#why do you think I was gone all those times

[webism]

You make a spur-of-the-moment detour to your exes house on his birthday.

ex!Toji Fushiguro x afab reader. 4.2k. read on ao3

cw: a little bit o' angst, some drinking, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, toji doesnt wash his sheets i know it.

One dark night cursed with rain is all it takes to bring you back to Toji’s front door. Knuckles rapping on wood despite your own mind— it’s the warmest night of the week, humidity seeps into your bones. 

Toji opens his door and greets you with silence. You stand, a vision of something desperate. The man who had once loved you so tenderly watches you with stale eyes. You feel sick for remembering it’s his birthday. You also feel sick knowing he’s spent it in this damn house.

Not a word is shared, sweet nor acidic. Oh your Toji, stoic and silent. Not a thing has changed. 

He steps to the side, offering you refuge from the dreary weather. His eyes are on his driveway, left empty: you walked here. It’s apparent in the way your hair shines wet with rain. 

He used to lecture you for having wet hair in late hours like this, even when it’s warm. His mother used to tell him, hand gentle on the side of his face, ‘Toji, you’ll get a cold.’ 

He’s silent still as you walk past him, and cross the threshold into the house you used to waste away in. You don’t bother to take your shoes off: maybe in an attempt to convince yourself not to stay long. Though you do feel hauntingly warm trapped within such cold walls. 

The door clicks shut. Twelve seconds of silence ensue— you count. 

His first word, “Wine?” 

You ponder the butterfly effect. What total disaster will occur as a result of playing into this fever you’ve been having? How many casualties will you be accountable for? Will blood stain your hands? An ugly pit settles in your stomach. 

You nod regardless, there’s nothing in this house that can’t be nursed with a drink. Toji nods and god have you missed those eyes that soften just a little at the corners when he looks at you.

He only has the cheap stuff, and he has to shuffle through a few empty bottles to find it. Red. It pours smooth, Toji’s hands tight on the neck of the bottle as he bleeds it for you. The rain outside gets heavier: you think of it as a sign you left at the right time. Though, if you hadn’t left at all you’d still be dry. 

It’s been months since your last drink. You down the glass in two sips, you hate the taste but accept when Toji offers you another. What’s a night like this without relapse?

A step forward. 

“This place hasn’t changed,” you note, watching as Toji walks from kitchen to living room, steps heavy and haunting. He stands a few feet from you, back pressed against the wall. “You should move into something more comfortable.”

“A townhouse?” He teases you.

Yes. A townhouse like you. Yours, maybe— or the one across the road that’s just gone up for sale. It has a privacy screen you know he’d love and no broken tiles and no bad memories. You could walk the hot pavement to ask for some sugar when you’re out, and he could tell you he doesn’t have any, because why would he have sugar? And when you would go home deflated, he would run out to buy a bag of sugar, two— one white and one brown because you never specified— and leave them at your front door. Yes. A townhouse. 

“No,” you look down. “You’re not a townhouse type of man.”

Toji exhales. He asks you, in a tone laced with something dark, what type of man he is. 

You gesture around you, the wallpaper is beginning to peel. He’s this type of man.

Toji looks at you, and he asks ‘why are you here? it’s been a year and your life is finally stable again,’ but he asks with his eyes, because those words would never leave his lips. You hate that you can still read him. You wonder if you’ll speak his language forever. 

“Happy birthday,” you say. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Silence, and then– “good.”

You could have emptied your wallet for him with ease. You know he needs things: new socks, a watch that isn't broken, a new beginning. Toji has never taken anything from you though, not gifts or favours or cuddles after sex. You hate that about him: always a provider, never being cared for. Such a shell of a happy man, you count yourself special for having seen him smile. Such gifts have always been your favourite.

“How's…” he trails off, a frail attempt at not suffocating you in the silence he knows you hate. The words don't meet his lips, though: how's your new life? Finally on a comfortable wage? And how are the neighbours? Are they noisy like mine are? Do you stay up laughing at their awkward sex noises like we did? Do you fuck a warm body to drown them out just like us? Do you live trying to recreate domestic life with me? Do you miss the filth? The broken sleep? Were you ever happy? Why are you here?

Toji  bites his tongue. “More wine?”

“No, thanks.”

The rain continues. Despite the roof over your head, you feel heavy with water: something uneasy settles inside of you, and Toji steps closer. He’s wearing black, as usual, and his sleeves are short so you're able to notice he’s added onto his tattoos. Your initial still sits untouched just by his elbow, he’s held onto at least some of you.

Maybe words don’t need to be shared. You step forward. He follows suit.

Before you can stop yourself, you are standing toe-to-toe with Toji Fushiguro. You can watch his shoulders raise with each deep breath he takes, and as you lift your gaze, you look death in the eyes. Sorcerer killer. As beautiful as ever. 

You feel small and powerless, without purpose or justification. Must you always think for yourself? You’re tired of wrestling with that mind of yours. In the cold house you once shared with him, you suddenly forget how to make good decisions. You raise your hands, and touch his lip with your fingertips. He has a new scar, one that runs from the corner of his mouth downwards. You want to kiss it away. You wonder if he pays it much attention in the mirror, is the memory of getting it as bad as the memory of you?

“You shouldn't be here,” Toji slips his large hands to your waist. You feel at home. “Left for a better life.”

“Yeah.”

“I can walk you home.”

“Shut up, Toji. It’s your birthday.”

Relapse: god it tastes good. Toji kisses you like it’s his first and last taste of you. It's deep and yearning and laced with lust and anger and an awful fear of loss. But at the same time, he kisses you like it’s a tuesday evening, and he's just now home from work and you’ve been busy all day with the house, which is quaint and clean and not run-down like his. Maybe a townhouse.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and he kisses you like he had once planned to on your wedding night: your back hits the wall, but his hand is behind your head to cushion it. A tear slips down your face, overwhelmed by the presence of who has haunted so many of your dreams. You want more of him, you want to indulge yourself on the forbidden: what a taboo his touch has become.

“Please,” you speak against his lips. 

“On the bed.”

Toji steps away from you, and nods down the hall. You know your way, you know this house like it's built from your own bones. Memories flash through your mind with each step you take towards his bedroom, the one that used to be yours, too. You let yourself smile, remembering being carried to bed after a drink too many, or spending hours curled up under the sheets waiting for your love to return home. Eating breakfast in bed together, the sex that would follow.

His footsteps are heavy against the wood behind you, he shadows you as you walk into his room, once yours too. The bed has moved, it’s pushed against the wall now— you suppose there isn’t need for someone else to have room to get in on the other side. You wonder how many people he’s fucked to forget about you in the sheets that used to smell like you. 

You can only worry so much, jealousy doesn’t do one well when it’s barely justified. You sit on the edge of the mattress, running your fingers along the soft covers and try not to think of all the times you've been here before. You used to sit and watch him get dressed, the troublesome time it would take to get his clothes on worth the sight of his bare skin covered to remain for your eyes alone. You’d daydream sometimes of watching him dress for different circumstances; maybe in another life you’d sit in the master bedroom of a townhouse and watch your Toji dress for the picket-fence desk job dream rather than for murder.

And yet, the bed seems to swallow you whole. This room, even after you left, remains half yours. A cursory glance to the wardrobe shows it still half empty, dust laden over the dresser your perfumes once sat atop. The curtains covering his window are the same ones you had picked out on sale in the spirit of making a house a home. You still linger. 

Toji leans against the wall by the window, his toned arms crossed over his chest as he watches you look around. His lips part slowly, but he closes his mouth and clears his throat when you lean back on your elbows. You stare ahead at nothing in particular, thinking of all those nights where you laid awake, watching him in his sleep, worrying about whether he’d come home in a box the following week. You never stopped worrying, really.

With every passing second you feel more and more guilty. Selfish for imposing on Toji's life without you, estranged for leaving a townhouse nine blocks over to return to the home you had left so long ago.

“I miss you,” you say softly.

Toji doesn’t move, doesn’t speak— you can hear the rain worsen outside. You think you’ve fucked things up—ruined the relapse—when Toji pushes himself off the wall and reaches you in two long steps. He looks down at you, large frame towering over your body in a way that makes you feel both small and seen at the same time. You sit in his shadow, under his punitive gaze, looking up at the man you had once promised a forever to. 

Toji leans down, meets you in height and kisses you once again. This time, the kiss is slow, languid and gentle in a way you remember once hating. You’d always yearn for the rough, mean side of Toji that could make you see stars in seconds. You used to want the Zenin to come out and settle your hunger. But now, with the gentle way in which Toji takes your lips between his, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but him.

He kisses you like a man home from war which, in a way, he always will be. When his hands come to rest on your waist, you’re confronted by the memories of his touch: soft on your skin, tender and caring despite the roughness of his very being. When he draws your thighs apart and kneels between them, you hate yourself for ever leaving. How cruel you were. 

Toji sets his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulls them down, panties too, in one swift movement aided only by the raising of your hips. He looks at you, bare and desperate, and his throat goes dry. He tries desperately to clear his mind of all the memories that start like this, with you spread out and laid back in wait of him. He pressed a gentle his to your thigh, then sinks his teeth into your flesh—anything to leave a mark on you again.

“Ow,” you whine, buck your hips up a little in hopes of pleasure to chase the pain. Toji doesn’t relent, he bites your thigh again, this time a little higher. “Toji.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, catches your skin between his teeth and moves upwards. “Like you’re still used to this. Like we’re fucking for the third time this week. That’s gone.”

You take a breath in and close your eyes. You can feel yourself deflate a little, his words are sharp and poking but his lips are gentle as they kiss over the indentations left by his teeth. Another kiss, even higher, and he’s soon pressing his lips to your clit in something you can only describe as reunion.

It can’t all be gone, because he darts his tongue out to circle around your clit in a way he’s done so much before it’s now muscle memory. As is the way your hips buck upwards just to be caught and pinned by his strong hands. You’re held down and ravaged by your Toji, who dips his tongue down through your folds before latching onto your clit like he’s trying to find comfort in your taste. Maybe he finds it, because he lets out a sigh and presses his forehead to your pelvis as he takes a breath.

“You taste the same,” he mumbles, dipping forward again to practically make out with your cunt. He’s always been messy—hungry. You can feel his scar against you, it’s new and not something you attach to him just yet, but maybe that's a good thing. Your fingers curl into the silk sheets you brought on sale two years ago. 

“Your tongues the same, always fucking teasing.”

“Deal with it.”

You try again to buck your hips up in protest, but his grip on your waist is too wrought. He’s mean, holding you down and denying you the chance to chase pleasure, but he’s always been this way—Toji will do anything to hold control. He returns his attention to your needy clit and eats you out at a pace you can only call familiar: too fucking slow. You want to protest, to whine and beg for more in the hopes his ego will take the buff and make you cum on his tongue, but before you can even part your lips to speak, he’s mumbling against your pussy.

“Just let me savour this.”

Oh and who are you to deny him after so long, after the withdrawals of losing his tongue you’re eager to end it so soon? No, you’re driven by lust and not giving your heart a moment to voice whims. You tighten your grip on the sheets, feel the slow coil in your stomach pull further, and let out a breath. You feel him wholly, each flick of his tongue over your sensitive achey clit, the dig of his thick fingers into your waist, his breath against your skin as he moans into his ministries. 

You’re close before you can start entirely savouring it. “Toji,” you try—but he knows you, he feels it already.

“I know, ma, you can take some more. Know you can, always been a fuckin’ slut for my mouth”

You can’t—you both know it. Toji wants to feel you unravel against his lips and give himself reason to punish you for it. He pushes two fingers into your fluttering cunt and curls them upwards just to torture you further. You’d chide him if you weren’t choking on your moans already, practically begging him with your sweet noises for that oh-so-wanted relief.

And he obliges, of course, because your orgasm is a rarity he used to taste daily. Something he missed, the taste of your relief, the way you’d shake under his touch and let him kiss you better afterwards. He doesn’t deserve you, but he’s been good enough of a man to deserve this, at least once more. 

Your orgasm wracks through you like a wave would a desolate beach in a storm. Emotional. Restorative in a way. Sobering. You half expect your eyes to open and find yourself back at home in the comforts of your new bed with your hand down your pants and your fingers soaked at the thought of your Toji, as so many nights go. But no: he’s here and lapping up your release like a starving man would. 

He stills by your pussy for a few moments, and you know he’s trying to will his erection down even just a little bit. His pants are strained and even friction against the mattress doesn’t do much for him—still, he doesn’t know if you want to take all of him again. He’d be okay with just your taste, but every second that passes without him being inside of you feels somewhat torturous–debilitating. You pick up on his struggles and tug at the strands of black hair you used to shampoo each evening.

“Toji,” you hum. “Want you inside of me. Need to feel it again.”

Your ex lover, though calling him such leaves a horrid taste in your mouth, climbs over you and takes both of your wrists to pin the above your head with one hand. He looks down at you with something in his gaze that you can’t quite pinpoint: anger? Hurt? Heat?

Regardless, he used his free hand to line up with your sopping entrance and push forward. Catching your lips between his in a kiss as he does so, Toji moans into the gasp you let out as he stretches you open. This is hauntingly familiar, the burn of his first thrust—so big that you can’t  completely get used to him no matter how often he’s working you open on his cock. You love it, you’d call yourself an addict if it were appropriate. 

He bottoms out, buries himself to the hilt inside of you and rests his forehead against yours. You half expect him to be mean. He used to fuck you rough when you were together and he was particularly stressed: he’s wrap a strong hand around your throat or push your face into the pillows and fuck you so hard he had to carry you to the shower to clean off. 

But Toji isn’t rough, even with his cock splitting you open and the anger of your leaving, he isn’t rough. He lets your wrists go and moves his hand to cup your face and just stare for a moment. You know the look in his eyes too well, something overwhelming washes over him, and you swear you can see a slight tremble to his lips. He’s beyond beautiful, eyes darting all over your face in hopes of memorising your every feature—as if you’re not already burnt into his mind. Like you’re not what he sees whenever he closes his eyes. 

“Too much?” you ask, feeling the tremor in his hands. 

Toji looks down at you and, with a dry mouth, manages a small “yeah.”

Your hand finds his face, thumb tracing over the scar on his lip in gentle strokes. Something soothing, you hope, for a man far from finding comfort. “You wanna stop?”

“God no,” Toji shakes his head. “Do you want to, uh—”

“Flip us over, Fushiguro.”

With his length still hidden inside of you, Toji swiftly flips the both of you over so that his back hits the mattress and you’re sat on his cock and staring down at him for once. His hands find your hips, still with a slight tremor to his grip but a little more comfort than before. Gravity helps you take Toji a little deeper than you had, so you lean forward a little and rest your hands on his chest. His heart thrums beneath your touch, not quite pounding but fast enough to make you smile.

“Let me take care of you,” you roll your hips a little. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Toji looks almost like he’s going to protest, but ultimately takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods; letting you slide up on his cock just to drop yourself back down. “Fuck, I–” 

He trails off, eyes screwed chut, and you lean forward to kiss the subtle curve of his nose. “You what?”

“I missed you,” his eyes are glossed when he opens them again to meet yours. You only get a glimpse of them before you’re pressing your lips to his in lieu of a million things you want to say to him. “Fucking missed you.”

Pulling away, you lift your hips up, feel the drag of his cock leaving you empty before you drop back down again and make the both of you moan in tandem with each other. Your eyes lock, his start to pool with tears. You can’t tell if he’s overwhelmed or upset or starting to be fucked so dumb he’s gone soft on you—but regardless, it’s a sight that tightens your beating heart.

You quicken your pace, revel in the way he fills you up: how he completes you. Your knees dig into the spring-loaded mattress as you ride his cock like you used to all that time ago. Every squeeze of your cunt around him makes the poor man choke a little on his breath, though you don’t slow down, not even when the tears start to fall. His cheekbones are painted glossy with his tears and, in favour of wiping them away, you dip down and lick a long strip up his cheek to taste the salt of his emotions on his tongue. It’s only fair, your taste still lingers on his. 

“I don’t like seeing you cry,” you whisper, kissing gently at his wet lashline. He grounds himself with his hands on your hips and takes a shaky breath in at the kisses you press across his tear-streaked face. He doesn’t try to hide his vulnerability—he knows there’s no point around you. Not when you’ve seen every broken part of him and still kissed him with a gentleness that stung more than any injury could.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs as you ride him. “You do this to me.”

