have nothing but patience.” 

She hums, acknowledging the fact that he was right. She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, waiting a thousand years to break a curse that kept you from being who you are. Even now, knowing that the Sun and the Moon curse was fabricated in order to help Klaus break the only curse– his curse– when it comes down to it, she can’t blame him for his insistence. 

But she thinks about Tyler and how frightened he was, and she can’t stop the annoyance that builds in her all over again, so any bit of understanding washes away like sand beneath the rising tides. 

She shrugs, unwilling to vocalize the depth of her understanding, as miniscule as it may be. “Still, choosing a hormonal teenage boy as your first hybrid probably wasn’t the smartest decision, wouldn’t you say?” 

Klaus narrows his eyes at her and she stubbornly sits still, unwavering beneath his prolonged, burning stare. “You’re protective of him. I understand why you wouldn’t like me. But I’ve just made him the strongest creature he could ever be. He won’t need you, or any other pack he might have been clinging to before this.” 

And this, she thinks, is the biggest indicator to why she’s not properly afraid of this man before her. It’s not just because he looks unfortunately normal, spare his admittedly beautiful face, or that he’s yet to truly focus any of his true capabilities of danger in her direction. It’s that, at the end of the day, Klaus Mikaelson is just as human as the rest of them are. Because no matter how long you live, or what kind of creature you are, everyone gets lonely. 

“On the contrary,” She says, blinking slowly as she scans his face. “Tyler needs me now more than ever. And any pack would be lucky to have him around. That’s the whole point of a pack. You know that you’re never alone, no matter what happens.” 

To a degree, she knows that’s a lie. There are plenty of packs out there that will banish Tyler and any other hybrid that is made in the coming months because of the rivalry between the creatures that the hybrids are made of. But she also knows that for every pack that will turn them away, there’s one that won’t. There’s always someone, even if it’s just one person, and she’s willing to be that person for Tyler, or for any other hybrid that goes through the loss of their pack. 

“It’s a shame you’ve never known what that’s like,” She says, leaning forward to set her own cup of tea down, a mirror of his actions a moment ago. “Unwavering loyalty and trust, and a sense of family that never goes away. You may think that Tyler has no one, but I will always be here for him, just as I was his uncle.” 

Something defensive passes through his face and he stands abruptly, making her tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with him. 

Klaus leans down into her space, and they glare at each other with a surprising amount of vitriol that neither one of them feels is even genuine. 

“You can cling to your idea of family all you want, but it won’t change the fact that Tyler isn’t just a werewolf anymore. And as much as you may want to deny it, you can’t help him anymore just like you couldn’t help his poor uncle,”

He stands upright again, looking at her almost accusingly. “But since it’s causing no harm to me, I suppose there’s no real reason to make you give up this desperate mission. I wish you the best of luck, dear, truly,” 

He doesn’t wait for a response from her before he leaves, and after her initial anger and embarrassment wears off, she realizes he never even talked to Tyler like she assumed he came here to do in the first place. 

────── 

Mystic Falls has never felt like a smaller town. She’s never run into someone so many times when all she wants to do is avoid them. 

It’s like all of the sudden, since that very first night she saw Klaus Mikaelson, he’s everywhere. He’s in Tyler’s house, because the newly-made hybrid suddenly worships him. He’s in her dreams. She can’t escape him. 

Even now, sitting in a corner booth at the Mystic Grill, he’s suddenly there, sitting across from her like an old friend catching up for lunch. 

Immediately, her face twists in disgust. “Klaus.” 

He smiles in the face of her adversity, and says her name with a fondness of unknown origins. She almost feels insane, looking at him with any degree of civility. 

“What do I owe this visit to?” 

“I’m curious about something and I’m hoping you’ll humor me,” 

“Interesting start,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drink beside her. “What on earth could you possibly be curious enough about that you have to ask me?” 

“You, of course,” 

She swallows roughly, nearly choking as she looks at him in surprise. “Me?” 

The hybrid nods, smirking at her reaction. 

“What… What do you want to know about me?” 

He leans forward on the table, looking at her as she suddenly avoids his eyes, unwilling to admit that she’s feeling heat rise in her chest. “Why is it you aren’t banding together with those bumbling idiots to get rid of me, hm?” 

“Oh,” She breathes out, face turning solemn for a moment as she looks down at the tabletop. “I don’t– I don’t have any reason to want to get rid of you, really. I don’t necessarily like you, but you haven’t hurt Tyler in any permanent way so… I guess I’m just not really worried about it.” 

When she finally meets Klaus’s gaze again, there’s something shocked and unexpectedly warm in his blue eyes that makes her own soften. 