You slow your movements just enough to offer a reprieve, the steady roll of your hips becoming languid, deliberate. “I don’t mean to,” you reply softly, your lips brushing against his as you speak. 

Toji huffs out something between a laugh and a sob. “Liar. You always know what you’re doing.”

You let out a small breathy laugh and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth. You start your pace up again, even faster than before: your thighs burn with the effort, but it’s worth it to see him unravel beneath you.

His head falls back against the pillow, exposing the column of his neck, and a low, desperate moan slips past his lips. He grips your thighs, but there’s no force behind his touch—only a trembling need as he lets you take control.

“You’re so good like this, letting me take care of you.”

His breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your thighs. “I—fuck, I can’t—” He’s rambling now, his words slurring as his breath becomes laboured and his hips start to thrust skywards into you. “Please—don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Shh,” you soothe, your hands sliding down to lace your fingers with his, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. “I’ve got you. Just let go, Toji.”

Wholly at your mercy, Toji screws his beautiful eyes shut and nods. Each heave from his chest stokes the flames that coil in your stomach  in desperate hopes of a release. He’s first to teeter over the edge of pleasure, with a wild thrust up into you and a very raw moan, or sob, that rips straight from his throat, he cums. He fills you up and, for only a moment, you’re thrown back a year into the past and this is any other night spent together. The heat of him, the sheer force of his climax, pushes you to your own precipice.

You follow him into oblivion soon after, your back arching and your head falling back as your orgasm crashes through you. The muscles of your core tighten around him, drawing out his pleasure even as yours consumes you in wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy. You milk him for all he has, every last drop of release that you’re greedy enough to take within you.

When the storm passes, you collapse onto his chest. The both of you are sheened with sweat and the cum that leaks from your cunt around his cock and it’s messy and sticky and domestic in a way you can’t explain. The rain outside starts to taper off, but you’ll use the weather as an excuse to stay the night regardless. You doubt Toji would let you leave even if you tried. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you.” you reply. 

You don’t know what will happen come morning. The two of you are from two very different worlds now, but Toji’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. You can feel his heart beat, you can hear each intake of breath, you’re connected to him physically and, in a way, spiritually as well. 

You’re in his bed, the one that was once also yours. You’re safe, feeling nostalgic, and Toji Fushiguro is warm. Much warmer than any insulated townhouse.

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[avonsdrabbles]

You know, I wanna add to this.

My parents… tried. They tried to come to my everything. They taped what they could so we could always have it on disk. My childhood was spent rewatching videos of my major events, none of which feel major now as a 27 year old. But they were major then. And with how much therapy I’ve gone through, I finally can recognize — can finally remember — how good that felt.

And how horrible it felt when that wasn’t the case.

Later in my life, before cutting them off, my dad lamented about how he had never been there for me. How he had work often when I was a child, so he missed a lot of my developmental ages. He tried to make up for this later in life; he built me toys and games, talked with me about various topics he thought would appeal.

They all fell flat. There was always some aspect of it that was missing. The air hockey table he built (which I appreciated, genuinely, especially since it was based on the joy I had with my sister, playing a makeshift one in my room) was in the garage where he smoked, and my asthma wouldn’t allow for playing. Every conversation we had that I was passionate about resulted in an argument as passions flared, and it became easier not to talk at all.

He would tout this failure of his to connect to me as a child as the reason I came out to mom, first. In some degrees, I think he’s right. I think it was a factor, at least.

But the biggest thing I can recognize as an adult is… I get it. He couldn’t be there as much. Just… physically. My father is disabled, was making the most money in the household, and we needed that income to continue with our way of life. My parents worked their asses off to provide for my sister and I, and we had a very comfortable lifestyle because of it. But that work came at the cost of connection.

I guess what I’m saying is… I can recognize, now, how necessary it was. But I wasn’t an idiot then. I could’ve understood, had anyone just explained it properly.

“Dad couldn’t come; he had work.”

To a 5 year old, that’s not an excuse. Can’t you just take off work? Can’t you just come? What sort of world do we live in where work is more important than (checks) my fifth grade play where I’ll screech at the top of my lungs??

“Dad had a headache.”

To a 5 year old, fuck that. I’ve had headaches at school before. Nevermind that my father had an aneurysm, I don’t know that word.

If you can’t make it, please, fucking explain to your child why, in ways they can understand!!! And do it BEFORE you miss, whenever possible.

“Hey honey; I want to come, but my boss is evil and won’t give me time off. If I don’t go to my job, I can’t afford your magic tree house books. I know this recital means a lot for you, but I know those books matter a lot too. Is it okay for me to miss this one, if I promise to see you on the camera later?”

Just give that reassurance.

Help your child through the grief of not seeing you there. Prepare them for it.

my parents never came to anything I did.

I have so many memories about this, but one in particular: when I was away at camp with 89 other teenagers, and at the one-month mark the post was collected distributed to all the dorms. 89 other children tore open their boxes and, shovelling handfuls of sweets their parents had sent them into their mouths, read pages-long letters and handed around photos of their brothers and sisters.

I didn't. I didn't get anything, I sat on my empty bed watching them. The teachers had to call my parents and ask if perhaps the post had gone missing...? but my parents were surprised they were required to interact with me while I was away.

Well, today, my 3-year-old daughter had a fun-run. The childcare centre invited parents to come but stressed that if we weren't able to, it was alright. There was no fucking way I wasn't going. My daughter wasn't going to be the only child there without a parent watching.

I got time off work and stood there in the beating sun and plastered in greasy sunscreen waiting to see my little girl emerge from inside the centre and stand on the track.

When she did, her little eyes searched through the crowd person-by-person for me, and absolutely lit up like the sun when she spotted me.

Mine filled with tears as I waved at her and cheered.

I'm breaking the cycle.

[enderlovez]

out on the couch

Spencer Reid x Reader WORD COUNT: 1300+

Summary: You and Spencer have an argument, and in the heat of the moment, he says something pretty hurtful.

Content Warning: arguments, it's winter and cold, hurtful words, guilt

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The argument starts over something stupid. It always does—not to say you fight with Spencer frequently, but when you do, it's always over something ridiculous.

Maybe it's the way he corrected you on something small—some minor detail that really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe it's the way you left your coffee mug on the counter instead of rinsing it out immediately.

You don't even remember the specifics. All you know is that it escalated fast, the frustration mounting between you like a growing storm.

"I don't understand why everything has to be a debate with you!" you snap, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Spencer's jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not debating you. I'm just pointing out that—"

"That I'm wrong?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended it to be.

"No, I—" He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You're twisting my words again, Y/N. You always do this."

That does it. His tone is clipped, dismissive, and it slices through you like a hot knife. Your chest tightens to the point of pain as you glare at him, trying to hold back the sting of tears.

"Right," you say bitterly, your voice trembling. "I'm impossible to deal with, aren't I? That's what you're thinking."

It's cruel of you to say. Even in the moment, you know it's wrong. Spencer's eyes flash with irritation, and before you can take back the words, he says the one thing he shouldn't.

"You said it, not me."

The room goes quiet.

It's not the loud kind of quiet (you know), where tension hangs thick and heavy. It's the hollow kind (you know that, too), the kind that presses against your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your lips parted in shock, but no words come out. He doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he's too stubborn to back down.

Instead, he turns on his heel and storms off, his long legs carrying him into the bedroom. The door shuts behind him, not quite slamming but still loud enough to echo in your ears.

You stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he stood. The weight of his words lingers, heavier than the argument itself. You swallow hard, the ache in your chest growing as the tears you'd been holding back finally spill down your cheeks.

But you don't follow him.

Instead, you grab the old throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and curl up on the sofa. It's not comfortable—the cushions are firm, the blanket thin, and the chills of winter seeps into your bones—but you can't bring yourself to go into the bedroom.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

In the bedroom, Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The anger that had burned so hot just moments ago is gone entirely, snuffed out like a candle. What's left is the cold weight of regret, pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

He knows he shouldn't have said what he did. He knows it was cruel, unnecessary, and completely unfair—especially when he could see the beginning of an apology on your face.

But at the time, it had felt like the only way to defend himself.

Now, with the argument over and the silence settling in, all he can think about is the look on your face when he said those words. The way your shoulders sagged as if weighed down, the way your eyes widened just slightly, as if he'd struck you.

The thought makes him feel a little nauseous.

He waits for you to come to bed, his heart sinking further with each passing minute. The silence stretches on, broken only by the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the corner.

You don't come.

Maybe at some point in his life, he'd have been grateful for the quiet. But now that he's spent almost every day with you when he's not working, listened to your quiet ramblings, it feels more suffocating than comforting.

You're comforting.

Finally, he gets up and steps into the hallway. The dimmed light from the living room spills into the darkness, and he follows it, an unfamiliar discomfort swirling around his stomach.

When he sees your curled up on the couch, trembling slightly, his chest tightens painfully.

You're lying on your side as to stay on the narrow sofa, your knees tucked up to your chest, the thin throw blanket doing nothing to shield you from the cold. He can see the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your body is curled in on itself, as if trying to make yourself small.

The sight breaks his heart.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stir, blinking groggily as your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, the hurt in your gaze twisting the knife of guilt in his chest.

"What're you doing out here?" he asks, kneeling beside the couch.

You shift slightly, your voice quiet and trembling when you finally speak. "I figured you wouldn't want me in the room."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

There is nothing on Earth that could make him not want you around, not even a silly argument. Nothing that could convince him to keep you at arms length for more than a few minutes.

His breath catches, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. You don't flinch, but you don't lean into his touch like you usually would, either. The hesitation in your posture is enough to make his broken heart ache.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "That's not true. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. I... I never should have said that, I promise you're not impossible to deal with."

You don't respond, your gaze dropping to the blanket. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to find the right words. His hands somehow find your face, thumbs wiping away the dampness still there.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. You're not impossible. You're—God, you're everything to me..."

For a long moment, you don't say anything.

Finally, you sigh, your voice barely audible. "It d-didn't feel like that earlier."

Spencer's shoulders slump, his head bowing as shame washes over him. "I know," he whispers. "I was awful to you. I don't have an excuse, but I... I can't stand the thought of you feeling like I don't want you around. Because I do. Always."

You look at him then, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. "It's hard to believe that when you say things like that, Spence."

"I know," he says again, his voice breaking. "But I'll spend every moment for the rest of my life making it up to you, if I have to. If you want me to."

Your lips press together, and for a moment, he thinks you're going to push him away. But then you shift, sitting up slowly and letting the blanket fall away from your body. You lean into him slightly, nose pressing against the top of his head.

"Come here," he says softly, holding his hand toward yours.

You hesitate, but eventually, you take it. He pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in his embrace as if he's afraid to let you go. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away the lingering chill.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his lips brushing against your hair. "I'll do better, I promise."

You rest your head against his shoulder, the tension in your body slowly melting away. "Please... just don't make me feel like that again."

"I won't," he vows, holding you tighter.

He'll never let you feel like this again—like you're less than enough. Like you're not everything and more to him. Like he doesn't want you around. Like he doesn't love you. Never.

And as he carries you back to the bedroom, his arms never leaving your frame, you let yourself believe him.

[puckinghischier]

Going off the exes to lovers w/ Quinn…

You guys are still in the same friend group so sometimes you still have to see each other during gatherings or in passing and it’s just little things that Quinn does or says that makes you realize you never fell out of love with him. Like he knew you were coming out on the boat for the day with them so he stocked up on your fav snacks to put on the boat. Or maybe he heard you were sick from his brothers so he insta carts stuff to your house. Just things that makes it blatantly obvious that he still cares.

oh he’s using every opportunity. you drank too much and need a ride home from the bar? he stopped drinking the second you ordered your third drink.

you mention in a gc you’ve been craving a certain type of food? it shows up at your door in an hour.

your friend mentions that you’ve been feeling homesick lately? your parents, somehow, mysteriously, found the money in their budget for a couple of place tickets to see you.

he would be so subtle, so nonchalant with it you don’t even notice until you look back. it’s like he never left. he’s always just…there. waiting.

it’s not like the two of you had some big, blow out break up. it was more so like you still loved him, but you needed to love yourself more. so you’re still friendly. you still speak when in groups together and you still frequent games.

but it’s like his presence in your life never really faltered, even though the absence is what you said you needed.

so one day, when you pretended to order drinks, you noticed the way his glass stayed empty as long as yours stayed full. you mentioned in a gc without him you were craving italian food, and for once, it never showed up.

you kept noticing all the things he was still doing for you, and against your will, your resolve cracked. you knew he loved you, and you still loved him, but you figured he’d quit paying attention after awhile.

but he never did.

and when you confronted him about it? well…he didn’t even deny any of it. he admitted to it like he was saying the sky was blue, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“well, why would i stop? you need someone to look after you, and i don’t trust anyone else to do it, so why stop doing what i love for who i love?”

his words were like a punch to your gut, because why, why couldn’t he have just said those things when you two were together?

“quinn, it’s not that simple. you just weren’t…there.”

that? saying he was never there? that made him angry. because while he may not have been physically there, he was always there.

“that’s bullshit. that’s bullshit and you know it. yeah, i might not have been able to be with you all the time, but don’t ever fucking tell me i wasn’t there, y/n, because i’ve always only ever been there.”

he points to your chest as he says it. his outburst surprises you, but it makes you think.

yeah, maybe he was gone all the time, but somehow your car always stayed cleaned and serviced, without you even realizing. maybe he was in a different country most of the time, but there was never a lack of fresh flowers in your apartment. maybe he wasn’t able to be on his phone all the time, but your voicemail was never empty, sweet recordings littering the inbox.

so yeah, maybe he wasn’t always there, but he was never really absent, was he?

as you stand there looking at a red faced and angry, but mostly hurt, quinn, you think…maybe he’s always meant to be there, clouding your thoughts and filling the ache in your chest you forced him to leave.

[toovaeloe]

curse biologist!reader x assistant!gojo hc’s

content: gojo pining off his ass . little flirty lab partners . tw for sliiighhtest mention of an autopsy and related tools . warning for gojo poppin’ a stiff one in the lab cause he’s a freak like that (ur a freak like that), so mildly suggestive

mdni

curse biologist!reader— the higher ups want you dead and gone, that’s for sure. You, who has a cursed technique that turns cursed energy into something tangible. After applying your technique to a cursed spirit, it becomes visible to a naked human eye, and instead of disintegrating, leaves a corpse behind. You’re dangerous. Crazy. And well…too weird. But they just hate progress, don’t they?

Not Gojo. He really doesn’t think you’re doing any harm to be honest (and he’ll do just about anything if it creases another wrinkle into Gakuganji’s ugly mug)

I mean, who else has been able to make waves in the integration of curses into science like you have? You’ve uncovered an exponential amount about the inner workings of curses in a few years when the rest of Jujutsu society’s had centuries, only to scratch the surface. It’s really admirable how you deep dive into the nitty gritty, as he calls it.

assistant!gojo— who loves being your little go-getter. Your own personal cursed spirit Fetch-Fido— maybe if you squint hard enough you’ll be able to see floppy ears perked to attention in his snowy hair or an eager tail whipping up a hurricane behind him as he brings you back his latest catch: a detained grade 2 curse manifested by the fear of monsters under the bed. Yeah, he knew you’d like something like that.

assistant!gojo— loves witnessing the way your eyes light up and it’s as if he can see the cogs immediately gearing to life in your smart little brain. He’s saluting exaggeratedly with a puffed out chest when you give him the go ahead to kill the thing after you’ve had your hand at it. It’s all he can do not to ask for a pat on the head and praise of how well he did. Getting a “Good boy,” out of you is on his mental vision board.

assistant!gojo— sticks around for the autopsies. Likes watching you poke around inside the creatures and is waiting on your hand and foot through the entire process. Scalpel? Bone saw? Enterotomy scissors? The bread knife??? He’s even starting to become attuned to your whims, tool already in hand before you extend your palm.