“Is it really that simple?” 

She falls silent for another moment, picking nonsensically at her nails. “They killed my friend.” 

She looks back up at him, sighing. “Mason Lockwood. Tyler’s uncle. He came here because of Katherine– she was looking for the moonstone so she could break that stupid curse that you made up. And they killed him for it,” She shakes her head, anger seeping into her voice. “They’re irrational. And if I’ve learned anything about this life, it’s that being irrational gets people killed.” 

Klaus hums lowly. “You are right about that.” 

Heaving a heavy sigh, she looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “What do you want from me, Klaus? I’m not picking sides here– I’m going to protect Tyler until it kills me, and that’s all. So what do you want from me?” 

He observes her for a moment and she doesn’t falter beneath his stare, if only out of spite. 

“Perhaps,” He starts. “I just want to know you.” 

Something fragile breaks on her face and she shows just a little bit more of that vulnerability to him in this new space between them. “What’s so interesting about me that Klaus Mikaelson wants to know me?” 

His eyes search her face, lost. “I don’t know yet. I’m hoping you’ll let me find out,” 

She lets out a breath, quiet, and admittedly flattered. 

A smile pulls at her lips, bashful in a way she isn’t used to. She allows it to spread across her face and beneath Klaus’s gaze, she feels like a blooming rose being adored. It makes her feel things she’s nowhere near ready to admit to herself, or anyone else. “I think we can work something out.” 

Klaus’s returning smile takes her breath away. It feels new, and wonderful. 

[martianbugsbunny]

Hour One (A Kalluzeb Fic)

*falling down the stairs* I did it! I finished my post-Zero Hour fic, it's so tasty to me <3 I'm not even gonna ramble about it I'm just gonna get right to the fic bc I love it!!! read on and enjoy!!!

When the ship was safely in hyperspace, Kanan quietly let Kallus into a room on the Ghost that was currently deserted. Judging by the half-made bunk beds against the wall, Kallus assumed it was living quarters, but he was too distracted by the growing pain in his shoulders and ribs to try and piece together whose room it was.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kanan said. And then Kallus was alone again, with the forgiving, kind voice of the Jedi echoing in his brain. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to softly. He was lucky these people whom he’d hunted across the galaxy for years had even bothered to pick up his escape pod, rather than speeding away from the Imperial fleet and applying the rule of “serves him right.”

Something in him cracked. He began to sob, silently, terrified of what he had done in betraying the Empire, overwhelmed by a thousand different strident feelings he couldn’t even name. The heavy breaths hurt (every movement seemed to hurt, now that his adrenaline rush was wearing thin) and his head was pounding. Was the world really spinning, or was that just him?

At the first hiss of the door sliding open, Kallus dragged his sleeve hastily across his face to remove any tears or snot that might give away that he’d been crying—a bad decision, really, given his black eye, which stung at the rough contact.

It wasn’t Kanan who stepped into the room, slightly awkwardly and with bright green eyes that reflected back at Kallus those unnamable emotions.

It was Zeb.

Kallus took a step back, hands clenched at his sides. He knew his eyes were red and he could feel spots on his face where he had missed tears, and he hoped Zeb wouldn’t notice. He had no right to cry in front of this man, of all people.

Zeb stared at him for a moment, and Kallus could feel him mentally checking off all the things that were currently wrong on Kallus’s person. Hunched posture from his injured ribs; blotchy face; bloodstains on his uniform and dried blood on his lip.

“I brought you some clothes,” Zeb said. In the other hand he held a medkit, and Kallus realized with a sinking feeling that those supplies were for him. What a waste of resources that seemed. “They’re probably not your size, but they’re better than the Imperial things you’re wearing.”

Kallus took a breath before answering, surprised at how steady he was able to force his voice to be. “Thank you,” he said.

Then there was a horrible pause as Kallus realized he wouldn’t be able to remove his chest armor, much less his shirt, without help, and he could see the exact same knowledge dawning on Zeb’s face. “Karabast,” he said. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you.”

Kallus shook his head after only a brief moment of thought. He didn’t have the strength to punish himself any further. Whether or not he was worthy of Zeb’s help would have to wait until he was healed. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking another shaky breath as he once again met Zeb’s gaze.

He didn’t look angry. He almost seemed…proud? That wasn’t right. Kallus was seeing things; his brain had been shaken up by his escape and he was imagining things that weren’t there. “I don’t,” Zeb said. He crossed the room and set the clothes down on the lower bunk. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty space next to them.

Kallus did as he was told, relieved to be off his feet. The leg he’d injured on Bahryn had been hurting horribly since his fight with Thrawn, particularly his knee. He might need to consider getting a brace, he realized, if he wanted to keep fighting—which he did.

Zeb unclasped the sides of Kallus’s ISB-issued armor, dumping it on the floor. “Sabine’ll get a kick out of painting that,” Zeb said. “You can wear our colors instead of Imperial ones.” “Give it to somebody else,” Kallus said. “I don’t want it.” Zeb gave him another strange look that he couldn’t parse. “Whatever you say.” He began to work at the clasps of Kallus’s uniform shirt. They definitely wasn't built for his large, clawed fingers. “So…you’re a Rebel now,” he said. “Still think you made the right decision?”

There weren’t words to describe how firmly Kallus was convinced of it. He was terrified, staring into the face of the unknown, but he knew he’d done the right thing—he just wasn’t sure how to live with the consequences. How to build a new life for himself out of the ruins of his old one…which had been built on the ruins of so many other people’s lives.

So Kallus simply nodded, trying to keep himself from spilling any more tears. The thing that made that impossible was the gentle way Zeb worked the unclasped shirt from his torso, pulling off one sleeve and then the other, grumbling angrily in that deep, rumbling voice when he saw the bruises on Kallus’s side.

“I apologize,” Kallus said immediately, his voice stiff and cracked like old, uncared-for leather. “This isn’t fair.” Zeb helped him get his arms into the new shirt he’d brought, leaving the clasps undone; the medics would only have to undo them again later to treat his injuries properly. Then he draped a quilted jacket across Kallus’s shoulders.

“You just uprooted your entire life, Kallus,” Zeb said, sighing and adjusting a non-existent crease in the jacket. “I would think it was weird if you didn’t cry.”

“Not in front of you. You shouldn’t comfort me.” Kallus moved backwards, further into the bunk, away from Zeb’s touch. He didn’t deserve empathy and he didn’t want pity. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”

Zeb got up from the floor where he’d been kneeling and sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at the opposite wall instead of at Kallus. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Maybe I should say it’s none of my business. Maybe I should leave you to deal with it alone. But when you worked with me on that ice moon, and saved my friends from the Empire, and fed us all that intel as Fulcrum, I think you kind of made yourself my business.” He turned back towards Kallus, his face serious, his eyes soft. “Now let me check your other injuries.”

Kallus complied, shifting closer to Zeb. Even if it didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t think he could refuse Zeb anything. He would do whatever he was asked, whatever he was told—even allow Zeb to take on some of his burden—if it would make a fraction of a difference. If it would help him so much as an inch towards making amends.

With his broad hands carefully gentle, Zeb put a few stitches in Kallus’s broken lower lip. Kallus wondered where Zeb had learned those skills; if it was gained during his time in the Honor Guard of Lasan or in the Rebellion. For a moment, he was lost in wondering, searching Zeb’s face while he was intent on his task as though he could find an answer there. He only realized Zeb had paused and asked him a question when Zeb tilted his head to the side, staring at Kallus for an answer of his own.

“Could you repeat that?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “I said, can you see alright? That black eye doesn’t look too good.”

His eyes were dry now, but there was still a blur in the left side of his vision. “Actually, I can’t,” he said, swallowing hard. “Everything to the left is hazy.”

“It'll probably need a while to heal,” Zeb said. “If it doesn’t, we’ll get you fitted with some visual aids.” He dabbed something cold and clear on the bruised skin. “There’s nothing more I can do until we land, but you should be fine.”

The pain in his side begged to argue, and he was pretty sure that something in there was broken, but Kallus nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything."

How could he put that everything into words? Thank you for not killing me on Bahryn, thank you for telling me to look for the answers, thank you for believing me when I was Fulcrum, thank you for picking me up just now, thank you for tending my wounds.

He didn’t need to. The way Zeb was looking at him, he already knew.

“We have enough people on board to handle things,” Zeb said, his voice equally low. “I can stick around here for a while if you want the company.”

Kallus felt a smile tugging at the stitches on his lip. More everything to be grateful for. “Alright.”

They sat there together on the bunk for a while in silence. It was a comfortable silence, somehow, and Kallus finally began to relax, not breathing easily past the injuries to his ribs but certainly breathing more easily than before.

“You were limping,” Zeb said, breaking the quiet. “When you came on board you were limping.”