If you murmured an awed, “look at thaaat,” he’s quick to huddle in close under the pretense of observing whatever oddity that’s intrigued you. Only to squish his cheek against yours with a feigned, “hmm…mhmm…” nodding stiltedly, and not so discreetly nuzzling his face closer to yours with an impish glint in those azure eyes as he casts a sidelong glance to your skeptical neutrality.

assistant!gojo— staring at you with the widest puppy dog eyes as you discard your gloves and begin sketching diagrams of the latest brain you’ve picked apart, comparing it to the contradicting one of another curse, and contrasting from the drastically different human model you have. He can listen to you babble for hours, if only absorbing every other word of your theories on why a curse’s blood runs violet or how you’re so excited to get these samples to the lab. He’ll still chip in with his own question or hypothesis from time to time, because he’s curious too, but more than that he loves the way you answer.

assistant!gojo— purposely uses candy and sweets as a metaphor whenever you plead with him to explain how he views the electromagnetic spectrum through those eyes of his, just because he thinks it’s funny how desperate you are to know. To this day you can’t decode however the fuck that analogy about laffy taffy and rock candy was supposed to relate to infrared waves.

assistant!gojo— Satoru can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he can’t get you out of his head or the fact that you want inside of his head

This whole situation is basically him giving you googoo eyes and kissy faces as you scribble down something on your clipboard and try to stick him with a needle

assistant!gojo— who’s willing to be a bit of a lab rat for you. He’s all giggles as he prances up to your vertical operation table, huffing lightly when you strap him against the cool steel. “Don’t be shy now, y’could go tighter than that. You know I like it when you tie me up,,” he encourages oh so unhelpfully.

assistant!gojo— chiding you to be careful when you begin application of the biosensors across his chest, cause he’ll get “a little too excited.” You don’t pay mind to his little quip until you see his already irregularly R-R intervals spike impossibly short on the electrocardiogram readings. And then again as you finish hooking him up to the machine.

assistant!gojo— thinks you might be overthinking what environmental stimuli might have caused that anomaly, or maybe judging by that poorly veiled smile and half-hearted “My mistake,” you’ve purposefully placed that one sensor node a little too low on his pelvis this time. Now that he’s thinkin’ about— yeah—there definitely wasn’t any need for you crouch so low until your nose was practically level with the apex of his thigh. Or for you to look up at him in a way that had him failing to suppress a shiver and his breath hitching when you smoothly rubbed the padding of the damn thing into his hip with your thumb. Aaaand fuck, he’s bricked in the lab. (again.)

He’d kill to know what’s going on in your noggin. And frankly he’s dying to get the pants off his fave smartypants.

a/n: as soon as I got this idea i was like ooo biting my lip and bigbig smile,, onto something? am I onto something??? would anybody maybemaybe read a one shot with this concept 👀? okay I love you byyyee

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content and language, being sick? overthinking? p being melodramatic Wordcount: 4.4K A/C: was feeling inspired :)) anyway pls be patient with me posting, i'm applying to schools rn!! anyway this went a direction i hadn't planned but... uhh... i have no excuses i was going with the flow. anyway enjoy x (also what a scare yesterday just hoping p is doing fine and i'm sure everything's okay!)

-

Before London

You need a ride to work tmr?

I don’t but thank you x

My eyes roam the texts as they had repeatedly since last night, trying to decipher each letter as if some ancient code I couldn’t understand. Is she seriously gonna be like that? Like she wasn’t the one who pulled me in. She kissed me. Why was she taking it out on me now? I don’t got time for this anyway, to be stressing about something like this. 

I hadn’t seen Izara since Saturday, not at work, not in the apartment building, hell, I’d even gone to the gym every morning praying that she might show up but it was as if the girl had disappeared from the face of the earth. I knew she was avoiding me, and I guess she had reason but fuck, I thought she’d be better than that. Not a word since Saturday, other than those strange cryptic texts. Fine. Be that way.

“My favourite girls!!” Trey’s voice blatantly interjects my spinning thoughts as me, Arike, Satou and Lou are sat at a circular table, eating lunch. Not that I had been eating per say, more so poking my fork here and there trying to stomach a piece of chicken now and then. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach made it hard to eat at all.

I lift my eyes, hoping Izara would be trailing behind the man as usual. But it’s Ava instead, holding a notepad and taking quick steps to keep up. I mean I knew it wasn’t Iz before even looking up - there was an uncomfortable void of heels tapping against the hardwood as the pair approach us eagerly.

“Oh hey!” Lou smiles from her chair next to me. “What’s up?”

“So we were thinking,” Trey starts, leaning forward against the table. “If y’all could film some clips answering comments on your own since our dear Zari isn’t here.”

“Uh, where is she anyway?” I ask as casually as I can - though the way everyone’s heads snap to me tells me it was a feeble attempt.

Trey’s dark brown eyes study me for a while with an expression I can’t quite read before answering. “She’s home sick, poor girl.”

Bullshit. She’s trying to avoid me, I know it. I can’t believe it, I thought she would be more mature than this, than faking being “sick” just to get away from an awkward conversation with me. Why was she assuming how I felt anyway? Like the kiss mattered to me? Like I’d want more?

I mean all that was true. God did it matter and God did I want, no, need more. Much more. But she didn’t know that, so why was she assuming. I thought we were friends. You know what this is? Bad friendship.

“Oh damn, hope she feels better,” Arike answers for me, noticing the way I’m gone in my thoughts.

“Y-yeah for sure,” I mumble, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’mma go to the weight room.”

I place the fork down on my half eaten plate harshly, getting up abruptly making my irritation quite clear to everyone around me.

“Paige you gotta eat a little more,” Lou encourages but I shake my head.

“Nah, m’ not hungry,” I murmur and take my plate back, preparing to take out my aggravation at some weights, ignoring the way Arike and the rest of the girls eye me as I walk away.

-

“So how are we feeling about the first game soon?” My dad’s voice echoes through the speaker but I barely hear him, pacing my apartment’s living room. Truthfully I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming game. I knew that was bad. That I should be ecstatic, or scared as hell, but I didn’t feel anything else besides the dread of what happened between me and Iz. 

Matter of fact, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the way she looked all night, the way her green smoked out eyes twinkled at me, the way she threw her head back when she laughed at my jokes, when she pressed her front against me. The way her full breasts felt against my chest, the way her round ass felt under my hands. God, the whimper she let out when I squeezed it as gently as I could.

“Paige?”

“Uh what?” I mumble, ears burning, completely forgotten about the call with my dad.

“What’s going on with you?” His secure, steady voice asks, grounding me.

“Nothin’ dad,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes and looking out the window into the street, eyeing every dark haired woman just in case they were Izara.

“Paige Madison.”

I groan. I might be 23-years-old but my dad’s stern voice turns me into a teenager without fail each time.

“You’re comin’ to the first game still, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why?”

“Nothin’, just miss you,” I mumble, coming up with an excuse for my low mood - though it wasn’t far off. Everytime I felt sad or anxious I just wanted my dad.

“I miss you too, kid. You know you just say the word and I’m there, okay?”

“No I know, I know. I’m just tired I think,” I sigh, my chest warming at my dad’s comforting words.

“Uh oh,” he starts. “Paige Madison… Don’t tell me.”

“Huh? Tell you what?”

“Is this about a girl?” He asks.

I pause, coming to a halt with my pacing. “Hu- I- What?!”

“You always say “I’m just tired” when you got a girl on your mind,” my dad laughs, doing a horrible impression of me.

“No!” I argue a little too fast and a little too passionately. “I mean, no. Just tired. Long practice.”

“Mhm alright,” my dad mumbles, an amused tone in his voice that irritates me in a way only a parent could. “So no girl?”

“No dadddd,” I whine like a teenage girl. “There’s no girl.”

I didn’t like lying to him. I wanted to tell him all about Izara. I knew my dad would adore that girl. He always said I needed a woman to keep me in check - Izzie did just that. But I also didn’t want to tell my dad about this girl knowing it likely wasn’t going to go anywhere, especially now that she had been hiding from me since our kiss.

“Okay dad tell Drew I said hi and I’ll play Fortnite with him tomorrow,” I say into the phone, ready to hang up.

“Okay kid, love you.”

“Love you dad.”

The silence is deafening, again. Like it used to be before I became friends with Iz. I felt alone, anxious, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn’t turn off. I thought she was mature enough to handle this like two adults. If she just wanted to be friends then she could just tell me, at least we could continue our friendship like that.

But usually when I kissed a girl, they didn’t run away like this. Quite the opposite. Did she not like the way I kissed? Was I off my game? Maybe the tongue was too much? Maybe she didn’t like my outfit. I’m a good kisser, I know I am. Good enough to get girls into bed with ease. So what is the trouble now? And I also know that that was the best kiss I had ever had. That our lips fit together just right. Fuck this girl had me going out of my mind. And now I just had to wait for her to reach out, it didn’t feel fair.

No. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to wait for her? Who said I had to? Fuck that.

Too frenzied to even throw a shirt over my sports bra, I walk downstairs determined, knocking on Izara’s door angrily, preparing a speech of everything I’d been thinking the past few days: Look, Izzie, we’re both adults. You clearly think the kiss was a mistake. But avoiding me and acting like this is ridiculous and stupid and we don’t need to be acting like teenage-

“Paige?” 

Izzie opens the door, voice weak and nasally. She’s in a pale pink pyjama set, hair up in a clip and nose red and irritated. She wasn’t lying. Definitely not. She is sick. 

Quick, improvise.

“Uh, hey,” I mumble, my cheeks turning pink, her red eyes staring up at me reminiscent of Saturday night and the moments before our kiss on the balcony. “Trey told me you were sick.”

She chuckles, looking down at her dishevelled appearance and returns her gaze to me. “How did you know,” she jokes. She’s acting like nothing happened between us. How could she act like that? I guess it’s better than if she actually had been avoiding me.

“Was worried, haven’t seen you since… The party,” I say unsurely.

“Uh… Yeah. Crazy party huh,” Izzie says almost to herself. “Well, anyway, thanks for checking in but I’m perfectly okay. Just a cold and I think it’s passing.”

She begins to close the door but I grab it, holding it open.

“You been resting?” I ask concerned.

The girl shrugs. “Well at first but now I’m just getting bored so I’ve been doing some work from home.”

“Izzie…”

“What?”

“You gotta be restin’ if you’re sick,” I argue, which makes the girl roll her eyes.

“I’m fine Paige,” she answers, but I step inside.

“Let me in.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she complains but I shake my head.

“I won’t. I’m built different.”

Izzie laughs, deciding it was pointless to try to argue and lets me in.

Her apartment is spotless as always, laptop open on her dining table with schedules and notebooks piled next to it. This bitch hadn’t been resting, no she’s been working and cleaning.

“Izzie!” I groan and close the laptop.

“Shoes! Shoes shoes shoes!” She yelps, voice breaking as she does. 

“‘M sorry!” I gasp and take my sneakers off quickly, placing them neatly by the entrance. I feel her eyes fixed on me. 

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” She asks, blowing her stuffy nose, which makes me let out a single laugh.

“Why, you want me to?” I ask confidently, easily falling into the same effortlessness as before.

My words make the girl blush. Perhaps the kiss wasn’t that bad? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask… Ask what?! If the kiss was good?! Bro… Get a grip.

“Well you’re going to get cold, it’s freezing here,” she tells me, turning away and walking to the couch where pillows are neatly arranged, an expensive looking blanket neatly folded on the armrest. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it definitely was not cold, that her apartment was scorching hot already making me sweat.

“Yo, you’re kidding right?” I laugh as I watch her somewhat pitifully curling up against the corner of the couch on her single throw pillow.

“What?”

“Iz, you’re sick!”

“Wow, thanks for rubbing it in my face,” she says nasally, blowing her nose again.

“Bro, that pillow is just sad! You need a nest,” I gasp, walking to her bedroom.

“Wait wait wait, it’s a mess in there,” she yelps, following after me. Mess, it is not. There is one hoodie on the bed, which is unmade. That’s it. I pull the heavy blanket off her bed, grabbing all four pillows and walking decisively to the couch with the dark-haired girl on my tail.

“What are you doing?” She asks as I begin to set up each pillow into a nest against the corner of the couch. She’s grabbing my arm and peeking at my actions from behind my back, clearly confused.

“I’m makin’ you a nest,” I explain, brows furrowing as I focus. This is serious business. “My stepmom does this when we’re sick.”

“A nest?” Izzie laughs.

“Yeah, get in,” I order, grabbing the girl’s shoulders and sitting her down. “Now lie back. Get comfy.”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzie curls up against the pillows as I place the blanket over her, watching as she gets comfortable with a smile on her face.

“There you go,” I coo, trying her forehead which is burning hot. “You have a fever Iz, I’m gonna get you some meds.”

“Paige, you don’t have to do this,” she sighs, looking up at me softly. I want to lean down and kiss her again. Instead, I bring my hand to her warm cheek, stroking it softly. She looks vulnerable, gentle for once. It made me want her even more.

“Lemme take care of you ma.”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname, matter of fact there’s a hint of a smile on her face when she nods. 

“The cabinet above the microwave.”

“Got it,” I tell her, pretty much scurrying to the kitchen, gathering everything you could think - water, painkillers, nose spray, I even cut up some fruit for her. But when I return the poor girl is in her nest, cuddled up, fast asleep. It hurts my heart to wake her up, but she needs these meds in her.

“Iz,” I murmur carefully, brushing dark locks away from her face. She blinks herself awake, rubbing her face. Everything about it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let anyone close in case they hurt her. 

“Fuck, I fell asleep,” she yawns. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You’re sick ma,” I remind her, sitting next to the girl on the couch and watching as she takes her medicine.

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs, sipping on the glass of water. Her cheeks are bright red, hair undone and eyes tired - I swear it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her look.

“Izara,” I say sternly. “You’re sick, lemme help.”

“You’re gonna get sick too, and you have your first game soon love.”

“I’ll be fine, I got mad immune system powers.”

She giggles. “Immune system powers?”

“You heard,” I nod, fighting a grin. She coughs a little.

“Paige?”

Oh God. She’s gonna bring up the kiss now. I know it. I can feel it.

“Y-yeah?”

She takes a deep breath. “Can we watch Lady and The Tramp?”

-

“How are you already crying?” Paige asks with a giggle, leaning against the opposite corner of the couch. 

“Lady as a puppy always makes me cry! How could it not?” I sniffle, wiping my nose, watching the scene where Lady doesn’t want to sleep in her dog bed, the poor puppy crying for her dad. 

The blonde is chewing on an apple in her sports bra and black Nike sweats, muscles grown more prominent over her training period with the Wings, arms bigger, shoulders wider, outline of the muscles on her abdomen faintly visible even as she slouches. 

“What kinda names are Darling and Jimmy Dear anyway?” She asks, dramatically frustrated.

“Paige, you’re slow,” I laugh. “Lady thinks those are their names because they call each other those as like, pet names darling.”

The blond thinks for a while, and then grins. “Oh.”

We both burst into a choir of laughter, though it feels rough against my scratchy throat. Still, I could feel the medication already making me feel better. Or maybe it was the company.

My mind had been a mess after I escaped the party. I felt embarrassed, childish even for running away like I did, leaving Paige high and dry. Once I woke up the next morning it was hard to figure out what truly happened and what was my mind playing tricks on me. But I knew the kiss really took place the moment I remembered it, the weight of Paige’s kiss a mere memory on my lips. One wouldn’t forget a kiss like that. It was impossible.

Getting sick had been a lucky coincidence, giving me time to think and take some distance from the situation. I found it impossible to figure out where my desire for Paige and desire for physical contact differed. I couldn’t tell if I was just lonely. Or if I really liked her. I never considered it, me having feelings (if you could call it that) for a girl again. But now as she sat there, looking like that, I wanted nothing but to get on her. To climb onto her lap and kiss her again like we had on the balcony. Without the drunken hue, just us feeling each other.

Even as sick as I am, the familiar burn and ache that always showed up around the blonde begins to grow between my legs, making me squirm. Fuck, maybe I did like her. All I knew I definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything - that no matter what this was it would have to stay casual. I haven’t gotten rid of the ghost of my past relationship. No, not at all. I could see it looming around every corner, peeking through windows, just right outside my line of vision. I wasn’t ready.

Paige’s hand comes over to my bare feet poking out of the blanket, bringing them to her lap and beginning to rub them almost as if subconsciously, like unaware of the entire thing. Except her cheeks turn red as she does. My entire body relaxes, and I let her. For almost half of the movie she massages each toe, the arch of my foot, my ankle, leaving goosebumps everywhere. 

“I’m cold,” I complain, pulling my feet back under the blanket, feeling like a block of ice.

“I’m so hot,” Paige groans, now more invested in the movie, making small comments here and there.

“Lucky,” I groan which makes her snicker.

“Scooch,” The blonde tells me. Before I can resist she’s made her way under the blanket, into the nest, lying behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. I fit in her arms perfectly, like I was made to be her counterpart, born to be in her arms like this, every curve of her body slotting with mine just right. My ass pressing into her, the blonde’s chin brushing against my shoulder, hot breath tickling against my ear nearly making me moan. Fuck.

“I- I thought you were hot,” I mumble, beginning to lose my composure.

“But you’re cold,” she murmurs into my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair as we keep watching the movie. Though I can’t concentrate. Even on my favourite movie. My head spinning too fast, speeding up even more when my pyjama top hikes up and Paige’s fingertips rub circles against my lower stomach, dangerously close to dipping into my pyjama pants.

“P-paige,” I almost whisper, my voice coming out breathy.

“Mhm?” The blonde’s voice is shaky too, a hoarse hum straight into my ear making me even wetter than I already am.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I remind her, my chest heaving.

“I’m good,” she breathes out, shifting a little, her head fitting just in the crook of my neck. Perfectly. “Are you?”

She’s asking for consent, I can tell. To dip her fingers underneath the band, to slide them into my panties. And God I want to give it to her. To let her have her way with me. The temptation is growing nearly impossible to resist.

“I-” I nearly say it. But then I shift to my back, to meet her gaze. Paige’s face is flushed, nostrils flaring as she breathes, hand remaining on my bare stomach. “How are you feeling about the game?”

“Oh, uhh,” Paige is taken aback, pulling her hand back to my dismay, bringing it to her jaw and rubbing it. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it if I’m honest? I’m excited to see my dad and Dorka.”

“She went to Uconn with you, right?”

The blonde nods. “I mean issa big moment for sure, but I just wanna take it one day at a time.”

I hesitate. “Are you not nervous at all?”

She lets out a single laugh and looks around the room. “Nah I am. Just tryna keep my mind off it.”

I nod, understanding. I wish I could carry some of her worry, I could tell she was more nervous than she let on. But instead of talking I slide my hand into hers, which seems to comfort the girl more than words, her blue eyes locking with mine. She’s thinking, mulling something over in her head. I can tell.

“The party… Iz, I-”

“Shh,” I tell her before she can keep going, my throat going dry, the ache between my thighs nearly painful. I wasn’t ready to talk, at all. All I wanted was to feel it again, the weight of her lips on mine. So bad I felt dizzy.

“Nah, Izzie, c’mon. I think we both feel we-”

“Paige?”

“Yeah mama?”

“Kiss me.”

-

It makes no sense. But I don’t hesitate. Leaning down, my lips crashing into hers with such hunger it makes me uncharacteristically whine. My body is on fire, every inch burning up as our lips slide against one another, boxers growing damp quickly. My hand carefully holds her cheek, like the girl next to me might break. But to my surprise she pulls me on top of her by the back of my head.

I’m tasting for every inch of her, slowing down and taking my time, unlike that drunken mess on the balcony. Somehow this is even better, the kiss of the century even. Her body is cool to the touch, a sign of the fever going down. But I barely register, kissing her bottom lip affectionately, my hands holding her face. Izzie responds, her teeth pulling on my lip harshly making me groan. Her warm tongue brushes over it, soothingly.

I open my mouth further, my tongue meeting hers, other hand moving to the bare waist of the girl underneath me. I can’t believe this is real. That I’m kissing Izara. It feels like some type of dream, but the ache between my legs proves that every second is real. That she’s really underneath me. And If I’m feeling my core throbbing just from the kiss, I’m certain the dark haired girl feels something similar and the idea of my girl feeling such pain and not having it taken care of breaks my heart.

So my thumb dips underneath the band of her satin pyjama pants, feeling the lace of her underwear as it does. Zari lets out a shaky whimper, her eyes fluttering open.

“Paige,” she whines, brows furrowing.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly, leaning down to kiss under her ear which makes her squirm under my weight.

“C-can you keep your hands,” another moan as I suck on her neck, careful not to leave a mark. Izara didn’t seem like the type of woman you marked. “On top of the clothes.”

God she’s gonna be the death of me. But I oblige happily, pulling my hand back to her bare waist.

“Whatever you want Izzie,” I say between ragged breaths, making the girl moan as I keep kissing her neck. Izara’s hands wrap around my back, long acrylics scratching at the skin there.

“Shit,” I cuss under my breath, feeling like I might die or cum in my pants if I don’t get to have her. Still, I keep kissing her, fully aware what a privilege it was just to be on her like this. I do everything to try to stay composed, to keep my cool, to focus on putting on my best show as I return back to sloppily kissing her lips, shifting on top of her, my other hand beside Izzie’s face to hold me up. 

As I move my hips, my knee presses into her core, against the sheer fabric of the pajamas making her gasp straight into my mouth. I repeat the movement with purpose now, and can feel the heat radiating off her, the fabric between her legs growing damp. She wants this just as bad as I do.

“Lemme keep going, please,” I whimper, brows furrowed and barely conscious of what is happening at this point. “Lemme help ma, won’t even touch you.”

Her face is contorted with need, chest heaving desperately. 

“It hurts don’t it? Lemme help,” I coo, my lips wrapping around her earlobe and sucking softly. “Please.”

“Paige,” she whimpers, her body shaking with need. But I feel her shift, legs wrapping around my body. “Please.”

Oh God, I might actually cum in my sweats.

I kiss her all over, her neck, bare shoulders, mind spinning with need, my cunt growing wetter and wetter with every moan that leaves Izzie’s lips as I push my knee against her core, gently, so as to not hurt her.

“P-paige,” she moans my name. My name. 

“Ohh fuck,” I cuss, squeezing my eyes shut at the way her voice sounds, deep and gravelly, turning more high-pitched each time I grind my knee into her cunt.

“Let me get you right ma, please,” I beg breathlessly, shaking my head to myself trying to keep myself present. “Please, Iz, would do anything to fuck you,”

She’s speechless, whimpering desperately, but I can feel her muscles turning tense from the pleasure I’m giving her, legs shaking gently.

“Would be so good, just lemme eat that pussy,” I moan into her ear. “Gimme five.”

Pulling back, I meet her gaze. Her contorted face, dark brows furrowed and lips parted, green eyes blown out black. This is the most beautiful she has ever looked. Easily. Could look at her like this forever.

I can tell she’s considering, mulling it over in her head. Just as her lips part the ring of her phone interrupts the moment, the obnoxious sound blaring over the movie playing in the back. Of course. I can never have anything good. Just little tastes.

“Fuck,” Izzie mumbles and abruptly sits up as if suddenly thinking clearly. I climb off her, watching as she fumbles to find her phone.

“Here,” I catch it, handing it to her. It’s Kiran, her brother.

“Fuck, I promised I’d help him with his paper,” she groans, still trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, okay,” I murmur, attempting to catch mine, awkwardly shifting further on the couch, watching as the girl gets up and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving me there once again. Wanting more.

-

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

[cherie-doll]

I have this brainrot for a while now

Which cod man would be the most husband material, who waits for the shortest amount of time before getting married? And who would be the one who would be fine with not getting married at all? And where are the rest of them?

How many kids would they want if they want?

I don’t need sleep, i need answers!😭

sorry for the delay my wifi is so slow, we just got a new batch of snow down here and tbh it might be affecting my internet

✧ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᰍᩚ Price... he's PERFECT husband material. Cut from the finest cloth I'm SO normal about him. You've just observed his behavior closely and he doesn't do annoying things like leaving his clothes lying around on the floor or leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He def want to get married, but doesn't wait too long nor asks you right away, he'd time it just right. As for kids? Maybe he could convince you to have one or two...

ᰍᩚ Ghost... he doesn't realize he can lowkey be a good husband. He thinks he's not willing to adapt to anyone, given how much stuff he's been through. A relationship isn't the worst thing he's had to go through, he's gone through worse, so why is he thinking about it so much? He doesn't want to enter a relationship with only half a heart, not mindlessly. But he knows his feelings towards you don't come from nothing. His feelings would have to be resolved before you even started dating, so that afterwards everything progresses pretty smoothly. And after marriage, kids? Maybe idk.

ᰍᩚ Soap... he probably had your entire life planned out before he confessed. He knew he loved you, was convinced he wanted to marry you and needed to have kids. So, he waited the least amount of time to marry you. There's lots of things he could improve on as a partner but the good thing is he's willing to make any and all of those changes for you. His respect will never run dry, he won't let desperation take ahold of him, always letting you know one way or another he still cares. It was up to you to decide how many kids you'd be okay with but if it were up to him... yk what better not go there.

ᰍᩚ Gaz... Perfect boyfriend AND husband material. He loves showing affection with the little things, a cup of coffee or tea and cuddling when you feel down or taking care of chores when you need a break. Simple things that he does on the daily that in the long run fortify your relationship. The amount of time he waits before asking you to marry him depends and it's all on how you want your relationship to progress. He's surefooted in his decisions so after the initial stages of the relationship when he's gotten to know you very well, your faults and what he loves about you, he just lets you know that if you want to take that step, he's more than ready to do so. He def wants kids, at least three.

ᰍᩚ Roach... oh my sweet boy ToT. He's such boyfriend material and in time will no doubt grow into a loving husband. He very deeply cares about your connection and how deep it runs between you both. The topic of marriage comes up at a very proper time in your relationship, it's when all he can think of is holding your hand every day, how comforting your presence is to him and how this couldn't ever revert into something casual. Marriage is a definite yes for him. Kids are something he wouldn't think of right away. Maybe a few years down the lane, and maybe one.

ᰍᩚ Alejandro... you made him wish impossible things. How you've made him feel, the sensations not only running smoothly over his skin but finding a way to penetrate deeply, to make him desire nothing else but a life with you. Marriage was the ideal way to continue living in that daydream. How he wishes the days were endless, so he can rejoice for eternity with you. If this was what made him wish to be better, then he was surely husband material. In time, he'd want to start a family with you, to create life, to have little ones to take care of. Three or four kids would occupy his days.

ᰍᩚ Rudy... is THE blueprint for all husbands out there to follow. He's very patient, his voice soothes you, could lull you to sleep. Always listens to you even if you rant, if you point out a flaw of his he works to be better. Never pushed you into doing anything, even when he could already hear the wedding bells ringing, he wanted you to make this decision on your own. In the back of his mind, he most likely already had baby names planned and asked if you wanted kids. He def did and wanted three. He thought it was the perfect number.

ᰍᩚ Phillip Graves... husband material at its FINEST. He's not only charming and a gentleman as a boyfriend but also as a husband. He just couldn't wait to put a ring on your finger so he did want marriage very soon. There is no way he'd NOT want children, he's just as much father material as he is husband material. I've said it before but he was made to father children and I will die on that hill. He loves going everywhere with his son, showing him how to run a company and then he gentles when his daughter is born, doing everything she wants.

ᰍᩚ Makarov... husband material at the core. Deep on the inside he can be genuine and want to care for someone. He likes having someone to depend on him, under his care, leaning on him for that strange affection that isn't found anywhere else. It would be hard to refuse him with the amount of gifts he sends to sweeten you up and coax you to accept his proposal that came too soon for your liking. But look at it this way, he'll always provide everything you'll ever need and want and in exchange you only have to agree to marry him, live with him and... kids. Yes, he wants kids. A numerous family preferably.

ᰍᩚ Keegan... is quite levelheaded when it comes to relationships so he's fine with staying your boyfriend and living with you or becoming your husband when you marry. He could improve on becoming peak husband material but you're lucky if he picks up his clothes from the floor and places it in the laundry basket instead. He thinks having no kids is better until you get a scare thinking you might be with child and he gets excited until you call false alarm. He felt disappointment and then realized he did want kids after all. Would be fine with just one but wouldn't completely be against having another one later on.

ᰍᩚ König... it's not him you have to worry about when it comes to marriage. He's got to watch out for himself because YOU'RE going to wife him up, otherwise he'd never get around to asking you to marry him. Not that he wouldn't want to but he's thinking when would be the perfect moment to ask and he's always thinking, "I'm going to ask them next date", and another date comes and goes by and then another and another... He'd learn to be so loving with kids you just gotta convince him he CAN be a good father. I don't know how many he could handle though.

ᰍᩚ Horangi... he's fun but he's prob best as a boyfriend. Not that he could never be a husband because he can, but he'd be completely fine with not marrying. If you're expecting him to bring up the question and get down on his knee for you... then you're probably setting yourself up for disappointment. It'd take him a while and you'd have to hint at wanting marriage, because otherwise he wouldn't mind just moving in together. I know I used to say he'd want marriage quickly but idk man my perception of him changed. He might get baby fever (rare) and he might ask for ONE kid them, but don't think he's the type for them much.

ᰍᩚ Nikto... if he does open up to wanting a relationship you've got to work with him on the long run. He might be closed off to certain things simply because he might not see a point in progressing in that field, but once he sees that you respect him and don't force anything, he'd def want to marry you. I'm not exactly sure how long he'd wait before proposing to you, honestly it all depends but once he grows attached to a person he wouldn't want to be apart from them so I'm guessing he'd tie the knot pretty soon. The topic of kids is something he's very hesitant of, he rarely gets baby fever, like ever. It'd have to be a lot of convincing on your part. But he might be okay with one or two at most.

[rene-darling]

[imagine]

Dom/topGn!reader [talks about thrustin from strap or dk up to you.]

Something isn't right, it doesn't feel right. It's not his first time, you're not taking his virginity or some shit, hell- this isn't even the first time you two fucked. But something about the mood, this fuck session was...off.

Your thrusts were deep and- slow, which- wasn't entirely unusual maybe you're tired? You sometimes go slower when you start- no. Fuck, it was a few hours into your fuck session and the entire time you went so deep!

You went fast when he whined for it you kept at a pace most pleasurable to him. Why? It- it wasn't like he was your boyfriend or some shit. You didn't need to be all sappy and slow, hah, did you lose your touch?

Why're you touching him like- like he's delicate. Soft and- like you- fuck who do you think he is? He's [______] he doesn't need to be treated softly, he can handle it. He can fuck. He won't break he can endure it, he- so why does he like it. All soft 'n shit.

"Have y-you gone soft on mhm- me." He finally built up the courage to confront you about your weird..behaviour

Bringing your hand up, you touch his face, his cheek. You didn't slap him even though he flinched as his face tightened in preparation for that. "You're the one, who's gone soft." He's crying, globs of tears flowing down his numb face, fuck. Why's he crying?? You aren't going rough so he has no excuse. Shit. Maybe he has gotten soft on you.

He- he doesn't know what to say- or do- shit. Are you gonna stop? Leave him like this? He's pretty useless if he can't handle you, fuck who would've imagined him, of all people melting into your soft touches crying over some basic decency.

"I- uh mm..hic..I don't-..uh..mm hic-" shit what is he doing? Looking up at you, trying to formulate a sentence as his stream of tears turn into rivers, drool dripping down his lips, as his mouth opens and closes like some damn fish. Looking up at you with his glossed-over eyes, his body seems to pull away from you, trying to curl up into himself.

Since.. your arrangement started, there were only two rules, no catching feelings, and- no kissing on the lips, made to protect the first rule. You've wanted to break it many times yet never had the guts to cross that line, yet, here you are. Lips crashed into his as he pulls you back into him, closer. This time curling into you rather than himself, arms around your shoulder and back as you break away, shock prevalent in those glazed eyes, and a gling of something else too.

"fuuuck, [_____]. Maybe- hah..maybe I am the one going soft after all."

...MICHAEL KIASER...reo...ness...SCARAMOUCHE...fratboy Eren...judar/judal...GOJO...toji...+your favs...

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · (𝐡𝐢𝐬) 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤

contents: fluff. early twenties + first year of marriage. found family. gojo’s entire day shifts when you forget to wear your wedding ring. 900 wc.