“Once you’re wounded, that body part becomes a target. It’s not so bad, now that my weight’s been off it.” Zeb leaned back against the wall. “That’s good.” He extended one arm to Kallus. “Come on, Kal. We’ve got time before we land anywhere, you can rest.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then Kallus allowed himself to settle next to Zeb, with a strong purple arm around his shoulders. As he started drifting off, safe for the first time in months and knowing his injuries would be cared for, Kallus thought he felt Zeb’s fingers gently rubbing across his arm, and there was a little pit of warmth in his chest that kept the cold of pain and guilt out.

[cometst4r]

Safe to say, Simon Riley has a sweet tooth. And you so happen to be the sweetest thing his eyes land upon.

tags/cw: simon is grumpy, awkward and lowkey highkey a pervert, also a little touch-starved and probably also deranged but its mild. a small explicit scene at the end. idk what else to say here. reader has no personality bc i wrote this in like half an hour sorry

=============================

One of the many things Simon Riley hates is the paperwork that needs to be done whenever he goes on leave. He'd much rather be deployed all year-round just so he wouldn't have to deal with the frustrating task.

And after waiting around at the admin office for some excruciating hours, he was on the brink of mental breakdown. He already felt the beginning of a migraine throbbing behind his eyes.

He was in desperate needs of a smoke. And since he's in town, he might as well get some nice rich coffee, not the cheap and burnt instant one he has home, to go along with his cigarette or plural, because he definitely needs more than one.

Tense and with his ever permanent scowl, he went to the first café he finds. The door bell chimes aggressively as he steps inside, the smell of coffee beans and too sweet pastries hitting him straight in the face. Grab an espresso and get out, smoke on the way home. Easy.

Except everything is forgotten, both cig and headache and all the moment he sees the pretty thing behind the counter. Maybe he's craving something sweet instead of the bitter coffee.

And the way you greet him—polite and alluring like the voice of a siren—he might just melt on the spot.

"Good afternoon, what can i get for you today?" you chime in your customer service voice. Usually he hates the fake tone people put on, but oh you sound so genuine and sweet, all for him.

"Espresso," he grunts the singular word, dark eyes boring into you so intense it's like he's taken a hold of your soul.

You gulp and smile kindly at the behemoth of a man in front of you. Did the sky get cloudy all of a sudden or is it him that's covering the sun from coming in through the windows? "Is that all?"

He just stares blankly at you. You wonder if he even heard you. No answer comes, his penetrating gaze doesn't move an inch. He just lifts his hand and points at the glass display, his finger pointed at the first thing there is—some plain croissant.

So awkward, you think to yourself as you bag the pastry.

You try not to mind the burning of his bullet like gaze as you turn to make his coffee.

All the while, Simon is already envisioning all the things he wants to do to you. In his more than just touch-starved mind, you're an angel sent from heaven. So sweet and innocent and kind. The way you smiled at him, or the flutter of your eyelashes as you spoke and looked at him. He just found a new hobby for while he's on leave.

You really hate the new policy of having to write on every single cup you serve. You never expected to find the task to be so thought provoking. Maybe he's just introverted, or is having a difficult day, don't be a prude. So you just settle for a simple 'Have a great day :)'.

Placing the cup next to the croissant, you ask how he'd like to pay. Again, no answer. He just slides a 100 pound bill across the counter.

You hold out the coffee and pastry for him to grab and for the first time since coming into the shop his eyes flick from your face down to your hands. He takes his order and you were about to hand him the change when he finally says something again. "Keep it."

You look at him in bewilderment. That's a lot of money to tip.

He's out the door before you can even verbalize a 'Thank you".

Well, your day just got ten times better. As odd as the interaction was, you pray he'll come again. Little do you know, you'll see him again, way too often acrually.

--

The carton cup, now empty, was settled on the coffee table of his living room. The small and neat handwriting stood facing towards the couch where he was sat. He stared ahead at the tiny words, imagining the pretty face that wrote them.

You smiled all cutesy and even drew a sweet smiley face for him. It's obviously your way of flirting, has to be. But don't you worry, he gets the message.

Taking the tiny cup in his hand, he thinks of your own hands, soft-looking and dainty, so different and small compared to his.

He almost feels bad thinking it. Almost.

Unashamedly, he undoes the front of his pants. He remembers how your hand looked holding the coffee cup, fingers barely touching. He can't help but wonder how it would look to have your hand wrapped around his cock, your soft palm stroking him instead of his rough, calloused one.

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so idk wtf i just wrote, is a first for me. after lurking around for roughly two years i decided to maybe write some fics too. this is not original, recycled idea obviously.

also english is not my first language so i apologize if some sentences dont make sense. if you're actually reading this, thank you for taking your time and reading my silly fic xoxo love u