“Eehh—?” You can faintly hear the noise Satoru let out coming from your shared bedroom, and you know he’d approach you about the situation sooner or later. You remain seated in bated breath as he stands with rounded shoulders before your dresser, cerulean hues staring down at your jewelry ceramic tray. And unmistakably there sits a wedding band with a large gemstone glinting at him under the warmth of the golden rays filtering through the curtains. He had a strong feeling there was a reason for his off-morning and this must’ve been it.

A petulant pout rests on his lower lips and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his sorcerer’s uniform as he slowly climbs down the stairs. You glance over your shoulder from the couch with Tsumiki seated with her legs folded under her while you finish off her braid, and he looks like a kicked puppy for whatever reason the closer he treads. With a small pat on the young girl’s head, you send her to find her brother in his bedroom for breakfast.

“Oh good morning, baby. Why the long face, hm?” You shift your body toward him with an unperturbed smile, but Satoru remains sullen where he settles on the couch beside you in a manspread. “I’m almost certain I didn’t forget your morning kisses this time, even gave you more than plenty to last the day. Might I add the extra five or was it fifteen minutes of cuddling you so insisted on.” You tease with a gentle poke to his cheek, but nothing seems to be budging him and you think something terrible has happened. Though your husband’s jutted pout is truly something adorable.

“No, but you did forget something.” Satoru sighs with a small shake of his head, letting on a weight of seriousness that makes you breathe out a curious ‘oh?’ at what that could be. With a tilt of your head, you watch his movements as he reveals the wedding ring he proposed to you with from the depths of his pocket. He twirls the silver band between his fingers and relief washes over you because you genuinely thought you had done something grave. “Found it on your jewelry dish. Don’t forget to wear it, princess.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s bothering you.” You soften as your head leans against him with your arm looping around his, your left hand coming up so he can slip it back onto your finger. He does so with delicate care, and you offer him an explanation of taking it off before showering because you were afraid it'd fall into the drain while he went jogging in the morning and you forgot to put it back on. With having two pre-teenagers taken under both your wings, it’s easy to neglect these small details but you have noted to be more mindful next time.

Satoru hums with a chaste kiss on your forehead, intertwining your fingers together in a sweet hold as his thumb brushes against your skin. “Just don’t want anyone else to think you’re up for grabs. It’s not me who gets all the attention when we’re out together, you know.” He can perfectly recall those encounters where not only random strangers would make advances on you, but also cute grannies wanting to set you up with their grandsons. He’s gone for one minute to collect your snack cravings and you’re not how he left you when he returns.

“Oh Satoru, you’re honestly still going on about that? It happened two or three times. But who's even keeping count?” You huff a soft laugh and reach over to playfully pinch his cheek. But you suppose it’s rather endearing seeing him a little jealous even though he has nothing to worry about. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm, that’s an easy one. Never let me go?” He answers with a quickness that causes your heart to flutter and sure enough, he’s back to being your lovable and charming husband. “Besides, having a beautiful and hot wife means that I have to protect and take care of what’s mine.” And he means more than fending off idiots trying to get your number, but also from being potentially targeted by cursed users because you’re someone of great importance to the Gojo clan leader.

“There’s a much better way to handle that. I could just let everyone know I’m happily married to the best guy ever.” Satoru doesn’t hide the smug look overtaking his features before nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing light kisses on your shoulder.

“Heh, flattery won’t get you off the hook.” He drags you impossibly close with his large hand wrapped around your hip. His onslaught of kisses continues along your face and you both fall back on the cushions of the couch and he revels in your giggles. After a moment, Satoru meets your gaze again and sweeps strands of hair away to see more of you. “And I love seeing that ring on your finger. Reminds me of what we have together. Something real and that you chose to be with me.”

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way.” You gently take his hand cradling your face and place it over your chest with an earnest squeeze. “You are the best husband I could ever ask for. Love you, baby.” Satoru leans down to capture your lips sweetly at first, then chases after its softness for little pecks and murmurs how much he loves you back. And from the bottom of the steps of the staircase are the Fushiguro siblings sharing a knowing glance before entering the room to help with breakfast.

꒰ note ᰔ satoru always wears his wedding band on his finger and around his neck when he’s fighting against cursed spirits. and yes he keeps count of how many times you get hit on. ꒱

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[shigarosie]

Butterfly, Fly Away (part one)

Aizawa feels out of breath. Despite the fact that he drove to the daycare center, it feels like he ran the whole way. He doesn’t run inside, but he does do an awkward half jog to get in there quickly without looking like some sort of lunatic. 

The room, as expected, is a disaster. Kids are crying. Drawings have been torn up and thrown around, chairs have been overturned. Eri is at the center of it all, with an uninterrupted scream at the top of her lungs that he’s sure has lasted at least a full minute by the way her red face is slowly starting to show hints of purple. 

Eri has been kicked out of another daycare. 

She skips alongside him merrily as he walks back to the car with him, her little purple bag in one hand while the other holds her own pudgy little palm. You would think that she was a perfectly well behaved little angel if you saw her now, no traces left of her hurricane of an outburst mere minutes ago. 

There was a familiar throbbing pain forming like a tight band around his skull. 

Once they were in the car, Eri kicking her feet in her carseat and playing with the straps of her bag, Aizawa couldn’t help but spare glances at her in the rearview mirror when he stopped at all the stop signs on the way back to the high school. His daughter was the best, most important thing in his life. He loved her more than anything, no matter what. He just didn’t know what to do with her anymore. 

As he parked in his designated spot, five minutes left of his lunch break, Eri hurriedly tried to unbuckled her carseat before Aizawa could get to her. It was a game she liked to play, despite the fact that her clumsy fingers hadn’t yet grown strong enough to fully press the big red button that released the clips. But Aizawa didn’t get out of the car to come around and unbuckle her yet. 

“Hurry daddy!” she taunts, grunting as her fingers slip as they always do. “I’m gonna beat you this time!” 

“What happened, Eri?”

She paused, looking up at him with those eyes that look almost too big for her head in the sweetest way. She looked unphased. Unashamed, unapologetic. 

“I didn’t like it there,” was the simple answer she gave. “Daycare is stupid.” 

“But honey,” he sighed, “you know that you have to go. And don’t use the word stupid, please.” 

The little girl starts to shift uncomfortably in her seat, no longer trying to unbuckle her restrictive straps, but attempting to pull them down her shoulders instead. 

“Why?” she asks, an edge beginning to form where a smooth curve used to exist in her voice. “Why can’t I just come with you to big kid school?” 

“Because next year you’ll have to start going to kindergarten, so you can learn new things and make friends. I won’t be able to just drop everything and come get you. Instead you’ll be forced to either sit in your classroom or sit in the principal’s office for hours until big kid school is done.”

Eri slumps in her seat. The tears are welling in her eyes and Aizawa has to look above her head in order to keep talking with her. 

“This is the fourth daycare you’ve been kicked out of, honey. That’s not good.”

Eri turns her face away. “Guess you’ll have to maybe take me to a new one then,” she says. 

“I can’t.” At this she perks up, catching the feeling of excitement in those little hands of hers before it slips from her grasp and runs off when she sees her dad do that thing where he drags his hand down the entirety of his face and then rubs at his scruffy jaw. “This was the last daycare in our area that I can afford. No more daycares.”

“So I’ll have to come to school with you now, right?” she asks, hopeful eyes shining with a few embarrassed tears that hadn’t yet gone away. 

Aizawa doesn’t say anything. He gets out of the car, opens her door, and helps her out of her seatbelt. 

“Come on,” he says, holding her bag in one hand and her palm in the other. “Today you get to watch my students take a pop quiz.” 

Class 1-A loves Eri. They love to dote on her, like she’s their princess and they are nothing but her humble servants. They don’t bat an eye when she shows up during the second half of the day anymore, used to their visibly stressed teacher sitting her down with coloring pages and an old cd player (there’s no way in hell he would ever put an ipad in her hands) in a poor attempt at a fort under his desk. They felt bad for him, really, knowing how hard he’s had it since… 

They also like to sneak little snacks and fidget toys to her when he’s not looking. They get passed down the rows of desks like contraband, making a wide loop around the goody-goodies that rat them out. They think they’re helping, really they do. And it’s endearing. But it makes it more difficult for him, in all actuality, when he’s trying to convince Eri that his classroom is not the place for her to be and they’re doing everything to make it friendly for her. They even stopped swearing when Eri made her little visits. (At least, they tried their best.) 

“They’re like her gang of babysitters,” Aizawa explains to Mic as he pulls out a bottle of scotch from the baby proofed cupboard above the fridge and two glasses. Eri had been put to bed an hour prior, after having her bath and getting her hair braided and insisting on TWO stories tonight; one from her dad and one from her godfather. “It just makes her want to be there even more.”

“Maybe that’s what you two need,” Mic says from the sofa, helping himself to some chips and dip. 

“What?”

“You know, a babysitter,” the blond elaborates. “Or a nanny, in this case.”

Aizawa’s brow furrows. His lips turn down. Mic can already tell this is going to take a lot of selling. “What’s the difference?”

“Nannies do more,” Mic says, his mouth partially full. He gave up on manners around Aizawa sometime around… well, they met in middle school, so he probably never had them in the first place. “Babysitters are for, like, date nights and stuff.” 

“I definitely don’t need one of those,” Aizawa grumbles, handing Mic his glass before settling onto the couch himself. 

“Nannies are more long term,” Mic continues, not addressing the comment, “they would stay with her at home the whole day while you work, maybe do some tidying or run some errands for you. It’s like daycare, but more personal and actually not at all like daycare. You just have someone watching your kid all day.” 

Aizawa groans, gulping down most of his drink in one go. “I don’t want some stranger in my house alone with my kid. That sounds terrible.” 

“Man, they call them nanny cams for a reason. And when you use the websites they do background checks.” 

“How do you know so much about nannies?” Aizawa asks suspiciously. Mic had no kids. He had no nieces or nephews. All he had were a bunch of elementary school students singing the same ten annoying songs off key. 

“Remember the lady with the two kids I was hooking up with while they were with their dad? She had a nanny.” 

“And how long after you stopped seeing the mom did you start sleeping with the nanny?” Aizawa asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Hey, it’s completely a coincidence that I met her nanny out at a bar one night, okay? Swear on my life. Not like I ever met her before then, I never met the kids!” 

“Whatever,” Aizawa says, downing the last of his drink before pouring another. “I’m not getting a nanny.” 

“You at least gotta think about it,” Mic says, “you don’t have many other choices here. Unless you want to call your mom and have her-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Then I recommend you take the weekend to research nanny websites,” Mic says. “You can’t bring your kid to work with you every day. It’s not good for her. It’s not good for you.” Mic leaves his unfinished drink on the coffee table, knowing Aizawa will just drink the rest himself after he leaves. “I should tuck in for the night. Think about it, alright? And I’m right down the street if you ever need anything. And-” 

“Good night, Mic.” 

“Later.” 

Aizawa stays on the couch, sitting in the same spot, staring at the wall in front of him for an hour before he finally sighs to himself. 

“Don’t have many other choices,” he grumbles as he pulls his laptop out of his work bag and starts his google search, Mic’s unfinished glass of scotch in hand. 

‘best nanny websites’

[nowimjustastranger]

Omgg the dimension in the stcmo au where Stanley destroys his own dimension with Stanford and the dead twins in it is fkn killing me 😭 He was fully ready to die with the world, seeing that his world (the kids) had already ended anyway :(

How do you think Stanley died in the other dimension, where Stanford and the twins survived but he didn't? I also really wanna know what their reactions were to meeting each other again or if their memories were altered or not!

I love this AU to death and beyond, please never die 😔🙏

Honestly, the possibilities are endless in terms of how exactly Stan goes out (destroying Bill in the process).

And as for the relocated Stan...

Stan hit the ground and, for the first time in his life, he just stayed down. That tiny voice in the back of his head that had kept him going all these years had finally fallen silent, leaving him to drown in his overwhelming despair. He didn’t care to pick himself back up again. There was no point.

His kids were gone. Snuffed out before they could even live their lives. His brother, who he had just brought home, killed with the press of a button. He was pathetically thankful that he hadn’t been the one to activate the doomsday device, he didn’t think he could’ve lived with himself knowing that he had killed his big brother with his own hand.

Not that he had been planning to survive the explosion, which was another matter that he was just too worn down to address. Honestly, he didn’t really give a shit about the mystery man or his intentions. Even so, he should be furious that the mystery man kept him from joining his family, but he was hollowed out by the realization that he was the only one left.

Why was he always the last man standing?

He couldn’t bear to go another day without Mabel’s smile. The girl had bullied her way into his heart and carved out a space for herself, bringing enough love for the both of them with her. His sweet girl who loved glitter a little too much and drew trouble to her like a magnet, the girl who saw a sad old fuck and reminded him that life was worth living with every joke, every kind word, every laugh, every hug.

How could he possibly face another day without Dipper’s laugh? The boy had snuck into his heart not long after his sister had gotten comfortable, settling down like he had simply always been there. His brave boy who reminded Stan so much of his brother and himself, a strange amalgamation of both of them. Their best qualities put into one body.

Had he told them that he loved them? Even once? Had he ever uttered those words to his kids?

Did they die unsure of how much they meant to him? Did they die doubting that Stan loved them more than anything in the entire universe? Did they die quick or slow? Did they die scared, wanting their Grunkle to protect them from a cosmic bully? Did they die wishing that they’d never met him? Did they die cursing that they ever came to Gravity Falls–

His kids had to know that Stan would’ve given anything, struck any deal, endured any torment, killed anyone he had to so long as it meant that they got to be happy.

Stan didn't even realize he was crying until he pressed his forehead against the ground, shocked back into his own body by the soft rasp of greenery against his face. His shoulders heaved with the force of his sobs, hands fisted into the grass as he wailed his grief into the soil.

Grief for not telling Soos that he was like a son to him. Grief for not thanking Wendy for putting up with his shit. Grief for not telling Dipper that he was proud of him. Grief for not putting Mabel’s insecurities to rest before they could fester. Grief for waiting for a fucking ‘thank you’ instead of just hugging his damn brother like he had longed to do for the past forty years. Grief for not spending more time with all of them while he could.

As Stan’s pathetic tears finally dried up, a sound was carried on the breeze, every muscle in his body locking up as he raised his head. His brain stalled like an old engine, wide eyes staring off into the thick foliage. He was half convinced that his mind had finally fractured and he was hallucinating even as his body moved, scrambling to his feet to race through the forest.

Even if it was just a cruel trick of his mind, he couldn’t just ignore it. Not when it was his kids. And certainly not when his kids were crying. In no world could he ignore the sound of the niblings' distress. If they needed him, he’d be there. Easy as that. He would sooner light himself on fire than let them think that they couldn’t come to him with their problems, his discomfort with feelings and emotions could fuck right off.

As he got closer to the origin of the sound, he could actually make out words. His heart stuttered in his chest as he pushed himself faster and faster still because they were calling for him. They were wailing his name like two scared little kids lost in a big world that was too cruel for the likes of them. So, he answered their desperate call, just like he always would.

“Kids!”

Stan charged through the brush, erupting into a small clearing with three people standing in it. The first figure he recognized immediately as his brother, whose arm was raised to aim a triangular gun at Stan’s chest. The niblings were hidden behind him, clutching the fabric of his slacks as they peeked at Stan with huge wet eyes. Stan stumbled to a stop, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Surprisingly, no one in the clearing broke the silence, a voice ringing out from a sturdy branch in a nearby tree.

“It’s not a trick, Stanford.” A heavily modulated voice spoke as a dude in flashy getup stared down at them from his perch. In the blink of an eye, another gun was drawn from Ford’s trench coat, pointed at the man that Stan had been manhandled by earlier. His face was set with grim determination, but there was a telling shake to the hand that aimed the gun at Stan.

“You better start talkin’ or I’ll come up there n’ beat some answers outta you.” Stan demanded, sparing a glare for the stranger. He must’ve followed Stan here, which meant that he had also seen Stan blubbering like a pansy earlier. Great.

“The Stan of dimension F9-2 took his own life to defeat Bill, leaving your dimension without a Stanley Pines. Stan from dimension C40”0 was the only one to survive Weirdmageddon, his world destroyed by his brother’s last-ditch effort to kill Bill, leaving him without his family.” The stranger explained, gesturing to each brother in turn as he addressed them.

“So, you… brought him here?” Mabel tentatively piped in with a sniffle, poking her head out more, and Stan had to swallow the urge to tell her to keep out of sight. Now that he was getting a good look at the trio, he was noticing the differences, like how Ford was wearing the same suit that Stan himself currently had on, except it was far less tattered.

“I did.” The stranger confirmed with a slow nod and the niblings shared a look, communicating with just their eyes. Stan remembered when he used to do that with Ford, way back when their only worry was if they could get one last game of pirates in before they were called home for dinner. Stan hadn’t been that close to Ford since middle school, back before a yawning chasm of distance opened between them.

“Who are you?” Ford growled, his eyes narrowed as he shifted most of his attention to the stranger, who tilted his head in a predatory manner that made the hair on the back of Stan’s neck stand on end. Stan let his arms slowly drop down to his sides since the gun that had been aimed at him had been lowered slightly, Ford clearly prioritizing the bigger threat.

“A concerned third party.” The stranger said, not missing a beat before he shifted his weight to fall backward. He disappeared in the blink of an eye only to reappear right behind Stan, who squawked in alarm and outrage as one hand seized the back of his neck while the other pointed a weird gun behind them to open another colorful gateway. Stan threw an elbow back at the stranger, who caught it with practiced ease after swiftly holstering the gun.

“But if you’re unwilling to house him in your dimension–” The stranger began, before being unceremoniously interrupted by two small bodies darting out from the safety that Ford's body provided and throwing themselves at Stan.

“No! You can’t have Grunkle Stan! Please don’t take him away!” Mabel wailed with no small amount of terror, her tiny arms struggling to fit around Stan’s waist, clutching fistfuls of his jacket. Dipper was no better, quite literally sitting on Stan’s shoe in order to cling to his right leg with all four of his limbs while he begged the stranger to let Stan stay with them.

“Hey, hey… I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Stan soothed, voice lowered to a low rasp as he abandoned his effort to get the bastard behind him to let go in favor of getting a hand on each of the kids. One of his hands went to Dipper’s head while the other pressed against Mabel’s hitching back, the two pressing into the contact like they were starving for it. Stan turned his head just enough to level the visor of the stranger’s helmet with a dark look, daring him to disagree. “Right, pal?”

“Depends on him.” The stranger retorted, pointedly nodding at Ford, who had taken to aiming the gun directly at the stranger’s helmet. Thankfully, the portal had closed on its own, shrinking out of existence, and as a result, Ford’s posture had visibly lost some tension. Stan figured that it was because the kids had been in danger of going through with him had the stranger followed through with his threat.

“My brother stays.” Ford bit out through clenched teeth, something bordering on manic in his eyes. Stan noticed that Ford’s hand wasn’t shaking this time, his aim perfectly steady. Stan wasn’t sure why this stood out to him until he recalled that Ford’s hand had been trembling earlier when he had the gun pointed at Stan, which was far more shocking than it should’ve been.

“If you ever hurt Stan… I’ll be back and you will never see him again.” The stranger warned, drawing the weird sci-fi gun in a dark blur and firing it off to the side, smoothly stepping into the swirl of colors before both the stranger and the portal were gone. Stan stood there dumbly, staring at the empty space where the portal used to be until his attention was redirected to the warm body that crashed into him.

Stan yelped as he went down in a heap of flailing limbs, instinctively struggling as strong arms wound around his body. However, Stan froze when he heard a choked sob, blankly staring up at the cloudless blue sky in utter disbelief as Ford broke down in tears. Ford’s face was buried in the crook of Stan’s neck, his glasses digging into skin, but Stan didn’t care because he was clinging to him and the kids just as tightly.

And if his eyes were wet and his cheeks damp, it was just allergies.

[mofongomuncher]

𝙃𝙚𝙧 (PT 2)

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and Reader ¡

The days following their argument were long, stretching into what felt like an eternity. Y/N tried to keep her distance, give him time to breathe, but every moment apart only deepened the chasm between them. It wasn’t just Ekko anymore—it was.

It was jinx

Every time she thought about her, Y/N could feel her blood boil, could feel the growing resentment bubbling beneath her skin. It wasn't rational, she knew that. Ekko had said it himself—Jinx wasn't the same person she once was, that she wasn't even the same person anymore.

But it didn't matter. The truth was, Y/N was starting to hate her. She hated the way Jinx still haunted Ekko, the way she lingered in his every thought, in every word he spoke.

She wasn't stupid. She had seen the way Ekko's face softened whenever Jinx was mentioned, the way his voice trembled with guilt and regret. She could feel it—a constant reminder that he wasn't fully hers. Not while Jinx was still there, buried deep inside his heart.

Y/N didn't even want to think about what they had gone through. The loss, the violence, the twisted game Jinx had played on that ship. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of the Firelights' death toll flashed before her—the way Jinx had obliterated their lives, the way Ekko had carried the weight of that destruction like a curse.

And he had the nerve to say those things to her.

To attack her and not Jinx.

The resentment festered, a dark seed growing in her chest. It twisted the memories of Ekko's smile, his touch, and his promises, turning them into something bitter. Y/N had given so much of herself to him, only to feel like she was always going to be second place. Everything was a lie.

All of it.

The voices that once whispered assurances now screamed in fury.

Why wasn't she enough?

Y/N walked the streets of Zaun, the lights from the neon signs flickering and buzzing around her. The night air felt cold against her skin, her steps were heavy, like each movement took more energy than the last.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something, anything, just to feel something other than the ache that seemed to consume her. But all she could do was walk, lost in her own thoughts, drifting through the world without really being a part of it.

The Last Drop was always there when she needed it. The familiar clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the smoky air—it all felt like a distant memory of better times, of times when she could forget about the weight of her world.

She wasn't there for fun. She wasn't there to be social. She was there because she needed to disappear, even for just a little while.

She pushed through the door, the warmth of the bar greeting her, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The usual faces were scattered around the dimly lit room...But.

Her eyes immediately landed on the corner booth. There was a man sitting there, Sipping a drink, his posture stiff, his face drawn in frustration. He didn't belong to the usual crowd of drunks and gamblers that populated the bar. There was something different about him—something that made her pause for a second.

She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped his glass as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. She didn't know why, but she felt...drawn to him.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her way to the bar, ordering something strong to quiet the storm inside her. But she couldn't stop glancing toward the man in the corner. His energy was familiar in some way, she wasn't sure what possessed her, but she found herself walking over to his booth—taking the seat across from him without asking.

He didn't even look up when she sat down, his gaze fixated on the swirling liquid in his glass.

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world huh..." Y/N said, her eyes studying him carefully.

The man's eyes flickered briefly toward her before he sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand. "Maybe I am.." he muttered, his voice. "Isn't that how it goes though? You give everything, and it's just...still not enough."

Y/N tilted her head, her heart skipping a beat all of sudden. She had never met this man, but those words hit her like a punch to the gut.

She swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to overtake her. "Ye—yeah..." she replied softly. "You do everything you can for someone, and you still end up feeling like you were never really part of their life. Like they were just passing time until something better came along."

The man turned his gaze toward her then, studying her face with a strange mix of curiosity and recognition. "Sounds like you know exactly what I'm talking about, huh..." he said, his voice softer now, the walls around him crumbling just a little bit.

Y/N forced a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well... I guess I know the feeling all too well. Thought I was helping someone, thought I was worth something to them. Turns out, I was just the backup. The second choice."

The man's eyes softened, and for a moment, Y/N could see the pain in them, the weariness that matched her own. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, lost in thought.

"You ever wonder if you're the one who's wrong? Like...maybe you're the one who's been selfish this whole time, thinking you were the one who should be chosen?"

Y/N stiffened at the question. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean...." he continued, his gaze steady on her, "....maybe they had their reasons. Maybe you weren't the one they were supposed to be with. Maybe they had their own battles, their own reasons for making the choices they did."

Y/N clenched her jaw, the anger rising again.

"It doesn't matter. They chose someone else, and that's all that matters. I gave everything to them, and that still wasn't enough."

The man studied her carefully, his brow furrowed. "You're angry because you didn't get what you wanted....But sometimes, what you want isn't the best thing for you. Sometimes, letting go...is the only thing that can set you free."

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a truth in them—one that was hard to face, but so impossible to ignore. She had been so consumed with wanting Ekko, with trying to prove that she was the one who mattered, that she hadn't stopped to think about what was best for her.

"Maybe..." she muttered, her voice distant now, lost in the realization. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to let go."

The man offered her a small, understanding smile. "I know It's never easy, but sometimes...holding on to something that's already gone only makes it harder to move forward. You can't keep fighting for someone who's not fighting for you."

Y/N looked down at her drink, the truth settling heavily in her chest. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew.

he was right.

"Guess we're both just in the same boat right now huh?" she said, her voice softer now.

He chuckled, a quiet, dry laugh."Yeah. I guess we are."

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. A shared pain, a shared loss, and perhaps, a glimmer of hope that they might both find a way to heal. The quiet was heavy, yet somehow comfortable, as though their presence alone was enough to ease the weight of the world for just a while.

The man sitting across from her had a quiet kind of beauty, the kind that spoke of sadness but also strength. His face was striking, with chiseled features that seemed sculpted by time and hardship. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and full lips that had a softness to them, as if the weight of the world hadn't completely hardened him. His dark brown eyes held so much depth, a sadness that she could relate to, yet there was a quiet warmth in them, as though he carried his own story and understood hers without needing to ask.

His skin, a rich hue of warm caramel, seemed to glow faintly under the dim light of the room, and his hair was dark and unruly, falling just above his eyebrows in waves. There was something about him—something raw and real—that made it impossible to look away.

"You know." he said quietly, looking at her with those intense eyes. "Healing... healing is possible." His voice was steady, a gentle reassurance that seemed to cut through the fog of her own doubts.

"You're stronger than you think. You've been through more than most people ever will, and you're still here. That means something."

Y/N swallowed, feeling a weight lift in her chest at his words. There was something about the way he looked at her, as if he truly saw her, not just the surface but the person beneath the layers of hurt. It made her feel... lighter, in a way. It made her feel like she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

But as quickly as it had begun, the moment seemed to come to an end. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate but soft, like he was giving her space to breathe. "I should head out now...it's getting late." he said, his voice gentle. "I'm Levi, by the way. It was really good talking to you...I hope... I hope you find peace."

Y/N nodded, her heart stirring with sadness.

"I'm Y/N." she whispered, her voice a little stronger than she had expected. "Thank you, Levi. For everything...really."

Levi offered her one last smile, a sad but sincere one, before turning to leave.

Y/N was left sitting there, the weight of the moment settling on her chest. She didn't know what it was about Levi or why their brief exchange had felt so significant. But as she sat there, she realized something—something small but important.

Healing.

Y/N stormed out of the Last Drop, her mind now a whirlwind of frustration, confusion, and anger. The conversation with Levi, though brief, had rattled her in ways she wasn't prepared for. His words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the things she wasn't ready to hear. Things about moving on, about not letting the past define her.

But how could she let go when every step forward felt like a push to forget everything she'd ever cared about?

She needed to release the pressure building in her chest—the tightness in her throat, the weight pressing down on her heart. She needed to stop pretending that everything was okay.

As she walked, her steps quickening with each passing second, her thoughts turned darker. She wasn't just angry at the world, at the people who kept letting her down.

No, the anger had a target, a name.

Ekko.

It was his fault she felt so torn. He had pulled her in, made her believe that there was something more between them, something worth fighting for.

But then there was Jinx—always in the back of his mind, always there, even when she wasn't.

"Why am I always second place?" she muttered to herself, the irritation simmering just below the surface. She walked faster, her fist clenching at her side.

Suddenly, a group of men appeared ahead of her, their figures blurry from the haze of anger and alcohol clouding her mind. They eyed her with a mix of amusement and mockery, clearly seeing her as an easy target.

One of them stepped forward, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

"What's a girl like you doing out here alone, huh?" one of them sneered. "You look like you could use a little help... or maybe some company?"

Y/N gritted her teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. "Don't touch me..." she mumbled.

She wasn't in the mood for their games, not after everything she had been through.

The man chuckled, clearly unfazed. "What's wrong? Scared?" He took a step closer, reaching out as if to grab her, but she swatted his hand away.

"Don't.." she said again, her voice firmer now, though the slight tremble in her tone betrayed her.

Another man laughed, stepping forward as well. The situation shifted in an instant. The first man lunged toward her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her forward, trying to pin her against the wall. The others crowded in, grinning and jeering, as they made a move to steal whatever coins she had on her.

"Let go!" Y/N snarled, swinging her free arm at one of the men, landing a punch across his cheek. The other men stepped back, laughing at her resistance as if it was all some kind of joke.

But her blows weren't enough to stop them. One of the men twisted her arm behind her back, the pain shooting through her body as she struggled against his grip.

Panic surged in her chest, her mind spiraling. She tried to kick out, but another man knocked her to the ground, pinning her there.

The weight of it all came crashing down. Her anger, her sorrow, her fear, her confusion—it all hit her at once, and in that moment, all the walls she had built around herself shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air, her body shaking. She had fought so hard to hold herself together, but here she was now, on the dirty ground with these men looming over her, she felt like nothing.

Like everything she had ever done had led to this. To this moment right here.

"Get off me." she sobbed, voice breaking as she cried out for help, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Just as one of the men raised his fist to hit her, the air around her shifted. She felt a shift in the chaos. In an instant, the man was knocked to the side with a force that made her blink.

She didn't know what was happening at first, too disoriented by the rush of adrenaline. But the sound of the hoverboard—the unmistakable hum she had come to associate with reached her ears before she could register anything else.

In a flash, Ekko appeared, taking out the men one by one with ease. His movements were fluid,

calculated—each strike swift and precise. He didn't hesitate, didn't give them a chance to fight back.

The men were on the ground in a matter of seconds, groaning in pain, unable to get up.

Y/N's heart raced, a surge of relief washing over her for just a second. But then, as Ekko slid to a stop in front of her, his boots barely scraping against the pavement, her stomach sank.

He was standing there, breathing heavily, looking at her with that familiar, protective look she had seen so many times before.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice softer than usual, eyes scanning her body for any visible harm.

But before he could even take a step toward her, she shoved him away, her hands pressing against his chest with more force than she intended.

"D-Don't!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eyes. "Don't you dare say it..."

Ekko stumbled back, confusion flashing across his face. "What? I'm just trying to—"

"Trying to what?" she cut him off, her eyes blazing with fury. "Trying to tell me how reckless I am? How I always mess everything up? Just like you did before? You think you're the only one who can handle things? You think I need you to save me every damn time?" Her voice cracked at the end, her anger suddenly giving way to the overwhelming emotions she had been holding back for so long.

Ekko's eyes widened as her words hit him, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. His chest tightened, a heavy weight pressing down on him. He had seen her angry before, but this... this was different. This wasn't just about the fight.

It was everything that had been building up for weeks, everything he had said to her—everything he hadn't said. He'd hurt her more than he realized.

He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I didn't mean to—" His voice faltered, thick with guilt. "Y/N, I—"

"No Ekko.." she snapped, tears welling in her eyes despite the fierce expression on her face. "You don't get how it feels to be the one who's always fucking second. To be the one who's constantly told that I'm not good enough, that I'm a liability....You think I don't know what you really think of me? How you'd rather save her than me." She wiped at her eyes angrily.

Ekko's heart dropped. He knew who she was talking about.

The realization hit him like a wave. All this time, he had been so focused on protecting her, on trying to keep her safe, that he had completely ignored what she needed from him. She didn't need saving. She didn't need his constant worry, his control. She needed him to understand her, to be there for her in the way that mattered, not just when things got bad.

And he had failed her.

His voice was quiet now. "Y/N, I...I never wanted to make you feel like that. I never wanted you to think I cared more about her. It's just—"

"No..." she interrupted, shaking her head violently. "You're so damn obsessed with her, and you can't even see what's right in front of you." Her voice cracked again, but this time, she didn't try to hide it. "I'm right here, Ekko. I'm always here. I always have been."

Ekko stood there, completely frozen, as her words slammed into him. The truth of what he had done to her finally settled in, heavy and suffocating.

The anger, the hurt in her eyes—it all became clear.

He hadn't just been protecting her...he had been holding her back. He had been so caught up in his own fears, in his past, that he had completely disregarded what she truly needed from him.

that realization crushed him more than anything else.

"Y/N...please.." he said, his voice breaking as he took a hesitant step forward. "I... I didn't know. I didn't know how much I was pushing you away. I never meant to make you feel like you were second. You're not. You're never second."

Y/N didn't answer at first. She just stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was so frustrated and heartbroken, but underneath it all, there was something softer—a part of her that was just as desperate, desperate for him to understand.

I don't want to be a shadow anymore Ekko" she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "I just want to be enough."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, before he could even process them, she collapsed—her knees giving out beneath her as she crumpled to the ground.

Her body trembled with each sob, her face hidden in her hands as the alcohol and the weight of everything she had been carrying overwhelmed her all at once.

Ekko stood frozen for a moment, his heart in his throat. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this, how to make things right. But as he watched her fall apart in front of him, everything he had been holding back came crashing down. This wasn't just about Jinx anymore. This wasn't about him trying to protect her or save her from herself.

This was about him failing her when she needed him the most.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees beside her, his arms reaching out instinctively. He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest as she cried. She wasn't saying anything now, just letting the tears flow, the weight of everything she had been carrying threatening to crush her completely.

Ekko didn't speak. He didn't say anything at all. He just held her. In complete silence.

His hand brushed over her hair, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. "I'm sorry.." he whispered after a while, his voice thick with emotion. "...I'm so sorry Y/N."

Her sobs began to go quiet. She didn't answer at first, still struggling to regain control of her breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The weight of everything—the alcohol, the anger, the broken trust—was starting to lift just a little, but the pain was still there.

Deep, raw, and unrelenting.

Ekko held her tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let her face this alone anymore. He knew his words could never fix what had happened. He had failed her, hurt her, and he was going to have to work harder than he ever had before to earn her trust again.

"I never meant to hurt you baby.." he continued, his voice soft but full of regret. "I should've seen it. I should've understood how you felt. I... I don't know what I was thinking. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only pushing you away. And—And I'm so sorry."

There was a slight shift in her posture. She wasn't pulling away, but she wasn't completely letting herself fall into him either. The hurt was still there, and it wasn't going to disappear overnight. It couldn't.

After a long moment of silence, she spoke. "I don't know if I can trust you again" she whispered, the vulnerability in her words cutting through him like a blade. "I just...can't keep doing this."

Ekko's heart sank at the raw honesty in her voice. He knew she was right.

"I know.." he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've made you feel like that, and I hate myself for it...So fucking much. But you are enough Y/N. More than enough. And I'll spend every day proving that to you if I have to."

The words hung in the air, but for Y/N, they felt so distant. Something shifted inside her as the weight of Levi's words settled like an anchor in her chest.

You deserve someone who makes you feel like you're the only one.

The sharp clarity of that truth hit her hard, the bitter realization that no matter how hard Ekko tried, no matter how much he cared for her, she was always going to be second place in his heart.

Her gaze flickered away from his, her throat tightening as she struggled to find the right words. She could hear Ekko's voice, soft and sincere, but it couldn't drown out the inner voice that had been growing louder in her mind. The truth she had been avoiding for so long...

Ekko will always have one foot in the past.

She knew, deep down, that he was still tethered to Jinx. No matter how much he tried to prove otherwise, no matter how many promises he made, he could never fully release her. She would always be the first choice in his heart.

That lingering ghost that casted a shadow over everything Y/N dreamed to build with him.

Y/N took a slow, shaky breath. "I—I don't know what to say Ekko."

Ekko's face tightened with concern, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shook her head, the tears that had threatened to fall now blurring her vision. "I...I want to believe you. I really fucking do..." she whispered. "I want to believe that you can love me the way I deserve. But I... I can't keep fighting for a place in your heart."

The words felt like a punch to her own chest, but they were the truth.

She had to say them.

Ekko's expression faltered, the guilt and regret washing over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, wanted to say that Jinx didn't matter to him anymore, that Y/N was his choice. But he couldn't.

Y/N took a step back, her chest tightening as she wiped away a tear. "I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter Ekko. I can't keep pretending that I'm enough when you're always looking back at her."

"I'm not—" he started, but Y/N cut him off.

"No.." she said, her voice a little stronger now, though it still trembled. "You can't choose me the way I need you to. And...I—I deserve someone who chooses me, not someone who's always going to have a piece of their heart somewhere else."

Ekko stood there, speechless. He wanted to say something, to make her understand that he never meant to hurt her, that he loved her so much, but the truth was..

she was right.

Y/N could see the pain in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. Not anymore. "I think it's time for me to move on..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her words hung heavy in the air, like an unspeakable truth, and Ekko's chest tightening with each syllable she uttered. His mouth opened, but no words came out. It made it impossible for him to respond.

Y/N took a shaky breath, "I've given everything I can to this... to us" she continued, her voice a little steadier now. "But I can't keep sacrificing myself.."

Ekko's heart cracked at the finality in her words. She did deserve better than the half-hearted love he was giving her.

"I'm so sorry Y/N." he murmured, the words feeling empty as they left his mouth, too late, too little.

But Y/N couldn't let herself be swayed by his sorrowful tone anymore. The trust she had placed in him had been shattered over time, and now all that remained was the stark truth of what was.

She took another step back, her shoulders squared, her chin raised high. She wouldn't let him break her again.

"I know.." she whispered, her voice quieter now, the words more for herself than for him. "But knowing doesn't change anything." She paused, taking a deep breath before the words she knew she had to say. "I'm sorry too Ekko. But this is goodbye."

The finality in her voice struck him right then and there. For a moment, he just stared at her, his mind racing, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He didn't know how to make her stay now, everything he had done had already pushed her too far.

Ekko's sudden frustration grew. He moved toward her quickly, grabbing onto her arm with a fierce grip. "No Y/N" he growled, his voice rough. "You can't just—"

But before he could finish, he saw it. The way she stiffened at his touch, not even glancing at him. The realization hit him like a cold wave. She was done. Completely done. She wasn't going to let him hurt her anymore.

His fingers tightened around her arm, almost instinctively, but her cold silence forced him to slowly let go. Every ounce of frustration, and heartbreak he had been holding onto drained out of him in that one moment.

"Please baby..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as the weight of what he had done sank in. "Please...not like this.."

Y/N didn't respond. She just pulled her arm free and took another step back, distancing herself from him.

Ekko stood there, stuck—feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

it was too late.

Y/N had already made up her mind.

"Goodbye...Ekko..."

With one final look, she turned and walked away from him, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty street. And as he watched her leave, he finally understood. This time, he couldn't fix it.

And this time, he wasn't sure if he even deserved to.

She was gone. And it was his fault.

The night air felt cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat building in his chest. Every emotion that had once fueled him had been extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness that felt like a slow suffocation.

He had pushed her away. He had let his insecurities, his fears about Jinx, and his own selfishness dictate his actions. And now, he was left with nothing but the echo of her words, ringing in his ears.

"I think it's time for me to move on..."

He thought back to everything he had said. He had never given her what she needed, and now, she was gone.

He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts, but eventually, the reality of the situation settled in. She wasn't coming back.

He had lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Ekko finally turned away from the spot where she had stood, walking slowly through the streets. The city was as chaotic as ever, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nothing mattered anymore.

He didn't know what to do next, or how to fix what he had broken. But one thing was clear.

he would never forget her.

He would never forget Y/N.

Y/N found herself lying on the cold ground. She didn't know how she had gotten there, didn't even bother to care anymore. Her body felt numb, her mind in a haze from the alcohol and the emotional wreck that had occurred. She stared up at the sky, trying to steady her breathing, but the weight of everything, the loneliness—pressed down on her chest.

For a moment, she thought she might suffocate under it all.

But then, something shifted next to her. The air around her seemed to change, as if the world was still holding its breath. She turned her head to the side.

And there he was again.

Levi's familiar face appeared beside her, his features soft in the dim green light, his eyes blinking as if he'd just woken up. He was lying next to her, his arm stretched out across the cold ground, looking every bit as confused as she was right now. His dark hair fell messily around his face.

and for a brief second, Y/N felt a strange sense of peace.

Levi blinked a few more times, his confusion slowly giving way to a soft smile as he realized it was her. "Y/N?" he muttered, his voice low and slightly groggy. "What the hell are you doing out here? Did you follow me here?"

Y/N didn't respond immediately. She just kept staring at him, taking in the sight of him as if he were a lifeline thrown her way in the midst of drowning. His presence was a stark contrast to everything she'd just gone through.

Without even thinking, she threw her arms around him. The hug came out of nowhere, and for a moment, Levi froze in place, his breath catching in surprise. But then, slowly, his big strong arms circled around her too. She buried her face in his chest, holding on tightly, as if afraid he might disappear the moment she let go.

Levi, still shocked but now fully awake, whispered into her hair. "Y/N what's going on? Are you okay?"

She shook her head, her voice muffled by his shirt as the tears she hadn't let fall earlier started to come. She couldn't find the words to explain the storm swirling inside her, but the hug was enough to make her feel like she wasn't entirely alone. Not for now. Not in this moment.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I don't know anymore."

Levi didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he just held her tighter, letting her cry into his chest. The city of Zaun seemed distant, as if the noise of it all had faded away. For now, in his arms, she found something she hadn't realized she needed—comfort. Understanding. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was falling apart completely.

As her tears slowed, she pulled back away from him to meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something so kind. He was there. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn't feel like she was carrying the weight of the world alone.

"I'm so sorry" she whispered again, her voice quieter this time, her eyes searching his face.

Levi gave her a small, almost sad smile. "Don't apologize...We all have our moments. I'm just glad you found me, even if it's in the middle of the damn street."

Y/N chuckled softly, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, well... wasn't exactly the plan."

Levi tilted his head, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "The best things never are I guess..."

She smiled faintly, the weight on her chest lifting just a little. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel completely alone. They sat there in comfortable silence, the distant hum of Zaun's chaos fading into the background.

As the minutes stretched, the exhaustion of the day began to settle in. Y/N leaned back against the cold ground, staring up at the patch of stars visible through the smoke-filled air. Levi followed, his arms folding beneath his head as he lay beside her.

"You know..." he said after a moment, "this is probably the strangest way I've ever made a friend."

Y/N turned her head to look at him, a faint laugh escaping her lips. "Friend, huh? Is that what we are now?"

"Would you prefer being enemies now?" Levi replied, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her expression. "Nah, I could use a friend right now."

"Good." he said, his tone light. "Because I could use one too."

They stayed like that, lying side by side under Zaun's polluted sky. Y/N's eyes grew heavy, the day's events finally catching up to her.

"Levi?" she murmured sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for... being here. Even though we just met today.." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Anytime" he replied softly.

"Get some rest, Y/N. You're safe."

And she really did believe him.

They both drifted off there on the cold ground of Zaun, two broken souls finding solace in each other's company.

It wasn't perfect, and it didn't fix everything, but it was a start.

I will be posting a happy for the Reader and Ekko ending soon <3.

Just had to let this one sink in fr.

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

[poeticblissme]

I will be as honest as possible when I answer this because I truly know and understand your struggle, and I want to be as transparent with my thoughts and feelings on this to properly try my best to help you see a different perspective so bare with me it may be a bit wordy.

I have spent a good amount of my life wishing I could do things in the entertainment industry. I have memorized countless movies since I was 8, even before that really. My whole heart is into doing things like acting, it’s been a Dream of mine to be on movies and stages. However, it has been countless dead ends for me. I would fall off because I felt like it was never going anywhere, that and I am constantly stuck doing jobs and things I absolutely detest, knowing where my heart is at. But I also felt unworthy, I felt like there are others who are clearly better than me, that I had no real space to even try it because of everything else never worked out for me? Why would something I actually enjoy and want to do for the rest of my life work out.

Over the years, I feel into deep stages of sadness and bitterness because I saw others succeed, I have seen people who have done less receive more and I had a fear that if I try, it was just bound to fail. My family have talents, and the one I love I don’t even feel I’m fully good at because I’ve seen how others do so much better. I can’t do much, I don’t and can’t do what I see everyone else can. I looked at myself as ordinary and unimportant. So I stopped trying. I stopped looking. I wanted to give up entirely because feeling empty was better than facing this crippling mindset that made it hard to breathe.

However, around 2020, when the pandemic came around, I got more into spirituality. And through those months of me finding myself again, I started taken small intricate steps to try and change this mindset. It was so hard, the amount of self accountability I had to learn for what I love and what I let my mind control in terms of outward action was difficult, but I can tell you what I have learned and I hope this gives you a piece of hope or motivation to take these steps even with your fear.

As a human being, it is natural to be afraid to do something you feel in your heart is good for you. Be it a passion, a relationship, or anything that forces you to step out of your comfort zone to do something you never imaged for yourself before. You will not know what you are doing sometimes but that is apart of the journey, you don’t know what your doing until you have done it enough times that you finally do know what to do and integrate that into your life slowly but surely. The point is to put in the effort anyway because you have that feeling that it is something that will make you happy. Trying is the reassurance to your soul.

The feeling of being stuck is your survival and comfort mindset trying to keep you where you think you are safe. If this is something you feel you want to pursue, then you have to force yourself to propel yourself forward, you have to work with that fear, make mistakes, ask the questions, do the research, experience the experience of the unknown fully, otherwise you will live with the regret of what could have been.

I have done so much since I started this little journey of mine. I have done things I never imaged myself doing, and now I am in a place where I do still yearn for more, but I am also in a state of gratitude because I have gone so much father than I thought I would when I had stopped trying completely. I am not fully in the place I want to be, but the places I have been are motivation for me to keep trying because I know that it is indeed possible somehow someway. The things I didn’t know, now I do. The things I still don’t know scare me, but I am doing my best to open to the unknown and let it make me better and stronger so that when (Yes not if, when) the next pieces of my dream come to me, I will be even more ready than I was the day before.

All of this to say, Please. Please chase that dream of publishing your book. Even if you feel afraid, take your hand and slowly guide your feet toward the shore line. Dip your toes in slowly and learn how the water feels, step on a shell every now and again, take the pain and confusion and learn from it so when you step on it again it does not hurt as much, and then you will learn how to avoid the shell completely. Before you know it, you will have completely submerged yourself in the waters you were afraid to go into, and your life will fill that much more full because you took those steps you were once afraid to take. 🤍🖤

I’m gonna confess something here, gonna get real raw with it.

But I think, no I know, I am terrified of trying.

I so desperately want to publish a novel, multiple even. I have them in the bag. But I am so scared of moving forward even an inch.

I have been writing since I was ten, I have been doing these monster stories since 2017.

And I have gone nowhere.

I am so frightened of the next steps. I believe if I don’t know what I’m doing I can’t do anything.

I’ve been working this out in therapy but like…I do feel stuck. I’ve imbedded myself so much here and in comfort I don’t know what to do.

What do I do? How do I publish? Who do I ask?

Is it me? Do I have to do this now?

I wanted to say this, in hopes putting it out there I can pull myself out of the complacent pit I’ve made and move along. But yeah, I’m terrified and I really have no clue what to do. Everyone else who is publishing seems so far ahead and they know everything. But, maybe that’s also an excuse for myself I need to face.

[puckinghischier]

What do you think Quinn would do for a grand gesture when he was missing his girl?

seeing as he’s a sentimental sort, considering the gift he gave luke, i know he’d do something so over the top in the best way.

he’d already have bought you every long distance gadget in existence. the bracelets that vibrate when you touch them to let the other person know you’re thinking of them. the smart fridge he can leave notes from his phone on for you to wake up to in the morning. the lamp that glows a certain color when the other person misses you. the iphone widget he can draw pictures of flowers on before the real thing is delivered to your door.

he’d make sure he had every opportunity to make sure you knew he was thinking about you, even when he’s busy and on the road. sometimes a message or a vibration from a bracelet is all he had time for, but it was enough for you.

for him? nothing could ever replace being in your presence. he needed to see you, touch you, hear your voice. this past season had been rough. being away from you for so long, he was miserable. he found himself being distracted by thoughts of when he could get back home to you during practice or while warming up for a game. he was rushing post game media so he could call you before you fell asleep. he was skipping team bonding to facetime you and catch up on your day.

so, he started putting a plan into motion. he hoped it wouldn’t scare you off or freak you out, but he was too deep into it now to back out.

you had noticed he’d been spending a lot of time on the phone with his agent lately, assuming it was some negotiation for a brand or sponsorship. you knew it couldn’t have anything to do with his spot on the canucks, both the team and quinn loving the other too much to part ways.

but he started acting weird. he started being jumpy when you’d ask him about his conversations with his agent, curious as to what’s taking up so much of his time lately.

“just contract stuff. you know, i have to renew it soon and there’s all kinds of stuff that goes into that. brad’s just trying to get me the best bang for my buck,” he’d nervously chuckle, changing the subject quickly.

you were cleaning up the kitchen one day after making lunch, quinn having had to go to the rink for some kind of business meeting, he told you. you hear the door open and his keys fall into the bowl on the dining room table, a soft call of your name ringing through the space.

he walks into the kitchen to find you finishing up the last few dishes, making small talk until you’re finished and join him over at the end of the long island.

“whatcha got there, q?” you question curiously, noticing how he hasn’t let go of the paper once since walking through the door.

“oh, this? well, we need to talk about it, actually.” his nervous tone makes you nervous, worried about what’s on the piece of official looking paper.

“okay…” you trail off, not enjoying the nervous energy engulfing the room.

he clears his throat, running his fingers along the edges of the paper repeatedly, forcing himself to keep looking you in the eyes.

“so, you know how i bought you all those things to let you know i’m thinking of you when i’m not on the road? the bracelet, the lamp, the new fridge, the flowers and notes?” he lists off all the heartfelt things he’s given you over the course of your relationship, a smile taking over your face as you nod at him.

the smile on your face gives him a bit more confidence, more sure of his decision than he was just a few moments ago.

“okay, well, i can’t do that anymore. those bracelets? the lamp? the messages on the fridge? they’re not enough. they’re not cutting it anymore.”

your heart sinks. what does he mean it’s not enough? if it’s enough for you, why isn’t it enough for him? he’s the one that’s gone all the time. you’re the one who has to stay here and wait for him to come back. is this paper a new lease? is he kicking you out? breaking up with you?

you take a step back from him, your head filling with all kinds of negative thoughts as to what’s on that paper in his hand.

“quinn, i-i don’t understand. what do you mean-“

“please, just let me finish. i need to get this out and then you can ask me all the questions you want. and yell at me, if you feel the need,” he interrupts you, putting a hand up in between the two of you.

your mouth snaps shut, tears threatening to spill any second.

“like i said, the superficial stuff just isn’t enough anymore. if i can’t have you with me all the time, i don’t know if i can keep doing this. all of this. it’s killing me. i know it’s my fault i’m gone, but my god i miss you so much it hurts me,” he continues his speech, not picking up on the shake in your hands.

“quinn, you don’t have to do this. we can…figure something else out. i miss you too when you’re gone. so much,” your shaky voice tries to reason with him, not wanting to hear him say the words out loud.

he holds a hand up to silence you, effectively stopping your words.

“my mind’s already made up. already signed my name and everything, even if brad did think i was crazy,” quinn keeps going, confusing you even more.

what did his agent have to do with him breaking up with you and kicking you off of the lease you just signed together?

you don’t have time to ask him, because he lays the paper in front of you, sliding it towards you. “here, just read it for yourself.”

you pick up the thick paper, noting the canucks emblem stamped into the top of the document, your eyes falling to the long paragraphs taking up the majority of the page.

there’s one section that’s highlighted, marked to stand out specifically for your eyes.

“the canucks organization, in agreement with quintin j. hughes, hereby provides transportation, accommodations, and admission to 10 (ten) away games of his choice during regular season hockey, and every meeting of post-season playoffs if necessary, to one person of his choice, contingent of his reporting to canucks sponsored activities such as: games, practice, training camps….”

it takes your brain a few moments to catch up to what you’re reading.

he…rewrote his contract for you. he, somehow, convinced an entire organization to write into his contract a clause to be able to take you with him to games during the season. you look up at him, his nervous stare meeting your eyes.

you start laughing.

quinn was nervous for a lot of things. he was worried you’d freak out and say he was crazy for this. he was worried you’d be mad at him and tell him you didn’t want to go on road trips with him. he didn’t know if you’d cry or jump with joy or walk out on him.

but he never expected you to laugh at him.

you can’t control your laughter. you try, but it just keeps coming, every attempt at containing it only making you laugh harder.

“i don’t understand. what’s so funny here?” quinn manages the courage to ask, voice shaky and embarrassed.

you manage to calm your fit enough to gain a fraction of decorum back, taking a few deep breaths before responding.

“quinn, i thought you were breaking up with me.”

quinn’s eyes widen, not expecting the words out of your mouth at all.

“no, i- why would you think that?” he rushes out, walking towards you.

you wipe the tears from your eyes, trying to calm yourself even further.

“well, i don’t know. the way you worded it had me convinced you were bringing me a new lease you’d signed without my name on it or something. thought you were kicking me out,” you chuckle only slightly at the end of your explanation.

quinn grabs your face in his calloused hands, gently forcing you to look at him.

“i hope you know, i would never break up with you. not by kicking you out of the apartment, much less. if anything you’d be the one kicking me out.”

“well i sure hope not. according to your contract, we have eight more years of roadies in our future. think those accommodations would be real awkward if you kicked me out. wonder if petey would let me bunk with him?”

[cherie-doll]

i hope the day is good for you 🫶🏻 (english is not my first language) can you please write a story with cod men, about what would they do when the reader doesnt make it home from the mission - like they are waiting at home for her but she's dead.

thx for submitting love <33

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: They Waited For You

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He didn't believe it at first, there was just no way... he immediately got to verifying all his sources, even went down to talk to the other soldiers who had been a part of your team

You were supposed to come home, he expected you to come back to him, safe and sound like always but instead of falling asleep and exhausted in his arms like you should've been by tonight, your corpse was out there somewhere missing his embrace

He thought of how he could've prevented this from happening, yes he still blamed himself for anything bad that happened to you despite it not being in his hands, maybe if he could've kept you from going, why did you even feel the need to continue doing this?

There was no one else he cared for as much as he did for you, which truly said a lot of your relationship, but since he met you he felt an overwhelming urge to show love like he'd never done before, nothing else on earth deserved this dedication like you did

He deteriorated rather quickly, the mornings became grim and he couldn't bear to see the sun setting without thinking of how much you loved letting the rays caress your arms and let your eyes take in that golden light, you looked so beautiful in those moments

Ghost

Since he met you, there was finally a stage in his life he could think of purely, sure the relationship wasn't perfect, but this was something he could be reminded of and he didn't have to fight to keep it hidden in the back of his mind, he let the memories emerge to the surface and ponder about them

It had been something pleasant but it had been ripped out of his hands far sooner than he would've wanted, his fantasy that had become a corrupted reality, it makes him want to die, badly, but he always found a way to survive the deadliest situations, somehow he always did; as if he was cursed with immortality

But this? He felt no desperation urging him to dig out of the hole he was sinking into, the walls closing in on him from all sides and he made no effort to push it away, it felt sort of relieving being cramped and paralyzed since he couldn't see the path ahead of him, with you it had become so obvious and clear what he wanted but now there was nothing worth moving towards

Did life always want something from him? Just when he thought he lost everything he could lose, there was always something else being pried out of him, it was painful because it was forcefully taken away just when he was getting attached, when there was no foreseeable evil trying to destroy him there was some good, and you had been the best unexpected thing in his life

Soap

You were like an illusion he had always dreamed of and finally were achieved, a life so dreamy and ideal he thought would never be in his reach, but he had been permitted to have it for a short while with you

Within your time together a love so beautiful had bloomed, it was sweet how sublime it had felt, you had been youthful, still beaming with so much life within you but tragically cut short, those years had gone and went unused

He couldn't find the sense within him to comprehend why it had to be you, your death had been like a cold slap to the face, he had once again become aware of the disheartening reality he lived in, that nothing was secure nor did everything stay the same forever

Well, he knew about the forever part, but did it have to come so soon? He had to gather the strength within him to continue forward and he wasn't even sure of that, there was still so much left unsaid, so much still to be done, and how frustrated he was that it would all be forgotten and left unfulfilled

A sadness like no other would coat his existence, swallow him up and change him beyond recognition, his mind would be invaded by memories of you that will replay until they burned and ceased to exist... the day he ceased to exist

Gaz

All those days that he had spent with you had been the most fulfilling days he had ever experienced, he could remember the warmth of your hand, the weight of your body asleep next to him on the mattress, the security knowing you valued his affection and returned it

He truly felt the happiest with you and he wished to be encased in that happiness forever, but how naive it was of him to think it was possible for even a second, life was always moving and throwing hurdles at us that seem impossible to avoid, it's only a matter of time misfortunes come to us all

By simply contemplating and reminiscing, he felt grief beyond help and any consolation couldn't do much for him, wistful memories came to him and he could not sleep at night, all they did was leave a dark imprint on his mind

His caring nature did not change, he thought with time he could heal and learn to move on, but some things never change, and a sore spot still brings pain when pressed too hard, he would mull over this no matter how painful it was to do so

How he misses to hold you in this moment and kiss you

Roach

The news of your death came like a hard blow to his face, and he was left clutching his chest, eyes watering with tears as he desperately tried to cling onto some comforting memory in his mind

Restlessness follows immediately, even at night sleep does not come to him no matter what he does, the memories you shared seemed to tear him apart rather than anything help him, but he didn't want to forget you either

He knew he couldn't get you back and he had lost you forever in this life, panting and gasping he would awaken from his nightmares, the little sleep he got would do nothing to comfort him, and you weren't there to comfort him, to silently hold nor ease with your voice in his ear

His mind wanted to deceive his heart, make him believe you were somewhere far away but still thinking of him, that he could close his eyes and imaging resting his head on your shoulders, basking in serenity as he lost himself in the waves that lulled him

Alejandro

He was overtaken by bitterness and anger, his better judgement was clouded far beyond reason at the most valuable treasure in his life forever gone, the feeling of longing would become a hole he'd spend his days trying to fill with wrongful acts

All he wanted and needed was your touch to remind him reality was there and not as cruel as he thought, you had still met and loved in your time and nothing could take away what had already been done, he could live blissfully in life knowing you had known each other

But could he be satisfied with that? He could strongly feel the ties that bound you together still tug at his heart, and every year he remembered you, would set an altar for you and fill it with what were your favorite foods and things

He would stare at your imagine, remembering how he once had kissed those lips, stared into your sparkling eyes that watched him endearingly, your face he had held within his hands...

He could never have that back

Rudy

He missed delicately tracing your face, his fingertip raising softly over every curve and line, your silhouette against the wall when you rose that morning, early so you could still say your goodbyes to him and tell him to expect you back very soon, this one wouldn't be too long you said

You had left him a content man, he'd sit around the house and wait, he would take it easy these days because you'd be back soon, but he wasn't ready to withstand the tumult he'd find himself in

His heart had become haggard in the days following your death, he had absorbed every bit of warmth and clung to the last signs that you had left behind, he wished he had been there, to ease your last painful moments before death, how much did that train of thought torment him, day and night it ran through his mind

In sleep, he dreamt of terrible ways you had encountered death, surely, you didn't have a peaceful one, you were healthy and fit to make it, something terrible must have happened but no matter how much he wished to know the cause of your death it wasn't given, most likely for the best to remain unknown

Phillip Graves

He often boasted of having you in his life, it was such a fortunate occurrence when you met that he didn't think it was entirely a coincidence, he loved doting on you and hold you in his arms knowing you were there for him

You had already confirmed the date of your return, but that day came and passed and there was no sign of you, worse yet no message or word had been heard on your part, it was he who had to dig and find out that you had been KIA

It felt like a strong blow to his chest to have you ripped away from him, he knew the harsh reality and danger he was constantly under, he just never imagined it would get to you one day

You shouldn't have paid for his sins or errors, he wished you had stayed out of the battle, but you had your own life to carve out and ultimately it had been your decision

Much time would have to pass before he'd be able to say your name, for the longest time he'd whisper it, as if afraid it'd shatter his reality even more, staying in the air reminding him of what he lost

Makarov

You were forever gone from his grasp, how was he to cope with that? The fire that had warmed his insides, making every act of his be out of love for you suddenly halted, reduced to nothing but ashes and now he was left to sweep the heaps of it

The emptiness growing and knowing there wasn't a piece to fit or make him whole again like you, you were a unique piece, the edges weren't cut with delicacy that an experienced hand could replicate, there wasn't a mold to follow to shape something else into you

You sprung out of chaos and spontaneity with ease, there was a lightheartedness you brought out in him that brought out the best in him, all of it offered to you who didn't greedily take but lovingly returned

He didn't want to believe someone like you could just be taken away from him and have nothing done about it, just when he thought he could be tender he'd return to his old ways, the resentment stronger than ever and tied to his heart, obscuring and consuming him

Keegan

How despairing did this turn out for him, never had he imagined he'd lose you, all that time he had spent training with you, preparing for when the worst could happen and each time you had managed to slip away, always

Except this time you weren't fast enough, he knew those shoulders held up a levelheaded person, who confidently calculated their every move, it was unfair you had been taken

His brows are now furrowed, thinking this just has to be some sort of protocol you're following, faking a death isn't all that uncommon, maybe you were still alive out there, hiding away somewhere for your safety, each day he held the pitiful hope that you'd come back to him, then he'd nurse your injuries and help you stand back up

But moons waxed and waned and you didn't appear, and he couldn't hold the fragments of you close to his heart if you wouldn't be around to reignite them and make them come true again

His palm that had curled, clutching the remnants loosed and he had to give up that foolish dream and accept reality as it was being presented

König

Was it cruel if he wished it was you who had received the news instead of him? He thought it would have been that way, he often joked about the benefits you'd get when he passed, it wasn't supposed to be you to leave earlier than him

Relaxed he was sitting in the armchair until he received the terrible news, his breaths became desperate as he tried to get air into his lungs, he wanted to march down there to the field himself to collect you, to not believe it just yet

Maybe you'd be down there, hiding away in some corner like the sly fox you were and say you had managed to dodge the bullet this time

But he was disappointed with the outcome of things, he hated it when things didn't follow the path he set for them but no one could have controlled the outcome of this course, it had left a profound wound in his heart he wasn't sure he'd be able to heal from

You had parted without saying your goodbyes and now he wouldn't be able to live with that, to live longer still with you in the back of his mind

Horangi

He hated anything that brought the slightest trace of despair, and he dealt horribly with it, he ran on pure serendipity but now he couldn't count on that, was it by being at the wrong place and time you had been one of the lives lost, the most important one to him

He felt the urge to go back to his old ways of numbing out the pain, but he pushed that temptation away, it would only drain his money and everything he had worked for go to waste, he knew you wouldn't have wanted that for him and right now he just wished to keep the traces of you very much alive and present

He wanted to go about his days as if you were still there, the flower you planted, he tried to keep it alive and water it, the way you left your stuff around the house, that way it was easier to transport himself to a time when you were there with him, still at home

The people of the past are hard to forget but he didn't mind, he faced the situation with more determination than he himself expected, he was surprised at the resolve he had come up with

He had loved without regret, and with every passing day he'd be closer to reuniting with you again

Nikto

The only sound occupying the complete silence is the static in his mind, he's just numb, doesn't know what to do, what he should do with whatever emotions he's trying to detect, he must feel something

He was just delivered the worst news of his life, he should be breaking down and crying but he can barely even process the fact that you really are gone, he looses his train of thought every five seconds and can only stare forward as if in a trance he's unable to escape out of

He feels the long seconds drag by but he can't get up from his fixed spot on the chair, it's like a knife has been plunged into his side and pulled out, leaving the gaping wound pulsating softly, but he can barely hear his flesh scream out in pain, he can only feel the blood oozing out, staining his clothes and falling to the floor in droplets as he actively ignores it

He is hurt but can only clutch at it, he can't get up, feels far too comfortable sitting on this kitchen chair staring forward to the wall, elbows resting on his knees